Got the loveliest note on this fic on AO3 the other day! Thanks so much for all the support even with my infrequent and often delayed updates! Every note is a little ray of sunshine on dreary days.
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The pea-soup fog made it nearly impossible to tell time, even if it seemed less foreboding and dark than it had on the previous day, but according to Regina's watch it was nearly 7:00am, which meant the sun would be rising soon, if it hadn't already. It also meant she would have to wake her traveling companions so they could decide what to do with their still unconscious guests.
The previous night they had buried the hybrid body of the troll-man outside the barn, eaten a meager meal of scraped together oats and dried meat, both of questionable edibility, and come up with a basic watch schedule. They decided to split the night's watch into three four-hour increments, using Regina's watch to track the time. Hook had insisted on taking the first shift so she and Emma could sleep. He had settled on a busted crate by the small fire Regina had built on the dirt floor of the barn with her still-recovering magic. The man was bleary eyed and obviously coming down with a cold or the flu and probably in more desperate need of sleep than she and Emma at the time, but he had been adamant, Regina had been past caring, and Emma had relented. Emma had then made him promise not be a gentleman and actually wake her for her shift in four hours, and Killian had been forced to relent too.
It was a miracle that Regina managed to sleep through the night, however poorly, given the nightmares that plagued her. She dreamt of Robin presiding over a courtroom trial where she was condemned to death and him being powerless to stop it, and of watching Henry curse her and tell her what a sorry excuse for a mother she actually was, and over it all Cora's voice mocked her, telling her what a fool she was for thinking she could ever escape her fate as a villain. By the time Emma had startled her awake for the third and final watch, the hay surrounding Regina was slightly singed and her fists were clenched painfully, forcing her nails to dig into the skin of her palms.
Emma said nothing, handing her the watch wordlessly, but there was a knowing in her eyes that all at once irked Regina and comforted her. As the Savior fell into the hay pile next to Hook, Regina took momentary comfort in the stillness of the night and the peace it provided from her nightmares.
She passed much of the time by lighting small fires in her palm, taking solace in the fact that her magic seemed to be returning. But the hours she sat awake were too silent and her traitorous mind filled the quiet with the realities of her fears and their truth, the truth that Robin had done the honorable thing and left, and that if Henry hadn't actually been kidnapped then he had willingly run away.
She turned her gaze from the dying embers to the hay pile where the Savior and Hook lay sleeping, loosely wrapped in each other's arms. They had drifted toward each other in sleep over the course of several hours, and while it was hardly a lover's embrace, the minimal physical contact only seemed to amplify the intimacy between the two.
Regina tore her eyes away, a habit that was well engrained after six weeks.
Just when she thought she had a grasp on things and felt like she could actually focus on getting Henry back, the co-dependent leather lovebirds would do something sickeningly sweet and romantic that sucker punched her and left her to re-live the heartache of losing Robin again and again. Their every chaste kiss and shared doe-y eyed look plunged a knife into her, leaving Regina to startle the pair out of their own private Idaho and then remove herself from the saccharine sweetness of their blissful little romance.
She scowled. Did they honestly have to be touching all the time?
Regina didn't dare tell them to stop all together though. The PDA between the Savior and Hook had only really amped up in the aftermath of the pirate nearly losing his heart to Gold. She couldn't begrudge them needing the other's presence after such a near loss.
Her thoughts inevitably turned back to Robin, as they had constantly since his departure from the town. Maybe she wasn't meant to have romance in her happy ending, she thought, heart clenching in a familiar ache. Maybe raising Henry and making amends with Snow White was all she was meant to do. But then why give her that glimpse of happiness and completion with Robin only to snatch it away? Was it to taunt her for her cowardice all those years ago? To show her what she had missed out on by not walking into the tavern at Tinkerbelle's bidding?
When Greg Mendel had said villains like her didn't get happy endings she had questioned it but otherwise brushed it off, her focus purely on Henry's safe return from Neverland. Regina absolutely hated the idea that she was just a character in a story whose life was controlled by the whim of some Author, that she could be so off-handedly labeled as a villain instead of her own person, but if that was the case, then whoever this Author was, she needed to find them and ask for a happier ending, or at least some answers about her story thus far. It occurred to Regina, somewhere in the back of her mind, that the old her would have hunted this Author down and demanded he give her what she wanted. She would have threatened him, hurt him, and probably killed him in the end whether he had come through or not. Simply asking would have been unthinkably weak for the Evil Queen.
