Chapter 7 - Rivendell
Hi everyone!
I am SO sorry for the massive delay; the usual excuses: exams, no time, computer problems, writer's block, etc... Anyway, very sorry, as I said. To make it up to you, though, this chapter is extra long!
I have received all your reviews and comments: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! I love you guys so much! Your suggestions were brilliant, and oh, Lady Avotil, your review was my favourite: you definitely win the contest! (albeit you were the only one, he-he). You picked up most of my references, although I am quite impressed by the rest of the analysis you put in: I never intended the parallel b/w Hook and Ron, but if you like it, then that's great. = )
Special thanks to JenniferHare22, my lovely regular-reviewer.
Other reviewers, thank you ever so much - dreamflower02, I love your loyalty! (And I like baby Rain, too = ) )
And 'Guest', you will get your answer soon enough... ; )
Enough of me gushing - on with the story!
She was floating. Floating on a soft, warm cloud, and light was bathing her in all its warm clarity. Or that's what it felt like to Emma. She could hear voices around her, and other small noises she hadn't heard for a long time. Birds twittering, water running, even light steps.
She was so warm, so comfortable, and so tired… She didn't want to move just now. In fact, she rather wanted to lay here forever. The noises were persistent, though. What had been mere murmurs previously were gradually becoming downright sounds, and Emma soon found herself opening her eyes.
She was in a large, airy room, full of light and the sounds of running water and birdsong. She stared at her surroundings, bemused. Where on earth was she and how had she gotten here?
Not that it wasn't pleasant; she couldn't remember a more beautiful place to sleep in, and now that she was completely awake she realized that the noises – which had seemed so loud at first - were in fact almost non-existent. From her bed - for she was in a large white bed – she peered out of the large window, from which she could see trees in the late stages of fall. The overall light effect was quite lovely.
"Hel-lo?" Emma called awkwardly. She was pleased to find she could speak with a normal voice again.
"Why, hello to you too, my dear." Said a familiar voice.
Emma whirled her head around, not believing her ears. And yet there was Gandalf, leaning against a wall in a far corner of the room and smoking a pipe. He was also smiling at her, his piercing blue gaze unusually warm and glad.
"Gandalf?" she blurted. "What – why – how… just what happened exactly?"
Gandalf chuckled. "My dear lady," he said, "I was about to ask you the same question. How are you feeling?"
Emma considered the question. She felt fine, actually. No headache, no numb cold, no dull pain in her arms– hold on!
"Gandalf! What happened? Where are the others? Are they safe? Where am I? Where's Frodo?" she cried, the memories of the past few days coming back to her in a rush. In her mind, she replayed the last moments she had been conscious: she had been on a galloping horse, and the black Riders were chasing them. But she had soon fallen unconscious again however, and could not remember anything since. She looked up at Gandalf anxiously.
He smiled again, walked over to her and sat in a large wooden armchair by her bed.
"You are in Rivendell, home of the Lord Elrond and his elven people. Your companions are all quite safe." He informed her. "They arrived here yesterday, and you have been unconscious for three days."
"And Frodo? Is he –"
"Yes, yes. Frodo is safe. Lord Elrond managed to save him before the poison took over his body and mind completely." He told her. "You were both very lucky; a few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid." He finished with another puff at his pipe, looking glad.
Emma sank back into her pillows, weak with relief. She couldn't imagine what she would have felt like if Frodo hadn't survived. And the others were safe, too. That was very good news. But as satisfying and full of relief those pieces of information were, they did not explain everything. She turned her head back to Gandalf.
"Where were you, Gandalf? Why weren't you at the inn to meet us?"
Gandalf's twinkling eyes darkened a little, and his face was as grim as the night he had revealed the identity of the Ring to Emma and her companions.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Swan…. I was delayed." He said after a second's hesitation. He closed his eyes and passed a hand over his wrinkled forehead.
Emma peered at the wise old man, waiting for an explanation. When it did not come, she prompted him.
"And..?"
The wizard's eyes shot open again, surprised. He seemed to have momentarily forgotten her presence, so lost was he in his thoughts and memories. He smiled at her apologetically.
"I'm afraid I cannot tell you why. Not just now, at least. You have only just woken up and it is not my place to darken your thoughts already with unfortunate tales." He said, holding a gentle hand up as she opened her mouth to protest. "No, Miss Swan. It is another story for another time, and this is not it."
Emma loudly let out a breath through her mouth, sounding like a particularly annoyed mare. Gandalf chuckled.
"No doubt you have had quite the adventure since I left you and your companions. I should be glad to hear it."
Emma shot him a somewhat surprised look. "Haven't the others already told you?"
Gandalf smiled again. "Yes, they have." he replied. "Although I would be most interested in your own version of accounts. Somehow I doubt you sprouted wings and killed the Nazgúl with a flaming sword, as Master Peregrin Took insists you did."
Emma laughed. She told Gandalf all she could remember - strange powers and all. She was a little disturbed to revisit those vague memories. Had that really been her?
When she was finished, Gandalf seemed to have zoned out again. Emma had to suppress her annoyance. Did all inhabitants of Middle-Earth have annoying habits? What with Frodo vanishing into thin air every few days, Tom Bombadil babbling nonsense, Pippin smoking a whole bag of leaf daily, and now the wizard leaving for the moon every few minutes, she was quite sure they did.
"Interesting," he muttered at long last, though he still seemed unaware of her presence. "Quite...interesting. Perhaps...but no, surely not. Not yet..."
Emma raised her eyebrows. Was she about to hear something interesting after all? Her hope didn't last long, for the wizard sprang back to life again.
"Now," he said briskly, gathering his robes and getting up. "I expect your companions are impatient to see you looking so well. Perhaps we should let them in? Mr and Mrs Nolan have hardly left your side, and the others have not stopped badgering them for information." he finished with a wink and a smile.
