Disclaimer: Nothing from the show belongs to me.

A/N: Here, have more feels, since it's the anniversary and all. This chapter is one I've wanted to write for a while, but it was harder than I'd imagined. I realize this is not exactly Graham's backstory from the show, but let's chalk the differences up to this being AU.

As always, I so appreciate everyone who is reading, reviewing, following, favoriting this story/me. Seriously, you guys are the best. Whether you faithfully review every chapter or have only reviewed once or twice, I hope you know how much your support means to me.

Many thanks to Melissa for betaing (twice!). She says useful things every once in a while, despite the fact she can't plot or title to save her life.


The cave wasn't far from the stream. He had the bow in one hand and Emma's slim fingers in the other as he led her through a dense patch of trees. The Queen's men would be coming for them. He remembered his own training well: they had to pursue anyone who was shooting at them and they were well-equipped to hunt down their prey. He had to get Emma to safety before that happened. He had promised to take her down into the valley – he had to take her down to the valley because she wouldn't be able to make it on her own – and he couldn't very well do that if he was captured and killed by Regina's men.

"In here," he breathed, gesturing toward the mouth of the cave. Emma followed him inside.

He could still hear the sounds of the Queen's men making their way through the woods. They were going to be thorough, and he knew as well as they did that a cave was a perfect place for rebels to hide. The inside of the cave was dark: the only available light came from the mouth. But Graham knew what he had to do.

"How can I help?" Emma asked as though she had read his mind.

"We need to close the mouth of the cave," he replied. "We have to move that boulder."

Emma eyed it. He hoped she wasn't afraid of the dark. "All right," she said after a moment. She laid down her sword.

Graham walked over to the boulder and pushed on it experimentally. It was heavy, but it wouldn't be impossible to move. He just hoped they could close off the mouth of the cave in time. He could hear the footsteps coming closer, as well as the shouts of Regina's men, demanding that the shooter show himself. He knew that Emma could hear them, too. "Ready?" he asked as soon as Emma was in position. She nodded. "On my count then," he said. "One, two, push!"

With their combined effort, the boulder moved easier than he had expected. They slid the rock across the mouth of the cave until it hit the other side with a thud. As Graham had expected, they were plunged into total darkness. He heard Emma draw a sharp breath.

"It's all right," he said quietly. "Your eyes will adjust."

Emma laughed nervously. "If you say so."

"Take my hand," he said. He would have taken hers, but he didn't want to startle her. He felt Emma's hand land on his elbow, and then she felt her way down to his palm. He squeezed her hand.

"What do we do now?" Emma asked.

"We wait."

He could no longer hear the footsteps or the shouts and knew that the boulder was thick enough that the Queen's men wouldn't hear them in the cave either. There was always the chance the soldiers would move the boulder, but Graham didn't expect them to put in that much effort. He hoped they had figured out by now that the shooter wasn't a threat.

"Do you want to sit down?" Emma's voice broke into his thoughts.

Graham nodded before remembering that she couldn't see him. "Sure."

The cave floor was cool and covered in dirt. It was a long time since he had been in a cave. Not since…not since his childhood, really. If one could call it that.

It's a long story, he had told her. One he'd never had the courage to tell anyone.

It's a rather strange story, too.

But maybe he could tell Emma.


It happened one dark, cold night.

He wasn't sure if it was the roar of the flames or the suffocating smoke that woke him; all he knew was fire. He rushed to the door and tried to open it, but the heat seared his hand. He recoiled with a sharp cry, cradling one hand in the other as he ran to the window. The smoke was so thick he could barely see, but he knew he had to get out. It was his only chance.

He pushed the window open with his good hand and poked his head out. He could see the other villagers running about frantically, calling for family members. The entire village was on the fire.

The Evil Queen. She'd found a way to destroy them at last.

He shimmied out of the window and dropped down onto the hard ground. His burnt hand was smarting, but he couldn't just lie there. He scrambled to his feet and ran toward the cottage door. His parents might still be inside.

But it was over in one resounding boom.


"Graham?"

She heard him turning toward her, shifting his weight. Even though she couldn't see his face, she could feel his breath against her chin as he replied, "Yes, Emma?"

Emma swallowed. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"For what?"