But Regina wasn't the Evil Queen anymore, was she? And if she wasn't that then who was she now? Not a hero, not a villain, she was just a mother searching for her son, the last vestige of her happy ending, because if she lost Henry, then what would she really have left?
The elderly couple on the ground twitched restlessly, occasionally muttering something incoherent but remained asleep, as they had for much of the night. The nobleman had shifted far less frequently; leaving Regina to wonder if he had somehow been more affected by the magical imprisonment than the other two. He was vaguely familiar to her, but in the way that many nobles were. The man's tall and sturdy build did nothing to separate him from the countless other nobles and royals she had met over the years. They all blurred together after a point, their faces a steady and constant stream of fear and loathing directed sharply at her whenever she made an appearance in anyone else's court or castle.
Regina wondered if she had done something to the man back when she had been the Evil Queen, and knew she would have to be wary of his reaction to her if and when he woke up.
"You recognize him too then." Hook's voice had her snapping her neck toward the pirate as he rolled a large chunk of broken wood next to her for a seat. His normally lilted accent was far too controlled for such an early moment of wakefulness, and it made Regina wonder just how long he had already been awake. She spared a glance back at the Savior, who was still curled up on the hay but now covered in the dark leather of Killian's jacket. Had she really been so deep in thought that she missed him getting up entirely?
"Yes, I recognize him," She admitted, "I know he's nobility but otherwise I don't know where he's from. Probably one of the untold millions I cursed at some point," She said, bitterness rising in her throat at the admission.
"For all we know he's one of my victims. Nobility were hardly exempt from my pillaging. Besides, three-hundred years of piracy leaves a man plenty of time to make enemies," Hook offered, but Regina wasn't buying it.
"We both know I caused a lot of pain in a shorter stretch of time."
Killian shrugged, running his fingers over his hook. "If you say so. But we were both once villains whom parents warned their children of at night to keep them out of mischief. We've more history in common than many realize, Highness." He gave her a sideways look that all but screamed he had more to say, and Regina's eyebrow twitched in annoyance at the pirate's attitude.
"Dare I ask for an elaboration pirate, or are you just going to barrel on through anyway?" He was always intruding on people's space, butting his hook into conversations and business he wasn't privy to as if he had always belonged there. And he usually came out of it looking like the cat that ate the fucking canary because he was a goddamn silver-tongued serpent. Yet he had somehow managed to gain acceptance among Storybrooke's citizens and heroes more easily and quickly than Regina feared she ever would. And now he had the nerve to try and talk about how they might be similar?
If Hook noticed her mounting anger he ignored it easily, diving right into the meat of his argument. "We have both of us loved and lost greatly, and we let those emotions consume us entirely. For all our misgivings and evils, let it never be said that we are incapable of great love and greater pain."
"I don't know what you mean," Regina lied, remembering with heartbreaking clarity a time when Robin had told her essentially the same thing.
"Oh I think you do, Highness. First loves lost at the hands of others, realm-crossing hunts for revenge involving a certain Crocodile that nearly consumed us, and holding absolute tyranny over our respective domains with cultivated fear and violence. Yet somehow, the long road to redemption has led us into the arms of single parents. While former villains like us may never feel we deserve their love, we'll spend the rest of our days fighting for them because they believe in us, and that we can change for the better."
It was another patented Charming family hope speech if she ever heard one. It was disguised in a lilted accent, but good grief, even the pirate had adopted the family's 'never-say-never' nonsense. But sick and bleary-eyed as he still was, the pirate had a point. Their histories had some surprising parallels, and even though Robin was now gone from her life forever, Regina knew she would keep trying to be better, just like Robin trusted and knew she could be.
But Hook never cursed an entire kingdom to another realm in his vengeance. Regina still didn't know exactly why Hook became a pirate in the first place, but she did know that his vengeance against Gold included trying to avenge the death of his first love with the death of a single man. Hook didn't have to face the people he had harmed every single day. The victims and bystanders to his revenge were long gone and even the focus of his vengeance was somewhere far away. The people of Storybrooke and even the Enchanted Forest only really knew him anymore by reputation, fearsome as it was. The fires of his crimes were not fresh in the people's memories; they had long since been extinguished. Instead, Killian Jones was blessed with a happy relationship with the Savior, and the wary but otherwise trusting gaze of the townspeople.