Eager to see her companions again, Emma gave up trying to extricate information from him. She grinned and nodded, and leaned back against the board, taking in the elegant and tasteful decoration of the room, which she had previously been too preoccupied to notice. Graceful statues and sculptures were artfully displayed around the room, and delicate garlands of ivy were wrapped around the large white pillars. The sound of running water came from a fountain that ran in front of the window on the opposite side of the one she had first spotted. If she hadn't opened her eyes, she would have thought she was in a clearing of a young forest – full of life and light.
Suddenly, the door burst open and her parents came running in, expressions of wild joy stretched across their faces.
"Emma! You're awake!" Mary-Margaret trilled. "How are you? Does it still hurt? How's your head?" she fired at her daughter, grabbing her and pulling her into a bone-crushing hug.
"Give her space to breathe, Snow." Said David, grinning at Emma and his wife. "I am so glad to see you like this, Emma. How are you feeling?"
The latter grinned lazily and stretched out her arms over her head.
"Never better." She sighed happily. "I guess these elves are pretty good at their stuff, huh?"
Mary-Margaret was goggling at Emma's arms. She gestured towards them, incredulous.
"The marks - they've gone!" she exclaimed.
Emma lowered her arms, which were bare to the shoulder now – she appeared to be dressed in a long white nightgown – and gasped. It was true: the deathly, bruise-like patches on her skin had completely disappeared, leaving her skin as flawless as before.
"Wow. Yeah, they really are good at their stuff." She beamed, flexing her limbs and fingers. She was gladder than she cared to admit that her appearance was quite unchanged.
She spent a happy hour minutes talking to her parents, idly chatting about things which they would have considered quite insignificant six days ago – the weather, the beauty of their surroundings, the hobbits' worshiping of mushrooms… At last though, Emma fixed them with a beady eye and asked them what exactly what had happened since the Nazgúl attack.
David and Mary-Margaret glanced at each other meaningfully and proceeded to tell her about their three-day journey to Trollshaw, where she had first woken up. It had been a dangerous road, what with the Nazgúl after them and with two of their number unconscious.
"How did you guys manage to make me travel so far if Strider was carrying Frodo and Bill was so loaded?" Emma asked, frowning.
David scowled and was about to answer, but his wife beat him to it.
"Hook carried you." She answered, her face carefully blank. "He and your father took it in turns, but David's shoulder was hurt during the attack, so Hook took you most of the way."
"You hurt your shoulder?" repeated Emma, indignant. This was news to her. She also didn't want to dwell on the 'Hook' issue for too long. "Why didn't you tell me?"
David shrugged. "It's fine, now. Strider had a look at it the first time we stopped, and the people here fixed it up in no time." Indeed, Emma could see the edge of a clean white bandage peeking out of David's collar.
"But what happened afterwards – once we left Trollshaw?"
David recounted their nightly march, their halt, and their encounter with the elves. Emma's jaw dropped when she heard of the nature of her saviours.
"Elves?" she asked incredulously. "Elves came to collect us?"
Mary-Margaret smiled. "Yeah. You should have seen your father's face when he met them. It was like he'd been struck on the head from behind with a frying pan!"
Emma snorted. She could imagine.
"Then what?" she pressed on.
Here, her parents hesitated.
"Well," David answered, "we only heard about this from Glorfindel later, once we'd arrived and you'd been taken care of. It seems the wraiths went after you four after all - we weren't sure whether they'd continue hunting us, or guess that Frodo had been taken away from our group. As it turned out," he continued after a glance at Mary-Margaret, "the wraiths chased after you for quite a long time, until Glorfindel and Arwen – they're the elves who saved you and Frodo, by the way – reached the Ford of Amen and crossed it. The wraiths tried to follow, but Arwen unleashed an enchantment that had been cast on the river by her father and Gandalf. There was something like a tidal wave and the Ringwraiths were washed away down the river. They haven't been sighted since."
Emma listened to this extraordinary tale in awe. Rescued by elves? Chased by Black Riders? An enchanted river? She was beginning to understand Hook when he'd said he wanted to go back to reality!
"Well." She muttered, too shocked for many words. "I guess we're lucky to have the elves on our side, then."
0o0o0o0o0o0
That afternoon, Emma was visited by Lord Elrond himself. She was just waking up from a deep slumber, and dusk was starting to settle in. He smiled in greeting, and walked over to her. Well, walked - Emma thought he floated more than he walked. She recalled Sam's excited talk of elves: they were fair, immortal, and the most graceful creatures on earth. The elf coming towards her was certainly all of the above; he had a noble and wise face, dark eyes that betrayed the years he had lived, and moved so gracefully Emma was surprised they weren't both underwater.
"Welcome to Rivendell, Lady Swan." he said in a voice Emma thought should have been in a movie.
"Thank you, er... My Lord." she answered awkwardly, still not used to being addressed as a lady. "I'm actually very glad to be here, too." Where were Mary-Margaret and her princess education when you needed them?
Lord Elrond raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling in amusement.
"Really? How so?" he asked.
Emma shrugged, embarrassed. "Well. I suppose I'd be Nazgúl food by now if you hadn't sent out some of your subjects to rescue us."
Lord Elrond chuckled, and sat down in the chair Gandalf had occupied that morning. "My daughter and Lord Glorfindel went to rescue you of their own accord when they heard of your coming; I must confess I had not sent them to do my bidding." he confided in her with another smile. "Although I must say I am glad they did. It seems you and your companions are more important that it would appear at first." he added rather mysteriously.
Emma wondered if she was in a position to question him. Upon seeing his thoughtful look and preoccupied expression however, she decided against it.
Lord Elrond spoke again.