She wasn't sure why he sounded so surprised. "For getting us into this mess," she replied. "If we hadn't – if I hadn't been shooting arrows then maybe-"

"No," Graham cut her off. "It's not your fault." Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Graham continued, "It's mine. I knew about the streams, I knew that's where the Queen's army puts their camps. I should have tried to teach you somewhere else."

"Or maybe you shouldn't have taught me at all," Emma muttered.

"Emma." She felt Graham squeeze her hand. "Don't say that. You were right to ask me to teach you. You absolutely need to know how to defend yourself."

"All right," Emma said quietly.

"I mean it," Graham continued. "You've already seen how dangerous the world can be. And you know the Evil Queen is starting a war. Chances are you're going to be in the middle of it."

Emma balked. "What?" Fighting off the Queen's guards was one thing, but fighting an entire war? She could barely fight off one soldier, let alone hundreds of them. And war almost certainly meant more deaths. Maybe even by her own hand.

"I don't want to kill anyone," she whispered.

"You don't have to," he assured her.

"But what if I do?" Emma asked. "Like that soldier earlier…the Butcher. I killed him, didn't I?"

Graham hesitated for a second before admitting, "Yes."

Emma exhaled. The thought made her sick. Even knowing that it had to be done wasn't enough to take away that nauseous feeling of having that much power over someone else's life.

"But that's what it's like out here," Graham continued gently. "Sometimes it's kill or be killed. That's what happens in a war. Everyone fights to the death. That's what it takes to survive."

Emma shivered slightly, thinking about Regina. It was hard to imagine her fighting anyone, let alone fighting to the death. She remembered her mother telling her that she fought against the Evil Queen so that Emma could live in a better world than she had. Her mother had promised to fight hard. Emma wondered if she had ever killed anyone.

"Killing is inevitable in war," Graham went on. "But there are ways of killing that are less…cruel."

"What do you mean?" Emma asked.

"You kill out of necessity," Graham explained, "not out of pleasure. The Evil Queen kills for pleasure. That's part of what makes her so evil. She's a ruthless monster who doesn't care about anyone but herself. When she kills someone, she feels no remorse. She feels the opposite. She feels joy."

Emma shuddered. "That's horrible."

"It is," Graham agreed. "But you're nothing like that, Emma. You do feel remorse, even though you knew that you had to kill the Butcher. And you only killed him because you had to, not because you wanted to."

Emma swallowed. "I suppose that's true."

"I know it is."

"And you…?" Emma paused, unsure how she wanted to phrase her question. If she could even ask it.

"I've killed people," Graham said quietly. "Not many, but some. And only when I had to."

"Or when you were ordered to," Emma added, thinking about what Graham had said about the Evil Queen and her army.

Graham hesitated. "Sometimes. I didn't always do what I was ordered to do."

"That's brave of you," Emma said. "I don't know if I could do that."

"I think you could," Graham assured her. "Sometimes you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy. But you have a good heart, Emma. I know what you would choose."


The first thing he felt was something wet against his face. He groaned and rolled to one side; his entire body ached. He could feel something hard pressed against his cheek, and he realized that he was lying on the ground. He opened his eyes.

A wolf stared back.

For a moment, he was too scared to move. He realized that the wolf had been licking his face. Did she (he didn't know why it's a she, but he just knew it was) want to make him her next meal?

But no, he realized, peering into the wolf's serene eyes. There was something…kind in her expression. Concerned, even. He wondered if she had been trying to revive him.

He sat up and looked around. The wolf stayed next to him. He was surrounded by smoke and ruined buildings. There was no one else around. He could go through the rubble of the cottages, but he already knew what he would find. When he looked at the wolf again, he saw something sad in her expression, as though she were confirming his fears.

His family was gone.

He waited for the wolf to move, but she never did. She seemed perfectly content to sit with him, patiently waiting for him to make the first move. He realized she was waiting for him to be ready to leave.

He got to his feet slowly. The world spun for a moment; he wondered how hard he had hit his head when the force of the explosion had propelled him back. He took a step forward and stumbled. He would have landed face-first on the ground if it weren't for the wolf. His hand landed on her back instead, and he was able to steady himself. It was then that he realized why she was still there.

She would be his family now.


The pitter-patter of rain on top of the cave became a full-blown thunderstorm in a matter of minutes.