And it wasn't fucking fair.
A rustling pulled the pirate's attention toward where Emma was slowly waking up, her hands pulling the spare jacket a touch closer around her as she hummed contentedly. She rolled to her feet and lazily walked over to them, settling down next to Hook on the wooden chunk that served as a seat and leaning close to him.
"What're you guys talking about?" She asked, voice throaty from sleep.
"Comparing notes on former villainy, love. We've more in common than anyone knew. For instance, our shared appreciation of blondes," Hook replied entirely too cheerfully.
The Savior's confusion only lasted a moment and then she was shaking her head at him, smiling softly.
"And single parents with sons too, huh?" Emma asked, expression darkening at her own mention of sons. Hook took the opportunity of her closeness to wrap an arm around her.
"Aye, and that the remarkable women in these oddly similar relationships often feel the weight of the world on their lovely shoulders and the men simply wish to help ease their burdens by reminding them of their endless strength and the boundless love they have for them. To be their rock, so to speak, should they require it."
Obviously he wasn't just talking about parallels anymore. Some sort of understanding must have passed between the two, because Regina saw Emma's tired eyes find something recognizable in Hook's as she ducked her head into his neck. His own head fell against hers and his one good hand smoothed along her back.
Regina knew she was going to be sick from their incessant displays.
Thankfully, she was saved from their PDA by the rustle and groan of the elderly couple finally waking up. They muttered incoherently from the other side of the barn, and Regina jumped at the chance to be anywhere but in the presence of the leather-lovers.
"Where- Where are… Who…?" The man grumbled out, eyes blinking open in an unseeing daze. His arms flopped around him and he rolled his head from side to side, trying and failing to get his bearings.
"We freed you from the time watch," Regina explained, crouched in front of him as she watched him struggle. "Now who are you and how did you get stuck inside it? Did someone named 'John' put you there?"
The old man didn't seem to notice she was there though, and hazily swept his arms around him until they landed on the shoulder of the elderly woman, who was also starting to wake.
"Who are you?" He mumbled to the waking woman. "Don't I know you?"
That caught Regina's attention. She had assumed the two were a married couple, given the matching rings on their fingers, but the way they were flopping around, eyes unseeing and confusion seeping from them… Something magical was at work here. Regina wondered if it had to do with the fog, but quickly shoved the thought aside. Were that true surely she and her traveling companions would have felt the effects some time ago?
"Hey buddy, are you ok?" Emma approached them slowly, one hand held out as if she were approaching a skittish animal. Killian followed behind her, but remained several wary steps back. "Have you seen a kid around? You know, before you got stuck in that watch thing? He has brown hair, and you'd probably think his clothes looked really outta place?"
The old man didn't reply, but instead kept his gaze fixed on the woman next to him, something close to tenderness filling his features as he locked eyes with her. "I know you. I think I know you," He kept repeating, hand drifting down to rub over the simple ring on the woman's finger. The woman said nothing but stared at him with longing and confusion.
"Wait, they can't remember anything?" Emma whispered, horrified. "Is that what the watch does to people? Takes away their whole lives, years and memories and all?" Regina noticed the pirate stepping forward to stand next to Emma, his hand reaching for hers to twine their fingers together.
"No, they don't take memories, not that I know of anyway," Regina informed them. She waved a hand over the elderly couple; feeling for any additional magic radiating off of them that might explain their amnesiac symptoms. "This is different. There's something here underlying the residual magic from the time watch. A memory curse, and a poorly executed one at that," She said in realization.
"A memory curse? Why the hell would anyone wanna take memories away from these people?" The Savior's voice grew angry and Regina didn't need to turn around to know that Emma was probably glaring daggers right now.
"Perhaps they were caught in the crosshairs unwittingly amidst something larger?" Hook suggested far too reasonably.
"Yeah, something larger that Henry is gonna walk right into," Emma countered.
"We don't know that Swan. The lad's smart enough to avoid anything so obviously dangerous."
