wow, okay. this monster kinda got away from me, and in doing so, i had to cut out the title piece of this chapter. so, the next chapter (the final chapter) will be another two parter, and then i'll do the epilogue. i promise, every bad thing will be matched by a good thing - you just have to trust me!
that's about it for this installment. i'm healing well, just a little sore, so i should be around more than had initially anticipated. here's hoping you like this one! xoxo!
Emma was back in the mirrored room. She cringed, involuntarily, when she began to hear the dull roar of the angry, hateful words begin again. She was in the nightgown that Gwen had given her that first night, which she'd slept in ever since, and her bare feet felt tender on the hot metal floor.
Hot? She frowned, kneeling down to brush her fingertips lightly across the surface. She pulled them back quickly, wincing at the uncomfortable sensation. She took a breath, remembering her training, and sent a wave of coolness down to her hands. The discomfort was over, and Emma cooled her feet as well so she could continue to keep them upon the floor.
The words grew louder, but Emma could hear another sound, even more terrifying, coming from under her toes. There was a hiss, a loud crackle, and then a scream as the steel tiles beneath Emma gave way and sent her tumbling down into a smoky, flame-filled room.
"Help!" Emma yelled, coughing as her lungs took in clouds of sooty black air. "Please, somebody help!"
"No one can help you now, dear," a smooth voice came from the fire. "You're all alone."
Emma wiped her eyes, and peered through the hot fog to make out Regina's features coming out of a particularly ferocious-looking flame.
"Even if we could help, we wouldn't," another, even more familiar voice spoke. Emma didn't have to look to recognize this one at her mother's. "You've become quite a burden to us, Emma. You're angry, you're volatile, you're stubborn - what would you do in our position?"
"Your mother's right, Emma." The girl's heart dropped when she heard her father's voice. "It's hard enough taking care of one child, but two? How is that fair to us, Emma? We just found each other again - don't we deserve some peace? I always wanted a boy, anyhow."
"You ruin everything, Emma!" Emma turned, as if seeing the face in front of her would make the words anymore palatable. "I'm supposed to be your son, but now I'm your brother, and you even managed to ruin that for me! You always get in the way and make messes of things. Why can't you just be normal?"
Emma just couldn't help herself. Henry was the icing on the cake, and she could no longer hold back the hurt and fearful tears. "Why would you say that?" She wept.
"All we wanted was a child to be proud of," Snow said sadly. "You couldn't even give us that."
"Goodbye, Emma," Charming said, pulling the flaming version of Henry along with him.
"Wait!" Emma sobbed. "Wait, please don't go! Please, I'll be good, I'll do anything! Just please, don't go!"
"Emma," Henry said, with a shake of his head. "Emma."
"What?" Emma reached out for Henry, trying to grab his fiery hand.
"Emma," he said again, with a little more force.
"What?" This time, Emma was successful in grabbing her brother's hand, but pulled hers back immediately when she felt the burn.
"Emma!" Henry yelled, but Emma could see him anymore. All she could see was darkness, and she yelled back.
"Henry!"
"Emma!" Henry shook his sister harshly, terribly afraid at this point. "Emma, please wake up!"
Emma sat up in bed so fast that she knocked her head into Henry's, and both kids grabbed their skulls in pain. "Henry," Emma said breathlessly, when they'd recovered.
"Emma, you wouldn't wake up," Henry cut in. "I was so scared!"
"Sorry," she said timidly. "You were there, and so were Ma-Snow and James, and your mom...it was really scary."
She looked down at her hand, which wasn't burned, but was slightly flushed.
"I'm sorry," Henry sympathized, wrapping his arms lightly around his shaken sister. He noticed her gaze. "Oh, I'm sorry. I must have overheated when I was trying to wake you," he said, looking away. "I really was scared."
"Sorry," she mumbled again embarrassedly. "And it's okay. But, um..." She quieted, blushing furiously.