The storm caused Graham to chuckle, and when Emma asked why, he replied, "Because the Queen's army will be washed away."

"What do you mean?" He imagined her furrowing her brow.

"They're not going to continue looking for us," Graham explained. "They're going to go for shelter."

"What if they go for shelter in here?"

He hadn't thought of that. "They won't," he answered after a moment's hesitation. "They're going to want somewhere they can easily access. They don't know what's behind the boulder; for all they know, it's more rock and not a cave at all. They won't waste their time trying; they'll just find somewhere else." Graham frowned thoughtfully. "Most likely they'll keep moving toward the valley. They're not going to stay behind to find a shooter who has clearly disappeared."

"Oh," was Emma's response.

"We'll probably be able to leave after the storm passes," Graham assured her. "I'm sure you're sick of the dark by now."

"It's not so bad after a while," Emma replied.

Graham smiled to himself. He loved that she approached everything with an open heart and mind. It's why he could even consider telling her. Because he knew she would listen. She wouldn't look upon him with disdain like some of the other soldiers had after learning he had been raised by wolves. She wouldn't scoff if he told her he couldn't remember his real name. She wouldn't laugh if he told her why he had chosen to call himself Graham.

He took a deep breath. "I was thinking about what I said earlier. When you asked me who taught me how to listen."

"You don't have to-"

"I want to."

The conviction in his tone surprised him, but he knew that if he couldn't tell her, he would never tell anyone. His heart pounded in his chest while he waited for her response. His heart leapt when she said, "Please tell me."

Please tell me…as though he were doing her a favor by telling her his story. If she had any idea how much it meant to him that she would listen… He exhaled, wondering where to begin. "It's a really strange story," he warned her.

"You said that the first time," she pointed out kindly.

Right. "It's – I've never told anyone this before."

Emma squeezed his hand. "There are lots of things that I've told you that I've never told anyone else before, Graham."

Graham.

Graham.

"That's not my name," he muttered.

"I'm sorry?"

He cleared his throat. "Graham's not my real name," he said, louder this time.

He knew she was frowning. "What do you mean?" Emma asked. "If Graham's not your name, then what is?"

He hesitated a moment before replying, "I don't have one."


There was a village near the edge of the forest. At first, he observed it from a distance, trying to figure out if these people supported the Evil Queen or Snow White. After he realized they were good, he ventured closer. Never close enough to be seen (his wolf-mother had taught him a lot about staying hidden), but close enough to catch snippets of conversation.

"I've heard they've settled in the valley."

"Do you think they'll fight back?"

"They just lost their daughter. Give them time."

He caught sight of a young boy with a head of unruly hair. He was dancing around the two conversing women, clearly impatient for them to be done. Every so often, he would tug on his mother's hand.

"Not now, love," was her patient reply.

"But Mama!" the boy would protest, pouting.

Watching this scene unfold, he couldn't help but smile. The boy reminded him of himself.

But the smile slid off his face, the happy memory tainted by the fact that he would never see his parents again. He would never be able to pester his mother into ending a conversation, or hold her hand, or ask her to tuck him into bed. He would never feel the cool touch of her hand on his head when he got sick. He would no longer be able to smile to himself in the darkness when his father came in to give him one last kiss when he thought his son was asleep.

That life was over. Gone in the blink of an eye.

"Graham!" the boy's mother scolded suddenly. "Behave yourself." The boy heaved a sigh and turned away.

Graham.

Graham.

The little boy's name was Graham.


As she listened to his story, she realized how similar their lives had been. Both orphaned, but taken in by loving mothers. No sibling, no father; just a mother. Except that Graham's mother was a wolf. Emma wondered what would have happened if Regina hadn't found her. Would someone have wanted her? Would a wolf have adopted her, too? Or would she have frozen to death, lost and alone somewhere in the forest?

"What happened to the boy?" she wanted to know. "Did you ever get to meet him?"

"No," Graham replied quietly. "I never met him. I wanted to – I even thought his family might want me, too, but…"

"But what?" Emma whispered. "You couldn't leave the wolf?"

"No, it's not that," Graham said. "She would have been all right if I left. She knew I couldn't stay with her forever, she was just there to help me…get back on my feet. No," Graham continued, sighing heavily. "I never met the boy because he died."