Regina interrupted them before they could dissolve into an argument, more interested in action than speculation. "The point is that these two can't tell us anything. We don't know who they are, or where they're from. There's nothing distinctive about their clothes or anything their carrying so we can't tell if they live near here or five hundred miles away, and we don't know if they saw Henry!" Regina stood suddenly, anger over-riding any need for finesse, marching over to the unconscious form of the nobleman lying several feet away. She knelt in front of the man and let her hands hover over his heart, magic gathering in her palms.
"Regina, what are you doing?" Emma asked, warily.
"His body isn't emitting any residual magic from a memory curse. Whoever he is, he remembers, so I'm getting answers." The recovered magic in Regina's hands shot into the nobleman's chest in a single bolt of lightning, triggering a brief spasm in his body. The man's eyes shot open and he scrambled upright, gasping for air and shoving himself away from them and straight into the wall. He was frantic and fearful, dark eyes darting around the barn and bouncing from person to person as he curled his body inward.
Owning such a large physical frame should have made the nobleman easily noticeable, or at least mildly intimidating, but even with his square jaw and graying dark hair he was surprisingly non-descript. Maybe it was the way he curled away from them, as if he were well accustomed to trying to hide his larger frame, or maybe it was the way he seemed to make himself even smaller when he caught sight of Regina. It was almost comical, and a small part of Regina, the part that used to pride herself on making others tremble, took pride in knowing her long absence from her home realm still left such an impression. The larger part of her hated that people still reacted so fearfully to her after all she had been doing to try and change.
"Do you know who you are? What your name is?" Regina demanded, needing answers and action.
The man nodded quickly, a fearful gleam still filling his eyes and his chest rising and falling in short, staccato breaths. When he tried to speak, his words came out disjointed and broken from lips that seemed at war with his thoughts.
"I know m-my name," He stammered.
"And?" Regina had no desire to coddle the man if he was going to be intimidated into sputtering.
"M-my n-name is…"
"Well? Spit it out!"
"Is that fear or stammering?" Regina heard Hook muse aloud behind her.
"P-prince Charles!"
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When Henry woke up the next morning after another restless night of semi-sleep, it was to a less cloudy and foreboding sky, and Mulan wiping an old clothe against her sword, cleaning the blade of residue. He said nothing at first, just watched her methodically stroking the weapon clean, obviously lost in the motions of something she had done a thousand times before. Now that he knew the sword and all her armor belonged to her father it was easy to see the source of the devotion and dedication she put into caring for her things.
"Wanna use my towel? For your sword? It's probably cleaner than what you're using," Henry suggested after a moment, a little wary. Yesterday when he had gotten mad at her and later when she had thrown walls around their conversation concerning her past, he had been more than a little nervous about what he might say in the morning.
If nothing else, the towel could at least be a peace offering. He had seen grandma Snow give peace offerings to people, sometimes successfully and sometimes not, but her willingness to try was often what counted more than the offering itself.
Mulan eyed him warily, remembering the previous night's confrontation, but much like with his grandma Snow, Henry saw a softening in her eyes that showed Mulan was at least willing to accept his gesture. She nodded, silently telling Henry to bring the towel to her. Henry grabbed his bag from behind him where he had been using it as a pillow the previous night, and moved forward on the ground toward her. Rooting through his overstuffed bag, he haphazardly threw notebooks and spare socks and other miscellaneous items onto the muddy ground, finally pulling out a small towel. Mulan nodded in thanks, taking the offering from him before pulling her eyes back to the weapon in her lap, continuing her ministrations.
Henry looked back down at the small pile he had pulled from his bag and frowned at the muddy mess that now covered his things.
"Aw, shit," He cursed.
"Language," Mulan muttered absently. Henry jerked his head toward her while her hands immediately stopped cleaning the sword. Mulan's entire body tensed as she realized that she had spoken aloud and Henry could only stare at her silently for several moments. Eventually he decided that brushing the grime off of his now muddy socks and notebooks was a better use of his time than staying surprised at Mulan for calling him out on his language like she was his mother. Mulan apparently felt the best use of her time now was to resume cleaning her sword with a little more force than was probably needed. Both of them were less than willing to actually speak now that the air had been broken and a silence fell over them.