"I am glad to see you looking so well - and so soon. You and your companion were very gravely injured, although your own wounds were unlike any I have seen before; how did you come by them?"
Grateful for a subject she could talk about without making a fool of herself, Emma launched into the tale of her battle with the Ringwraith. Lord Elrond watched her attentively while she talked, his hands in a prayer-like position under his chin. His ageless face revealed his incredulity and awe as she described the power that had burst out of her. He didn't press her for details, which Emma was glad of. She didn't know many of them, having heard that bit from her companions only.
When she had finished, Lord Elrond remained lost in thought, staring out of the window for a whole minute before Emma dared to speak again.
"My Lord...?" she asked tentatively.
The wise elf looked at her again, surprised.
"My apologies, milady Swan." he replied. "I am afraid I was somewhere else entirely."
"Do you know what happened? Why that light came out of me? Or even why I'm still alive?" Emma questioned, desperate for answers.
Lord Elrond smiled.
"Alas," he told her, widening his arms slightly, "I have my theories, as I dare say you have, and your companions as well." (Emma wondered if he knew more about her and her companions that he let on) "But nothing we can be absolutely certain of. In any case, you need to concentrate on recovering quickly, as I dare say you must be impatient to get up again."
"But... My Lord - please, tell me. What happened?" she pressed him.
Her host smiled regretfully. "Please, do not let me burden you with worries and questions, My Lady. We will talk of all this another time. For now, rest."
With that, he bowed and left the room.
Emma let herself fall backwards on her pillows, feeling frustrated and angry. Why was everyone refusing to tell her what had happened? First Gandalf, then Lord Whatsit. Didn't they realize that every moment they tarried was another moment Henry was alone with Greg and Tamara?
As the day stretched on, Emma's frustration increased to the point where she could no longer stay in bed. She tried getting up, but unfortunately a passing elf - one who had apparently helped to heal her - insisted she went back. Her impatience had taken its toll on her still-recovering body however, and Emma soon fell into a deep sleep.
As sunset came and went though, Emma's frustrated mind - handicapped by a reluctant body and over-protective nurses - found itself unable to shut down in order for her to sleep again. Emma wished some of her companions would visit her - she'd have loved a carefree conversation with the hobbits - but the elf maiden who had come to check on her said it was best for her to rest with no disturbances.
Pissed off, but not altogether surprised, Emma had flopped back down on her bed and in vain tried to think of something else than the excruciatingly slow passing of time and her son's predicament. But thoughts of Henry clouded her mind every second of every minute, and she found no rest in the peaceful darkness that night had brought. Were was he? How was he faring? Was he still with Greg and Tamara? Was he safe?
Although Greg and Tamara were no pleasant company, Emma hoped that they would protect him if anything else tried to harm him. She didn't know why she was so sure that they didn't want to harm him, but she just knew. Or perhaps she hoped. As it would probably turn out, they'd want to give him over to some other evil maniac with issues about magic. In which case laying on a bed for days on end seemed painfully pointless and entirely unnecessary to her at the moment.
Tossing over in her tangled bedsheets for the hundredth time, Emma puffed loudly. How long was this night going to last? Her nurses had told her to rest, but whatever she was getting right now certainly wasn't that - maybe another headache or just more worries about her son, which she sure as hell could do without for the moment.
Emma listened to the sounds of running water and the warm breeze rustling the leaves of the trees outside, wishing she could at least get out for some fresh air. The stream was still gurgling happily, and she could hear the splashing of fish jumping out of it every minute or so. Strange, she hadn't noticed them before - she'd most likely been entertaining thoughts that were too loud to hear other disturbances.
Those splashing sounds were insistent, though. In fact, they didn't sound much like splashing at all, but rather...
Not believing what she was hearing, Emma crept out of bed and approached the window, from where the strange repetitive noises were coming from. Her suspicions were confirmed as she saw what she expected to see: someone standing beneath her window. They had obviously been lobbing pieces of gravel at the pillars to attract her attention. The person she saw, however, was the last person she expected to.
"Hook?" she called disbelievingly. "Is that you?"
"About time you noticed, love." Came the exasperated reply, though Emma could hear the smile in his voice. "Do you know how long I've been standing here?"
Emma grinned. "I don't know, though something tells me quite a long time."
She heard his chuckle.
"The things I do for my art! Are you going to let me up?"
Alarm bells rang off in Emma's head. Would that be wise? She was tempted, because she hadn't seen any of her companions other than her parents yet, but then again she'd not heard of so much as deduced his reputation as something of a womanizer... An image of Neal swam into the foreground of her mind, along with all the pain his death had brought her. She pushed it away. Neal was dead, and he wasn't coming back.
Hook sensed her hesitation.
"Come on, lass. You won't make me believe you're not bored up there!" he called up at her.
Silence answered him. He sighed audibly.
"Lass, I promise I won't do anything to compromise your reputation. I told you, I'm always a gentleman."
Emma snorted quietly. "Want me to cite a few examples to contradict you there, Hook?"
"Not particularly, no."
"That's what I thought. Anyway, isn't you just trying to climb up here already enough to, as you say, 'compromise my reputation' ?"
He laughed.
"Love, I can assure you, compared to what could happen, my climbing up this wall would withstand puritanical judgment."
Emma rolled her eyes. Pirates weren't persistent, were they?
"Do you ever stop?" she asked mildly.
"Stop what, love?" he replied, all innocent.
"Oh, you know." she said in an exaggeratedly casual tone. "Flirt? Infuriate women in general? Suggest stuff which shouldn't be suggested?"
"My dear Emma, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Care to elaborate?"
"Not particularly, no."
"That's what I thought. Now, enough of this rather pointless bantering and answer me; Can I go up?"
Emma sighed, though she'd mostly made her mind up already.