"What?" Henry asked, sitting back on his heels to give her some space.
"Will you...sleep in here tonight?"
"I always sleep in here," he answered with a frown, gesturing to the bedroom they shared.
"Not here here," Emma said, motioning to the room at large. "I mean here here," she muttered embarrassedly, pointing to her bed.
"Oh," Henry said nonchalantly. "Sure!" He was glad he'd brought his blanket over with him, because that way he could just crawl into bed next to his sister and fall asleep. He slipped in beside her, on the wall edge, and wrapped his blanket around Emma and his arm around his blanket. Emma bunched her blanket back up underneath her neck, and scooted back into Henry's embrace.
"Thank you, bubba," she whispered softly, the oft-unused nickname feeling thick and melancholy on her tongue.
"You're welcome, sis," he shot back, unaware of her sad feelings. "Goodnight."
"'Night," she agreed, closing her eyes and trying to fall back asleep.
Henry began to snore about five minutes after they snuggled up, and Emma knew she'd feel the lack of sleep in the morning, but she just couldn't seem to keep her eyes shut. Every time she tried, a sickening red image would pop up before her eyes, and she'd spook. Her muscles ached, and she wished she could rest, but sleep would not come until the nightmares stopped.
"Good morning, dearest," James whispered to his wife, waking her from her slumber.
Snow's eyes lit, as they always did, when she saw her husband. It happened with even more intensity now, because Snow had been away from her Charming for ever so long. "Good morning, Charming," she reciprocated the greeting.
Snow and James both were exponentially proud of their children for bringing Storybrooke back to the Enchanted Forest, even if there was nothing much to come back to. The dwarves, the fairies, and other assembled townspeople had volunteered to begin the forest clean-up - some were responsible for wildlife preservation and reintroduction; others for building renovation and renewal; and others still for basic, day-to-day needs. Graham - the Huntsman had chosen to keep his first "given" name - headed up the first sector, with Gepetto taking point on the second, and Granny Lucas running the third.
Admittedly, Snow had not had the easiest time adjusting to the readdition of the town into her life - which was, really, not her fault in the least. When the town came through, the Mary Margaret from 1993's Storybrooke and the Snow from 2012's Enchanted Forest had merged, leaving her with two sets of warring memories and a massive headache, which promptly knocked her out. When she came to, her husband was hovering over her worriedly and her kids were looking pale as ghosts. It had taken her a while to reassure them that everything was, in fact, fine.
But now, the kids were learning everything that Snow and James had ever wanted to teach them - including, reluctantly, swordsmanship - and her family was finally together again, and Snow couldn't wait for this whole thing to be over so she and her husband could have the jobs that they'd always wanted: the jobs of being parents to their children.
Speaking of, James cut into Snow's mind wanderings. "What lessons do our children have this morning?"
"Magic, strategy, and archery, you know that," Snow scolded teasingly.
"Well, if neither of us have to teach the first two, then we can just lay around in bed..." James suggested, waggling his eyebrows.
"James!" Snow acted offended at the very idea. "I have to teach archery."
"Oh, Mulan can do that."
"She's already doing strategy, today - Arthur has another obligation and Mulan said she'd fill in."
"What's one more?"
"She's got dueling after lunch."
"Well-"
"And the Round Table meeting this afternoon, James," Snow interrupted, before he could say anything else. "I can't ask her to cover for me."
"Well, what about one of the other instructors?"
"None of them are archers, Charming," Snow sighed, a bit exasperated. "I'm sorry, but I just don't think it'll work out."
"Then can I watch you practice?" James asked, giving Snow an exaggerated impression of their childrens' puppy dog eyes. "Pretty please?"
Snow guffawed. "Of course you may, Charming."
"Hooray!"
Snow giggled more at her husband's childlike antics, and rewarded him a little while longer for his agreeableness.