Henry knew logically that only a couple admittedly awkward moments had passed but it felt like an eternity stretched out in a silent void. He couldn't stop fidgeting and once he finished cleaning and putting his things away he found himself itching for something to say.
"Hey um…" He started, having no clue whatsoever what to say and suddenly regretting speaking in the first place. "Is it true that uh…"
Mulan raised an eyebrow at him, still cleaning her now nearly spotless sword. Maybe she was just as anxious to keep her hands occupied as he was, Henry thought.
"Is it true you and Belle took down a yo-guy?" He finished lamely.
The only response was a confused scrunching of his companion's forehead. "A what?"
"A yo-guy? No wait, um, a yowgway? Um…"
"A youguai." She interrupted. "Yes, we did. Belle was able to track it to its lair when I could not."
"And that's how you met Philip, right? 'Cause after Aurora got put under the sleeping curse he was turned into the yow-thing?"
"Youguai," Mulan corrected, eyes narrowing at him. "You seem to know a good deal about that adventure already…"
Henry fidgeted under her scrutiny. "Grandma Bel- Er, Belle, told me some of it. And Philip and Aurora started to fill me in a bit too. They come over sometimes with their son for play dates with my grandparents and… Uncle…" He finished awkwardly. The idea that his uncle was an infant still took some getting used to in his head, and he could only imagine what it sounded like when he said it aloud.
If Henry thought Mulan's forehead would stay scrunched in confusion at his unique use of family terminology he was entirely unprepared to look up and see a thoughtful, saddened expression in her eyes instead, her gaze still glued to her sword.
"They are well then? Philip and… Aurora," She asked. It didn't escape Henry's notice that Mulan practically breathed out Aurora's name, but he decided not to comment on it.
"Yeah, they're good. Safe and happy in Storybrooke."
He saw the tension visibly leave her shoulders as she exhaled. "Safe. That is good then." She said it under her breath, and Henry thought she was doing it to reassure herself somehow.
Mulan took a hard look at her sword, having stopped her cleaning, and shook her head before speaking again. "Safe in Storybrooke is exactly where we need to get you. Let's pack up. The sooner we deliver everything to the castle the sooner we can find you a way home." She moved to stand, sheathing her sword and handing the towel back to Henry, thanking him for letting her borrow it.
"You keep it," He insisted. "I have another one in my bag. Besides, you should always know where your towel is."
The confusion on Mulan's face was comical now, almost reminding Henry of Killian's first experience with Netflix.
"It's from a book, 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'…" He tried to explain. When Mulan's confusion didn't lessen, as Henry knew it wouldn't because of course she had never heard of 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' just like she had never seen Indiana Jones or heard the Boy Scout motto, he sighed in defeat. "You know what? Nevermind. Don't worry about it." Henry began piling the smaller weapons he had been given the day before on top of his bag and strapping them down.
"A cloth towel does seem a rather useful item to knowingly carry…" Mulan mused, tucking the towel into her belt and picking up her own stack of weapons. "Perhaps not quite as helpful as a knife, but helpful nonetheless."
Hefting the bag onto his shoulders, Henry tried not to think about how much heavier it seemed than only yesterday. He also tried not to notice Mulan eyeing him oddly as he adjusted the bag. "You think a knife's better then?" He asked, wanting to move the focus away from his discomfort.
"Out here, most certainly. Cloth is good for cleaning, dressing wounds, acting as a makeshift blanket for warmth, but out here a weapon is more valuable, especially one as concealable and easily carried as a knife or dagger. You can defend yourself, cut down branches for a shelter or a fire, and hunt food…"
"I have a Swiss army knife," Henry noted. He remembered showing it to Robin Hood back when the man was still in Storybrooke and the outlaw being impressed with the compact nature of the multi-tool. "I mean, the knife is barely as long as my finger, but it's still kinda useful."
"As a means to clean small animals or carve something?" Mulan asked, genuinely curious. Before Henry could answer her, Mulan's attention was pulled away when she spotted something a short way up the road. "One moment," She said briefly, walking quickly to a small cluster of tall, white flowers. Mulan began digging around the base of the plants with her hands, carefully pulling the entire plant up from the ground, roots and all, and shaking off the clinging dirt.
"What is it?" Henry asked, approaching her.