"I suppose you asking is just you being a gentleman, right?"
"You're about to find out, lass." he replied, and Emma could imagine the smirk and wink that went with it.
Emma swore under her breath.
"Fine." she muttered. "But try anything and I'll push you off this balcony."
"Love, you're welcome to push me around anytime you like. Especially if it's up against a wall." he answered more than suggestively.
Emma face-palmed exasperatedly. Nope, apparently he didn't stop. But then she'd known that.
Hook grabbed hold of the ivy that grew along the wall which lead to her balcony. He started to climb up, steadily approaching the ledge of her window. Emma couldn't help but be impressed; it would be hard enough to climb that vine with two hands, let alone one hand and a hook. Finally, he latched his one hand onto the ledge, pulled himself up, and dropped to the ground next to her.
He straightened up and grinned at her.
"You better keep this to yourself lass, or your father will kill me."
Emma smirked.
"I'll know just what to do when you annoy me, then."
She leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. She actually smiled at him, so pleased was she at seeing someone she knew.
"What gave you the idea of coming up here, then?" she asked curiously.
Hook shrugged, sitting on the edge of the balcony.
"That's what heroes do when a fair lady is held somewhere high up against her wishes, isn't it?"
Emma raised an eyebrow, amused. "Somehow, you don't strike me as one who would act like the usual hero." she said.
Hook smirked. "What do I strike you as then, Emma?"
Emma rolled her eyes.
"Oh, what, are we going to exchange friendship bracelets now? Tell ghost stories? Share secrets?" she asked sarcastically.
Hook winked. "No, although I wouldn't mind the last one." he remarked. "Tell you what we could do, though." he added, rummaging at his side.
Emma braced herself for another range of innuendos, but was surprised - and not altogether displeased - when he produced a bottle filled with what she recognised as rum.
"Care for a drink, lass?" he offered, waving the bottle at her. "You sound like you need one."
Emma cocked her head on the side, considering it. To be honest, the frustration and anger she'd felt all day had left her rather in need of a drink - one somewhat stronger than the spring water the elves had poured her earlier.
She took the bottle from him and took a swig from it. The fiery liquid burned down her throat, warming her insides and loosening her stomach, which had steadily knotted itself throughout the day with worry and discontentment.
She wiped the top and handed it back to Hook, who took a sip too.
"Thanks. I needed that." she admitted.
"My pleasure, Swan." he answered, handing the bottle back to her. She looked at him doubtfully, her suspicions clear.
Hook rolled his eyes.
"Just another swig, lass. It won't kill you or make you drunk, I can assure you."
Emma smiled slightly and accepted the bottle.
They stayed in companionable silence for a while, occasionally taking a swig out of the bottle of rum and listening to the sounds of the night around them.
"How did you meet Baelfire?" Hook asked her suddenly.
Emma choked on her gulp of rum, surprised at the unexpected question. She coughed rather longer than was necessary, using the time to decide what to answer. Should she tell the truth? Well, perhaps part of it.
"During work." she said, deliberately leaving out the details. "I'd just completed a mission of mine, and he'd had a similar one. We soon found we got along."
Hook nodded, accepting her simple-to-the-limit answer.
"And what happened afterwards?" he asked.
"After what?" Emma replied nonchalantly.
Hook threw her a look. 'Oh, please', it said. 'Spare me'.
Emma sighed and set the bottle down on the edge of the balcony. She was fighting an inner battle, debating whether to talk about it or not. Deliberately avoiding it was rather unfair on Hook, who'd been (almost) nothing other than kind and thoughtful so far. On the other hand, the subject of Neal was sure to bring up all the pain and memories she'd labouriously buried for all those years. Finally, her compassionate side won.
"Pinocchio found him." she eventually muttered, determinedly keeping her eyes on the tree before her. "We'd just finished a job, and I was waiting for Neal somewhere. Pinocchio - he's also known as August in Storybrooke - found him and told him about all of it: the curse, Regina, my parents being who they are, my destiny for being the 'Saviour'... He also said that Neal had to... to let me go," Emma continued, her voice cracking slightly with the memories that her story brought back, "so that I could fulfill my destiny and break the curse. He said that the only way he could successfully do that was to break my heart - that way I wouldn't try to go after him. Neal didn't believe him at first - he thought he was just a random jerk who was trying to scare him. But August showed him something: his name - Baelfire - written on paper. Nobody knew who Neal was - Rumplestilskin's son - not even me, for obvious reasons. That convinced Neal, all right. He called the cops and told them where he was supposed to meet me. They followed his advice, and I was sent to jail in his place."
Hook listened to her tale silently, a sympathetic look on his face.
"So... This 'job' that you mentioned earlier then." he ventured after a moment. "It wasn't any ordinary one, I take it? It must've been pretty special if you got sent to jail for it."
Emma nodded reminiscently, her throat tight.
"He'd stolen some watches." she whispered. "I offered to collect them instead of him so that he wouldn't get caught. We'd planned to escape to Canada together with the money from selling them afterwards."
Hook nodded understandingly. He seemed at a loss for words.
Tears were silently pouring down Emma's cheeks by now, for she could no longer hold them in. It was as she'd suspected: bringing the subject of Neal up only brought pain and sadness. She stayed as she was, turned from Hook so that he wouldn't see her cry.
Emma touched the wetness on her face, sad and confused. She never cried, why did she have to start now of all times? She gulped at the fresh night air, gripping the balcony wall until her knuckles turned white. Gradually, she calmed down, and the tears stopped their melancholic flow. Suddenly, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.
Hook gently steered her around to face him. He wiped the salty traces off her face.
"There's no need to hide your tears from me, Emma." he said quietly. "I know what a broken heart feels like."
Emma nodded and took a deep breath. She managed a small, watery smile.