"We're going to shift our focus starting today," Merlin began, tapping his fingertips together and pacing back and forth in front of the kids. "For some time, now, we've been preoccupied with returning the people of the Enchanted Forest here. And now that we've accomplished that goal, I think it's imperative that we proceed to working on honing each of your special talents."
Merlin continued to speak, and Morgana, who had been preparing potions ingredients, swiveled on her stool to look at Emma and Henry. Henry's eyes were drooping, and Emma was slumped over against her brother, nearly sliding off their bench. Softly, Morgan cleared her throat, and both kids sat up straight.
Grinning slyly, Morgan pulled a face, with her pointer fingers stretching her mouth, her ring fingers pulling down her lower eyelids, and her tongue flapping out between her elongated lips. Henry and Emma tittered, but Merlin didn't even notice. So Morgan made another face, this time crossing her eyes, sticking her hands up behind her head, and curling her tongue out to touch the tip of her nose.
Henry giggled, and Emma laughed silently until she let out a loud snort. Merlin looked up, and both children snapped to attention.
"Have I missed something?" He asked, unfazed.
"No, sir," Henry said immediately.
Emma couldn't stop her grin, but she shook her head wildly.
"Well, that about sums it up," he muttered to himself, referring to his speech. "Let's get on with the lesson, then, shall we?"
Merlin told Morgan and Henry to go examine the potions materials, and he would work on finding Emma's other talent. They had already discovered that Henry could create fire - he could heat his body to burning without damage to himself, and could also char things by staring at them too long. Emma had ice as her element. She could cool her body down like Henry could warm his up, and she had been known to freeze Henry's water at the dinner table.
And though they'd soon discovered that Henry's second power was to heal, they were confused on Emma's second power. The prophecy had assisted in figuring out Henry's skill - "health renew" - but was leaving Merlin and Morgana baffled as to Emma's power. They knew it had something to do with flight, but they weren't exactly sure how that would happen.
"Okay, Emma," Merlin directed calmly. "Remember what we talked about? Close your eyes, block out everything but the sound of my voice. Even out your breathing, and let go," he coached, watching as Emma's eyes shut and her chest rose and fell in time with a slow, silent beat.
Emma let herself drift into the oblivion. She was one girl, floating aimlessly in an endless black space. Merlin's voice grew softer, but it was still there.
"Can you imagine yourself flying?"
Emma saw herself sprout wings, and she flapped them experimentally. She didn't move. She flapped them harder, trying to cut through the air with her hands, but it was as if she was tethered to an unseen pole, and she'd reached the end of her lead.
Emma hated feeling stuck. She had been trapped too many times in her life to be comfortable with this lack of motion.
Suddenly, Emma's mind blanked, and she was no longer floating around in space. Instead, she was back in Cleveland, and she couldn't breathe from the weight of the man lying on top of her.
"You're a bad seed, Swan!" Mr. Buskirk hissed. Though Emma's face was pressed into the sheets, she could smell the acrid reek of his pork rind and beer breath. "You're an ungrateful little brat!"
At first, when Emma had come to stay with the Buskirks, she'd tried to deny Mr. Buskirk's claims about her bad behavior. But, even at seven, she was able to learn fast that it was easier on everyone to keep her mouth shut, and let him rant at her. It always made the punishments somewhat easier to bear.
Mr. Buskirk had a beefy forearm on Emma's back, keeping the scrawny blonde in place. His other arm was in the air, and Emma was thankful she'd heeded her foster sister's warning that morning to wear an extra pair of pants as she heard the leather belt swoosh through the air and crack down on her upturned rump. She bit down hard on the nearest pillow, but you could still hear a bit of her high-pitched scream.
"Hurts, don't it?" Mr. Buskirk smirked. "Wish you were less of a gnat, now, don't ya?"
Emma had had enough. "I'm not a gnat!" She yelled.