"Yarrow," She replied, giving the plant a once over. "It's an herb. Depending on how it's prepared it's good for treating all sorts of ailments; bleeding, fever, cuts, general aches and pain… I always keep a small stock on me. We've been lucky these past few days to avoid serious injury, but it's always better to be prepared before something happens."
Henry snorted a quiet laugh. "Boy scout motto," He muttered under his breath.
Mulan turned to look at him with one eyebrow raised, and held the tall plant out for his inspection. "Here," She said, watching him take the plant in hand. "Learn what it looks like, what it smells like, and if you spot any on the road while we're walking, tell me and we'll stop to grab some."
Henry turned the plant over in his hands and took a tentative sniff of the flowers. They smelled nice, he supposed. He thought he recognized the plant from somewhere. Maybe from Regina's spell books or any of the bouquets he had seen his grandpa David give grandma Snow, but there were probably tons of different plants with flowers that were tiny, white, and too numerous to count, so he wasn't entirely sure.
"But why are you grabbing the roots too? And how did you learn all this? Did your dad teach you?" He asked.
"The roots have their uses just like the rest of the flower," She replied smoothly.
"Kinda like with dandelion roots?"
Mulan smiled at him, and Henry got the impression she was a little pleased with him. "Yes, actually, like dandelion roots. But no, my father did not teach me. I learned during-" She stopped short, holding herself back for a moment from saying whatever it was that was too personal or painful a memory to revisit right away. "I learned during the war," She said quietly after a long moment. "All the soldiers carried yarrow with them. It was how we treated many of our wounds after battle when there weren't enough doctors. Many of us grew far too accustomed to treating our own wounds."
The image that painted itself in Henry's mind of the warrior in the aftermath of a battle was colorless and bleak, heavy with the weight of her armor and the weight of the lives she had no doubt taken on the battlefield. He envisioned her stitching cuts and gashes shut on her arms and legs, grinding and mixing yarrow into pastes and teas to treat her wounds, and digging graves for as many of the dead as she could to find some semblance of peace for them and herself.
A distant part of his mind told him it sounded like a great story, and that he should find out more. He shook the thought aside, not knowing where it had come from.
Mulan took the yarrow from Henry and held it gingerly, her eyes locked on the flowers with a glazed expression and deep in thought. Henry waited with bated breath, wanting to encourage her to open up but not wanting to push her if she didn't want to talk about her past. He had danced this same dance with his mom, Emma. Was still doing that dance, if he thought about it. There was plenty about the lives of his relatives that he didn't know and he knew he would have to be patient if he wanted answers, assuming they wanted to share at all.
And right now it didn't seem like Mulan wanted to share.
Henry sighed in defeat, accepting that he would have to wait a bit longer to learn Mulan's back-story. "I can grind the flowers and stems for you if you want? Regina showed me how."
"No, we'll keep the plants whole for now. But truly, she did?" Intrigue flashed over her features and she stood, beginning to walk down the road. "The Evil Queen taught you magic?"
Henry followed, falling in step beside her and glad to be on the move again. "Not really magic, and not really teaching. More of standing next to her and watching her make potions and counter spells and maybe trying to read one or two of her spell books when she wasn't looking. Kinda like what I did in grandpa Gold's shop when I was spying on him…" He clarified, a little guiltily.
"So you watched and learned in secret then?" She asked, a knowing and amused smile gracing her face before she turned her gaze back onto the road as they walked. "What sort of things did you learn?" Mulan asked conversationally.
Henry returned her smile, and he eagerly told Mulan about the potions he had been studying, how he had started noticing commonalities between certain ingredients and the types of spells they were used for. It felt good to talk about something he knew a little about. It made him forget that his over-laden backpack was somehow growing heavier by the minute and that he hadn't eaten any sort of breakfast that morning. It also helped him forget about the unease floating across his mind whenever his thoughts strayed just a little too closely to the troll-humans that he and Mulan had seen in the past few days and just how they had met their end.
As they walked along the road, Henry chattering away about one of grandpa Gold's books about mermaids and Mulan occasionally interrupting to point out herbs and helpful plants on the side of the road, the tension from before seemed to melt away. Every sentence he spoke and every encouraging smile and word from Mulan was another brick gone from the wall that stood between them that morning, and Henry found himself eager to tear the whole thing down, word by word, and brick by brick.