"Look who's getting all sentimental." she teased faintly. "Unyielding Emma Swan and the infamous Captain Hook. Who'd have thought it?"
Hook smiled, looking glad she was starting to gain control again.
"Oh, I'm not sentimental, love." he said. "I'm just trying to cheer up a lovely lass when she's crying. Nothing to do with fairy tales. Oh, and that reminds me." he continued, ignoring her 'look'. "Tell me something, Swan. All those people - " he waved his hand around in the air "- in Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest, Wonderland, Neverland etc, are all from stories, legends, fairy tales, books, myths and various other tales?"
Emma nodded slowly, suspecting she knew what would come next.
"Well," he continued slowly, interest agleam in his eyes and trademark smirk fixed anew, "what am I like in them, then? I mean I know the obvious traits: handsome, brave, charming -" Emma rolled her eyes "- brave and fearless. But what about the details?"
Emma didn't try to suppress her smirk. She remembered having read the story of Peter Pan a long time ago, in secondary school. She'd liked it, but had been surprised at the fact it was accepted as a children's book; it had murder, pillage, slavery and violence in it for God's sake! She couldn't remember the details of Hook's description in the book, but she certainly could remember the Disney character.
She sniggered to herself. Hook frowned. Clearly, his image wasn't going to be the glamorous one he'd been expecting.
"Well," she replied in a slightly choked voice, feeling laughter build up inside her. "if you like cigars, ringlets and waxed facial hair, then I guess the world-widely known image of you is accurate."
She grinned at his outraged expression.
"And," she continued, trying to keep an even tone despite the laughter threatening to burst out of her, "I imagine you must also spend your time running away from hungry crocodiles, kidnap Indian princesses, chase fairies and swear that you'd 'get hold of Peter Pan if it's the last thing you do', too."
She allowed herself to laugh as his face reflected all the horror of those revelations.
"Swan," he said desperately over her incontrollable giggles, "tell me you're making this up!"
Emma was clutching her stomach by now and holding onto the wall for support. She shook her head, trying to control the spasms of laughter bubbling up inside her. There were tears in her eyes again, but this time they were both of mirth and pain at her aching ribs.
She shook her head. "I guess the only accurate part of all of it is that you're a pirate." she remarked.
Hook hardly looked reassured at that. He frowned slightly. "What was that you mentioned about the Crocodile?"
Emma explained the story of Peter Pan and Captain Hook's mutual enmity: how Peter had cut off Hook's hand and fed it to the crocodile, and how Hook heard its presence every time because of the alarm clock it had swallowed as well. The real Hook's flabbergasted expression was worth the tale as she finished it, falling about laughing.
"So I don't get to be a handsome rogue, then?" he concluded grumpily.
Emma hiccuped a confirmation.
"Sounds like you'll never get to be something other than a villain." she said casually.
Hook's gaze darkened. He grabbed her arm.
"Emma, I can assure you that in this story I am not the bad guy. Quite the opposite, in fact." he said vehemently.
Emma looked up at him, surprised at his sudden intensity.
"I know." she said, taken aback. "You came to help us find Henry."
Hook looked like he was about to say something else, but thought better of it and released her shoulder. Emma didn't notice anything though, for she had turned impatiently and strode back into her room, frustration having returned.
"Not that we're actually doing anything to rescue him though." she muttered angrily. "The more we stay put, the farther away from us he could be. How long is this going to take?"
Hook walked in after her. "Don't worry, love." he said easily. "We'll find him soon. That boy's sharp, from what I've heard. He'll be all right."
Emma's shoulders sagged, despair and helplessness settling in again.
"But how are we going to find him?" she asked him desperately. She started pacing across her room, wringing her hands, voicing all her thoughts out loud and working herself up in a state of helpless frustration while Hook watched her, fiddling with his hook.
At last, when all the fire of her wound-up discontent had burned out, she sank down on her bed again. She suddenly felt exhausted, and no wonder: In an hour, she'd gone from frustrated, to surprised, annoyed, pleased, immeasurably sad, helpless with laughter, frustrated again, angry and finally to exhaustion.
"You need some sleep, love." Hook observed. "I'll let myself out the same way I came in, and you go to bed. Else those bloody elves will wonder why you're not fully rested yet."
Emma smiled at him sleepily.
"Thank you, Hook." she murmured, her eyelids already drooping. "I... thanks."
Hook gave her a genuine smile and bowed himself out of the room.
Emma crawled to her pillows and pulled the blankets over her, feeling sleep envelop her very being. The last image she saw in her mind before she sank into oblivion was Henry's grinning face, like she knew he would if he knew she'd spent the evening with a pirate, drinking rum and telling stories.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0
The next day, Emma was delighted to find out that her elven nurses thought her fit to leave her bed. She literally bounded off her mattress, while the elven maidens around her watched in amusement.
Although Emma wasn't about to forget the night before's experience of frustration and anger, she had to admit that these elves were very hospitable people. So far, her every need had been anticipated and fulfilled - from slippers to cool water in a basin near her bed.
She even found a dress that had been laid out for her on a chair. It was elven-style, and considerably easier to pull on than those frightful dresses the hobbits had made for them. Or maybe Emma was just getting better at dressing in medieval clothing - she'd had enough practice at corsets and bodices by now. Thankfully though, elven clothes were wonderfully bereft of the uncomfortable bloody things. Emma found she was as much at ease in her new gown than in her old t-shirts and jeans.
Emma left her room and wandered around the building. Considering she'd been unconscious when she'd been brought in, this was the first time she saw the place. Like her own room, the whole house was large, airy and and full of light. She soon found herself in a large hall, where she saw the rest of her companions sitting at a table, enjoying their breakfast.