"Don't you talk back, girl!" Mr. Buskirk snarled. "You know what? Get up!" He grabbed her bicep and hauled her over to the end of the bed. He pushed her over, shoving her face into the bedspread, and yanked her pants and underwear down around her ankles. Emma kicked and fought, but Mr. Buskirk was much bigger and stronger than she. He raised his belt again, only this time, the buckle was out. He brought it down, square into the center of Emma's back.
"No!" Emma whimpered, her eyes flying open. She took in a shaky breath when she saw Merlin looking down at her worriedly.
"Princess?" Merlin asked, putting a gentle hand on Emma's shoulder. When she flinched, he immediately took it back. "Sorry, Emma."
"I...um," Emma stuttered, not sure what to say. "What happened?"
"We were trying to see if you would be able to fly today. At first, you were doing splendidly, and then you began to shiver and then you opened your eyes, and you looked frightened. Shall I fetch your mother?" Merlin offered.
"No! I mean, no, thank you. I'm fine," Emma corrected, a bit embarrassed by her outburst.
"Your father, perhaps?"
"No, no, I don't want you to get anybody. Especially not my mother," Emma muttered the last part under her breath.
"Has something happened between the two of you?" Merlin asked softly, coming to sit beside Emma on the bench, in Henry's former spot.
Emma's face clouded. "I suppose you could say that."
"Would you like to discuss it? I don't think we're going to get any further in our lesson, today."
"I'd really rather not," Emma said. "I'm pretty tired, actually...do you think I could take a nap before my strategy lesson?"
Merlin looked into Emma's small face, noting the dark crescents under her eyes, and the lackluster pallor of her skin. "Of course, Emma," he said. "Should I let someone know to wake you?"
"If you could tell Henry I'll be up in our room, I'd appreciate it." Emma smiled at her friend. "Thanks, Merlin."
He patted her shoulder. "Any time."
Emma threw him another grin over her shoulder as she left the dungeons. Merlin sighed softly, when she was out of sight. He wished he could help his friends, but he was sure Snow had no idea that anything was wrong, and Emma certainly wasn't going to tell him. 'Maybe I'll get Henry to mind-drop on his sister.'
"Nice shot, Emma! Very well done!" Snow praised, rubbing her daughter's shoulder in excitement. Emma had hit her third bullseye in a row, and Snow was very impressed at the progress she'd made. But Emma shrugged her off, not saying a word, and Snow felt a heavy sadness cloak her heart as she walked back to where her husband sat, watching them.
"She's mad at me," Snow murmured, upset. "And I have no idea why. But she's been like that all week."
"I haven't really noticed anything," James replied with a frown. "But I doubt it's just you. Maybe she's just having a bad day?"
Snow knew that wasn't it, but didn't want to shut James down so quickly, so she shrugged. "Maybe," Snow lied.
Emma pulled back her bow, and fired another bullseye - this so centered that it split the tails of two arrows already in the center of the target.
"Wow, Em!" James whooped, running over to lift his daughter to his hip. "That was awesome!"
"Thanks," Emma said shyly, a faint pink coating her cheeks. She nestled her head into the crook between her father's neck and shoulder, and he placed a kiss on the crown of her hair. He shot a confused look at his wife, but Snow could tell he was thrilled at the contact, and she couldn't help but feel a little jealous. The old Emma basically hated Charming - she avoided him at all cost, because she'd loathed him as David, and never really got to know him as anything else. She never would've initiated a hug with her father, and certainly nothing like this.
Snow shook her childish feelings away, though, trying to feel happy for her husband that he got to experience this. She had many similar instances with Henry, but then she frowned to realize that he probably had, too. After all, that boy would hug anything without rabies.
"Put me down!" Emma's giggly shriek jolted Snow from her thoughts. "Papa, I've got to get back to practice!"
Papa. Snow grinned tearfully at her beaming husband, as he spun their daughter around once more. But she couldn't help the stab of malice, and then the tug of guilt, that tore at her insides and made her feel awful. 'Why couldn't that be me?'