Emma's breath caught in her throat. "He died? How?"

"I – don't know," Graham said, although Emma was sure he was lying. "But after he died, I didn't want to bother his family. And then we left that part of the woods. Moved further up from the valley, higher on the hill. I didn't see any other villagers after that for a long time." Emma bit her lip, unsure of what to say. Graham went on, "Anyway, that's how I learned all those things about the forest. How to listen, how to catch and kill prey, how to find water. She taught me."

Emma wanted to ask if his wolf was still alive, but she was too afraid of the answer. Graham had suffered so much, she didn't think she could bear it if he'd lost his wolf, too. Instead, she offered, "I was found by my mother, too, when I was a baby. I've never met my parents either."

"Does your mother know what happened to them?"

Emma shook her head. "No. She said she never knew them. She just found me one day, wrapped in a blanket." Emma chuckled. "I suppose that's how she knew my name was Emma. It was stitched onto the fabric." She paused and then added, "I still have that blanket."

"Then you know they loved you," Graham assured her. "They wrapped you in a blanket, they took care of you. Maybe they just wanted to give you your best chance. Or maybe…" He trailed off, but Emma knew where he was going.

"Maybe the Evil Queen killed them, too." It was a possibility she had considered, but never asked her mother about. Regina probably wouldn't know the answer anyway, seeing as she hadn't known her parents. Still, the thought was oddly comforting. She liked the idea of her parents being brave and fighting against the Evil Queen, trying to make the world a safer place for their daughter. It was a better story than having parents who abandoned her in the woods.

"I've been scared of her my whole life," Emma admitted. "When I was younger, I wanted to see the outside world. I used to beg my mother every year to take me to the lanterns. And the one year she tried…" Emma swallowed hard at the memory.

"You were hit in the leg."

Emma frowned. "How – how did you know that?"

"You told me," Graham replied.

"I told you that I was attacked," Emma said slowly. "I never said where I was hit." She shifted uncomfortably. She never talked about her scar with anyone, not even her mother.

"Oh," Graham answered. "I just – I saw the way that you covered it. When I asked if you wanted to see the lanterns, and you said no. And I just…I guessed."

"Ah," Emma said. Now that he said it, it should have been obvious. She already knew he was very observant.

"I think learning archery may help with that fear, though," Graham continued. "Was it an arrow that hit you?"

"Yes," Emma said, rubbing her leg with her free hand.

"One of the best ways to master your fear is to learn to use the weapon that hurt you," Graham explained. "You don't have to be afraid of the arrows if you know how to use them."

Emma considered this. She wanted to ask him if he would teach her again once they got out of the cave, but she didn't want to put them in more danger. It seemed like learning to shoot would be less risky after the war. She frowned, wondering if there would be an after the war, and if there was, if it would involve Graham. Once she found her mother, they could go back to the cottage together. She hoped her mother would still allow Graham to come see them. Maybe once the war ended, the Evil Queen would be defeated, and she would be able to leave the cottage on her own.

"Why did you tell me your name was Graham?" Emma wanted to know. "I mean – I understand why that name is meaningful to you, but why did you…?"

"I didn't want you to call me the Huntsman," Graham replied. "It's too impersonal, it's – it felt cold. It's what the other soldiers called me. And I didn't want to be reminded of that around you."

Emma's heart swelled, but she also heard the tone of sadness in Graham's voice. "You know you're nothing like them, right?"

"Thank you, Emma," he said after a long moment. Then he sighed. "But I'm more like them than you know."


He emerged from the forest just as the sun was rising. He'd heard the Queen's soldiers pillaging the village the night before, and he knew well enough by now that they always found some village to ransack on the night the lanterns went up. It was the Queen's way of reminding everyone that while she would allow the yearly protest, she still remained in control.

He wanted to fight back, wanted to grab a bow and arrow and start shooting at the soldiers. But he felt the wolf tense at his side; he knew she didn't want him to go. He was her pack now.

Still, he couldn't contain the grief that welled in his chest when he saw the body. Graham's body, his tiny, broken body, lying on the ground. His dark curls, slick with blood, were plastered across his face. His parents were nowhere to be found.

That life was over. Gone in the blink of an eye.

Graham still clutched the fragment of a lantern in his hand.