"Emma!" cried the hobbits, lifting their mugs in greeting. Pippin even scrambled up and ran over to her. Emma smiled as he dramatically took her hand and kissed it. The little hobbit's eyes were alight with joy and excitement as he expressed his happiness at seeing her well again.
After a full minute of said speech however, Emma was finding it difficult not to laugh. But thankfully Merry came to her rescue.
"Leave her space to breathe, Pip." he chided his cousin, though he was grinning all over as well. "Good to see you looking so healthy again, Miss Emma. Come and have some breakfast!"
Right on cue, Emma's stomach rumbled, and she realized she was starving. After affectionate greetings from her parents, a cordial welcome from Regina and Gold, a shy smile from Sam and a cheery wink from Hook, Emma took her place at the table, where she helped herself to food.
She noted the absence of the mop of dark curls from her entourage.
"Is Frodo still not awake, then?" she observed.
The hobbits shook their heads.
"No." confirmed Merry. "Although Mr Elrond says he'll be waking up in a few hours. He says his shoulder was hurt quite deep, and that he needed to rest."
Emma nodded. She thanked whoever was up there that she hadn't been hurt as badly as Frodo.
The company ate together in good spirits, happy as they were to see Emma well again and confident that Frodo was safe now, too. Gold questioned Emma on her wounds, apparently very interested in her speedy recovery. She showed him her forearms, which were white and whole again.
He peered at them interestedly, his cold and murky eyes scanning her skin as though looking for a remnant bruise-like mark.
"Interesting," he remarked. "Our friend Strider seems to have been right on all accounts. The elves truly are powerful people."
Emma eyed him suspiciously. She, like all her companions from Storybrooke, knew of his obsession with power. He seemed to guess her thoughts though, and smiled sardonically.
"Ah, now. Don't worry Miss Swan. Believe it or not I intend to be perfectly civil to everyone here."
Hook snorted, not making any effort to hide his contempt. Gold ignored him. Regina just raised her eyebrows slightly and returned to the apple she was peeling. She looked up and down the table, where Emma's parents were chatting with the hobbits, and leaned over towards Emma.
"Do you know anything else about the magic that burst out of you?" she asked in a low voice.
Emma glanced coolly at her. "If I did I'm not sure if I'd tell you, to be honest, Regina." she replied evenly at the same volume. "You and Gold are far too accustomed to magic and to having your own way. I'm glad we're on the same level, for once."
Regina gave her a fake smile. "But that's just it, Miss Swan." she whispered. "We're not. You were the one with the magic that night on the tower, not us."
Emma shrugged and swallowed another mouthful of bread. She didn't care: she couldn't control it, and therefore couldn't see how she could use it. But if she said nothing perhaps the queen would think otherwise. And although she wouldn't quite admit it, Emma was pleased at this new, small sense of power she had over the former queen.
Gold had witnessed their conversation and was still looking curiously at Emma. Used to his normally patronizing and superior demeanor, Emma felt uncomfortable under this new scrutiny.
"What?" she mouthed at him, reaching for a jug of milk.
He looked amused. "Nothing much just yet, Miss Swan. I will however make it my priority to tell you when I know more. For now though, my advice would be to keep what happened to you - namely, the manifestation of magic - to yourself as much as possible."
With that, he got up and excused himself from the table. Emma's confused mind was racing; what had that meant? Was he planning something again? Did he know something they didn't? And why keep her magic secret? Well, if she was honest with herself she didn't want to spread the story too much anyway. She also knew that Gold was almost certainly planning something for sure, but the trick was to find out if that concerned the rest of them as well. Emma sincerely hoped that Gold wouldn't get up to his old schemes again, as she still had vivid memories of his previous various magical interventions - and none of which she would forgive or forget in a hurry.
Confused and with yet another problem to add to her worries, Emma returned to her breakfast, still puzzling out what Gold could have meant. She was soon distracted, however, as she listened to the hobbits' version of the recent events - which included much more fighting and heroic actions than she remembered.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0
That afternoon, Emma and the hobbits explored the Last Homely House of Rivendell, Emma having received the reluctant permission of her nurses to leave her room and get some fresh air. She simply couldn't get past the sheer beauty of the place: everywhere she looked there was ivy twining around pillars of clear stone, graceful statues of elven maidens, airy rooms and light curtains. In the gardens bloomed flowers of every kind (she found that strange, seeing as they were in the middle of autumn), and fresh fountains sprinkled water in beautifully sculpted basins. She wandered around the area in the light dress the elves had given her, finding that the temperature quite allowed it. that was another strange thing: it was mid-November, and yet it was as pleasant as the end of a summer's day. Not hot, but warm enough to walk around with jeans and a T-shirt - or in her case, a dress.
Emma and the hobbits explored the fascinating mansion, meeting a few elves on the way - a rather uncomfortable experience: Sam blushed scarlet and looked down at his feet, Merry and Pippin goggled at fair maidens, and Emma found herself wandering if elves married humans. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she berated herself, although also had to fight giggles. What was she thinking of? This wasn't the time to look at handsome men!
That proved to be almost impossible, though. Sam had been right: elves truly were the fairest creatures of all.
Sam left them a little while after, anxious to be back at his master's side once more. Emma shook her head at the little hobbit's retreating back. Loyalty like that was rare; she'd be damned if she'd seen anything like it before.
Soon, they found David and Mary-Margaret cuddling on a bench in the western garden. They weren't talking, and seemed just content to be together. Emma started to go back, dragging the hobbits with her, not wanting to intrude on such a private moment. Her mother spotted them though, and waved them over with smile.
Smiling back, Emma made her way up to them. She flopped down on the bench next to David.
"Some place, this house, isn't it?" she sighed happily. "I swear I've gotten loads better already just by walking around it. I wish I'd figured that out sooner, then I might not have spent the longest night of my life in that ghastly room." she grumbled.