"It's alright, Emma," Snow said finally, pulling her head out of that dark place. "Our lesson is almost over anyhow, and you've done very well today. You can go play with Papa."
"No!" Emma said, wriggling down out of James' grasp. "I have to practice!"
She picked up her bow and quiver and stormed off, finding a target further away from them than before. This put her closer to Henry, and he shot her a look as she angrily loaded her bow and fired off arrow after arrow.
"Shit!" Emma yelped, when her bowstring snapped and launched back to sting her cheek. She pressed her hand to it, cursing once more when she looked at her fingers to find blood on them.
"Emma!" Snow scolded, hearing her daughter's language first. "That's not-oh, Emma, what happened?" She rushed over, and noticed the angry red line stretching from the apple of Emma's right cheek to the bottom of her lip.
"My bow snapped," she mumbled crossly.
"We should get a cool cloth on that, and maybe some ice," Snow reasoned, beginning to shepherd Emma back into the castle.
"That's okay, I got it," Emma said, picking her hand off her face and wiggling the fingers in Snow's direction. She shrugged the arm off her shoulders, and pressed her palm back against her face, sighing slightly at the coolness in contrast to the heat of the sting in her cheek.
"Emma, that's not sanitary," Snow said. "You've been in the dirt all morning!"
"They're my germs," Emma sassed.
Snow threw a pleading look at her husband, who jumped in. "Emma, let's go to the kitchen and clean you up, and then, when Doc gets home later, maybe he can take a look at it. Is that okay?"
Emma looked up at her father, a casual expression on her face. "Sure, Papa. Will you come with me?"
James frowned, then smiled at her. "Of course, baby."
Emma beamed, then, and reached her arms up. "Will you piggy-back me?"
James laughed, then turned around and squatted in front of her. Emma wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his torso, and laid her good cheek between his shoulderblades. "Ready!" She shouted.
"Here we go!" He called back to her, standing carefully so as not to jostle her, and then breaking into a slow jog, bouncing her up and down on his back. The sound of their laughter rang in Snow's ears, even when they'd gone so far inside she couldn't see them anymore.
"Snow?" Henry's voice startled her, and she flinched. "Are you alright?"
Snow pasted a smile on her face, and cupped his cheek warmly. "Yes, Henry. I'm fine."
Henry, not possessing the lie detector skills that his sister did, believed her. He grabbed her hand and dragged her inside, intent on being the first to lunch so he could actually get some food this time. "Well, hurry up, then!" He cried. "Ever since they got here, the kids have been eating all the food, because we're always late to lunch! And I am gonna be the first one to eat today!"
Snow couldn't help but laugh at her son's eagerness and indignity. "Okay, Henry, I'm right behind you."
Lunch was a relatively civil affair, with the school children carrying most of the conversations, and Emma and Henry making polite chatter with their friends, but mostly keeping to themselves. Classes were currently being taught as normal, in some of the larger rooms of the castle, and the children all dined with the rest of the palace while the men and women worked in the Forest.
After lunch, Henry and Emma scurried off to the west courtyard, which got the most sun in the afternoon, and was the perfect place for their dueling lessons. Mulan and Lancelot were waiting for them, and each bowed to each other in greeting.
For the first few sessions, Emma and Henry had been put through their paces in swimming, birdie bat (the fairytale version of a cross between badminton and racquetball), and agility obstacle courses. They were told that footwork, coupled with proper aerobic preparation, is the cornerstone to a successful fighter. But after a while, Henry and Emma began to be expected to complete those activities on their own time, and their lessons were spent focusing on proper dueling techniques and stance.
They'd just started using wooden swords, carved by Gepetto, thanks to their father's insistence that theoretical training wouldn't hack it in battle. After a few demonstrations from the warriors, Emma and Henry found that it was their turn to fight.