Mary-Margaret grinned at her.
"Trust me, you're the lucky one. We had to listen to the hobbits bickering all this time, provide plausible explanations for our appearances to Elrond, and worry about you for three days. Not to mention try to make Sam leave Frodo once a day!"
Emma smiled lazily.
"True." she conceded. "Although personally I'd have done the last one aided by a large frying pan."
Her parents laughed. Merry and Pippin, who didn't know Emma as well, looked slightly alarmed.
Emma shifted to a more comfortable position on the bench and dipped her head back, letting the warm sunlight caress her features. She felt at peace for once; no Nazgúl chasing after them, no magic exploding out of her, Frodo was going to be all right, and Henry... Well, Henry was going to be fine. Just fine.
Emma repeated the words to herself over and over, imagining a string of them twining around her mind and heart, protecting them from worry and fear. Her boy would be all right... he wasn't going to get hurt... they would see him soon...
But like every time these thoughts entered her head, so did dread. She knew these reassurances were just her mind struggling to keep her from panicking all the time. Hell, she felt wretched for not worrying about Henry more, for not searching for him every minute of every day. Even when she slept during nights her mind was clouded with recurring dreams of son. Henry would appear in her dream, never speaking, but just looking at her - looking at her as though he knew she wasn't looking for him. Every night, Emma would wake up with a start, calling out Henry's name, only to remember that he was gone. Gone, and they weren't any nearer to finding him.
Even in the pleasant warmth of the afternoon sun, Emma felt the cold, dark weight of guilt descend on her heart. What kind of mother was she if she couldn't even protect her child? She didn't even know what to do next, Emma realized wretchedly. Maybe Regina and Mary-Margaret had been right. Maybe this wasn't such a hit-and-run rescue mission, but one that needed careful planning and preparation. Trouble was, though, what?
Emma's dark ruminations were interrupted in the form of a very excited and very happy-looking Samwise Gamgee, who was running towards them, a look of wild joy on his honest features.
"Frodo!" he shouted at them, tripping over his large hobbit-feet as he sprinted towards them.
Emma exchanged a confused look with her parents. What was happening?
"Sam, are you all right?" Emma called, frowning in concern.
The little hobbit stopped in front of her, hand on knees and puffing with exertion.
"Frodo!" he gasped at her.
Emma was growing more concerned by the second.
"Um... no." She said slowly. "I'm Emma, Sam, remember? Emma Swan?"
Sam shook his head impatiently.
"No! Frodo! It's Mr Frodo, he's awake!" he exclaimed, grinning.
Emma and her companions gasped and she leaped to her feet, cursing herself for not having understood sooner. She grabbed Sam's shoulders.
"He's awake?" she cried "Are you sure? How is he? Is he still hurt?"
Snow put a hand on her shoulder, laughing in delight. "Let him go, Emma. Give him space to breathe!"
David chuckled. "And I'm sure we can go and ask him all those questions ourselves. Poor Sam here looks too out-of-breath to speak."
He slapped the hobbit on the shoulder in thanks and started jogging after Merry and Pippin, who were already sprinting towards their cousin's room, easily overtaking them.
Emma started running to Frodo's chambers as well, Snow and Sam behind her - though Sam seemed to be panting more than breathing. Her mind was racing on adrenalin fueled by her joy, the dark thoughts of before completely extinguished by this new beacon of light. Frodo was awake! That meant life, that meant hope!
At last, Emma and her companions skidded to a halt in front of Frodo's door. They rushed in to find him laughing with his cousins. He looked pale and still ill, but the smile on his face said that he was very much on his way to recovery.
Frodo glanced over Merry's shoulder and spotted the others. He and Emma shared a long look. Glad you made it through, too, it said. There were a lot of other things in that look, most of which Emma was pretty certain there were no names for.
Snow grinned and ran to the bed, hugging Frodo tightly. The latter looked surprised, and threw an awkward and slightly guilty look at David, who just laughed and clapped the little hobbit on the shoulder (the uninjured one).
"Good to see you looking so well, Mr Baggins." came Gold's voice, as he limped into the room, followed by Regina and a nonchalant Hook.
"And you, Mr Gold." the hobbit responded politely, having managed to disentangle himself from Mary-Margaret's embrace. He smiled at all his companions. "It's good to see all of you." he beamed. "For a while I thought I never would, you know."
"You remember what happened, then?" inquired Emma, taking a seat next to her mother.
Frodo sank back into his pillows, wincing a bit as his shoulder protested.
"Bits of it." he replied, sighing. "I remember the Nazgúl stabbing my shoulder, and then you attacking it, Emma - but then it's all jumbled up and I can't tell what was a dream and what was real. I even thought the elves were just part of my imagination, before Gandalf told me it was the Lady Arwen and the Lord Glorfindel who came to rescue us."
Emma glanced at Hook, smiling slightly. "Yeah, I think some of us are having trouble getting used to the idea of elves as well." she agreed.
Frodo propped himself back on his elbows again. "Talking about unbelievable things," he said, fixing her with a stern glare. "What were you thinking when you jumped on that Ringwraith? You could have gotten yourself killed! And what was that purple light coming out of you?"
"Ah. That - er... That was - um..." Emma mumbled. She glanced at Gold, unsure of what to say.
"That's what saved her, and the rest of us." completed David firmly. Gold and Regina raised their eyebrows at him, but let it pass. Emma felt awkward too; she didn't like to lie to the hobbits, but maybe it was for the best. And it's not exactly lying, came a little voice in her head, it's just...leaving something out.
Frodo clearly wasn't convinced, but the out-landers were saved from awkward questions by the arrival of Gandalf. The wizard smiled as he saw the entire company gathered around Frodo's bed. His eyes twinkled.
"I see I have missed out on joyful reunions," he commented. "No matter. I am sure you have had a lot to say to each other. Alas," he said, holding up an apologetic hand as they nodded eagerly and started to talk, "please forgive me for rushing this moment, for I fear there are grave matters which need to be discussed."
The wizard sat down beside Frodo and took out his pipe. His eyes were serious again, and the slightly haunted look Emma had seen in them when she had first awoken had returned.
"My friends," started Gandalf, "you have all asked me why I was there to meet you at the inn in Bree - and I replied that my tale could wait, for the safety of our companions was at stake. But now, I think, the time has come to tell you all of my travels since I left you that morning in the Shire." He paused. "Valar," he mumbled, "was it really only two weeks ago? Surely it must have been years..."
And so Gandalf proceeded to tell them of his 'old friend' Saruman the White - Saruman the Wise, the Head of his Council. He told them of Saruman's lack of reaction at the finding of the Ring, he told them of the palántir and the knowledge Saruman was drawing from it. He told them also of the other wizard's proposal of joining Sauron in his quest for Middle-Earth ("Fat chance." muttered Emma.) and of the ferocious duel with his former friend. The companions shuddered at the thought of the terrible things that had happened to their friend - what friendship could be cast aside so easily? Well, one with Saruman the White, apparently.
They listened in awe as he told them of his message to Gwaihir, King of the Eagles, and of how his flying friend rescued him from the top of Orthanc, to leave him in Rivendell, where he told of their company's plight to Lord Elrond.
"So it was you who told Elrond that we were in trouble?" asked Emma, confused. "This might seem like a stupid question, but... Why didn't you come yourself? You knew where we were, apparently." She frowned, realizing something. "Hang on," she said, "how did you know the Nazgúl were chasing us anyway?"
Gandalf rubbed his wrinkled forehead, looking like he had all the cares of the world.
"Saruman made no secret of the knowledge he had gained from his seeing-stone." he said darkly. "He told me the Nine had been sent from Minas Morgul to search for the Ring, and kill the one who bears it. As for where you were," he added on a lighter tone and smiling slightly at Emma, "wizards have their tricks, my dear. What are we if we reveal all our secrets, hm?"
Emma smiled in return and shrugged her concession.
Her companions weren't smiling, though. Gandalf's tale was grave news indeed.
"So let me get this straight," Hook said, fiddling with his rum. "Frodo is carrying the one thing that would make that bastard Sauron's control complete, and his most deadly creatures are chasing us as we speak. On top of that, one our our would-be most powerful allies has just turned to the other side. Oh, and my Jolly Roger is stuck on top of that bloody tree."
David winced. "Call me a pessimist," he sighed, "but those odds aren't exactly in our favour."
"Glad you agree, mate. Especially about my ship."
Emma glanced at her friend - oops, father - surprised. "You're talking as though we're part of this war." she remarked in a whisper.
Her companions looked at her, matching expressions of surprise on their faces.
"Of course we are, Emma." Snow said, looking like she couldn't quite believe what her daughter had just said. "We've been part of this war the moment we decided to travel with Frodo and help him."
Emma looked away, embarrassed. She shouldn't have said that. She recalled her fight with Snow in the woods beside Amon-Súl - it hadn't been mentioned at all since. It made her feel hot and guilty all over when she recalled the things that had been said. Especially about Snow's conviction their current mission was to save not only Frodo, but the whole of Middle-Earth. When she thought about it it seemed obvious: Frodo had been their host, their friend. It was natural to return the immense kindness he had shown them. Emma wanted to help Frodo - truly she did, but...her every instinct as a mother was pulling her away from this war. Every minute her mind strayed back to Henry, telling her not to get involved in order to find her son.
"Emma has a point, though." Regina interjected unexpectedly. "We wanted to help Frodo get the Ring to somewhere safe, and we have. Now we can go back to finding Henry."
"But... What about Frodo? And the Ring? Will it stay here?" asked Emma, unsure of what to think of anymore.
Regina glanced coolly at her. "Miss Swan, while perhaps you have been enjoying this...holiday," she said, her mouth twisting in contempt."I do hope you haven't forgotten the true motive of our journey: to find Henry." The former queen leaned back against a pillar and crossed her arms defensively. "I, on the other hand, have been worried about my son for every minute of every hour. We've fulfilled our purpose of bringing Frodo and the Ring safely to wherever the wizard said. I say we leave as soon as possible to find Henry."
Emma exchanged a glance with her parents. Regina's words resonated with truth, but with a truth so sad yet realistic that it filled her with guilt; firstly because they weren't currently trying to find Henry, secondly because that meant they would soon be abandoning Frodo and his friends.
Mary-Margaret looked uncomfortable. "Guys," she hissed, "d'you think we could talk about this later?" she glanced meaningfully at the onlooking hobbits and Gandalf. The hobbits were wearing matching expressions of confusion on their faces, and Gandalf like he knew something they didn't.
Emma blinked. She'd completely forgotten their presence. "Sure." she said hurriedly. "Right. Sorry." She rubbed her lap nervously. "So," she started again, "What's next? Does anyone have a plan?"
Gandalf puffed out a cloud of smoke. "Of sorts." he growled. "One which, I fear, will not surprise you miss Swan - nor you, Milady Mills. I doubt you will like it, though."
Emma exchanged a glance with Regina. This did not sound good.
Okay. So. Not exactly the ending I intended, but hey guys it's midnight and I have college tomorrow, sorry about that. See ya next time! (I'm really sorry, but I have NO idea when I'll be updating next - although don't despair: I have had frequent and sudden bursts of inspiration these days... = ) )
PS: Review review review! Please? #puppy eyes# Actually, no. I hate puppy eyes. #cow's eyes# (Am I the only one to think cows have beautiful eyes? I know. I'm strange. But that's something to celebrate!)