"Okay, remember your feet," Lancelot warned, as Mulan called the match.
Emma lunged forward, but Henry shuffled back in time, lifting his sword up to block hers. Then he advanced, causing her to beat a hasty retreat. Quickly regaining her stride, though, Emma knocked Henry's sword off of hers and then made it turn sideways in his grasp, leaving his chest unprotected from the quarter-round tip of her weapon (which Snow had made Gepetto file).
"Think I'm gonna go down so easily, sister? Think again!" Henry huffed, cocking her sword with his and hopping forward to get her. Instead of getting back, Emma took advantage of Henry's awkward landing to get him off balance, which she achieved with a well-timed jab to his shoulder, and then strike quickly while he was disoriented. While he wobbled, trying to remain upright, his sword had swung out again, and Emma drove her sword home into the left side of his chest.
"And this one goes to Princess Emma!" Mulan announced, raising Emma's non-sword arm in the air. "Congratulations, Princess."
"Please, Mulan, don't call me Princess." Emma felt like she reminded the warrior of this at least four times a day, but it never quite seemed to sink in. Her hurt cheek stung from the exertion, and she rubbed it absentmindedly as she waited to be dismissed.
"Sorry, Emma." Mulan said stiffly, turning next to Henry. "Henry, this is why your footwork is important," she sighed, annoyed.
"I'm sorry," Henry mumbled weakly.
"Lay off him, would you? He's doing his best," Emma cut in protectively.
"Emma, don't," Henry muttered. "It's fine."
Emma shrugged, a bit hurt at her brother's rejection, especially when she was just trying to help. 'Maybe he's mad at me, too,' she thought miserably, picking up her stuff to put it back in the gear chest in the stables.
Henry heard his sister, but felt too upset himself to answer her. He wished he was better at things, but he didn't know how to get there. He'd be happy when they could just ride their horses in peace. Sammy always made him smile.
Their father was set to give them a riding lesson soon, so Henry followed his sister to the stables to clean and tack up his horse, Samson. They'd only begun riding in the last week, because while Snow had introduced them to their horses, and they'd been mucking their stalls and currying and feeding them for what felt like ages, they had really only gotten the go-ahead from the horses to ride them when Storybrooke came back to the forest. It was like they knew that someone was finally here who would teach the children well.
Emma had already mucked her horse, Livana's, stall when Henry got there, so she handed him the rake and headed into the tack room without a word. Emma grabbed Livvy's blanket, saddle, bit, and bridle, and went back into her stall. Putting the heavier items on the bench outside, Emma reached into the bucket hanging on the outer wall of Livvy's stall for a few tools, and then let herself into the horse's home.
Livana was a dappled filly, light gray with darker gray polka dots all over her body. Her mane and tail were a silvery white, and there was a white diamond on her muzzle, between her eyes. Sam, Henry's horse, was a golden-colored colt, and he had a mane and tail the color of buttermilk. Emma's saddle blanket was an ice blue, and her saddle and riding accessories were black leather with accents of silver metal. Henry's blanket was a rusty orange, and his riding gear was a chestnut brown leather with gold metal accents.
Emma pulled a lump of sugar that she'd swiped at lunch from her pocket, holding it out under Liv's nose. Livvy wiggled her lips around in Emma's palm, causing the girl to laugh, and finally finished eating. Emma wiped her hand on Livvy's blanket, and slipped her other hand into the curry brush and began to loosen dirt from Livvy's coat. Since Livana was still a pony, Emma didn't have as much ground to cover, and quickly finished currying and brushing Livvy. After picking her hooves and combing her mane, Emma slipped the blanket and saddle onto Livvy's back, first securing the saddle behind Livvy's forelegs, and then coaxing her pony into the bit and bridle. Emma clucked her approval when Livvy chomped down on the metal bar, and grabbed a stool before tossing the reins over Livvy's head.
Emma led Livvy out of the stall, holding tight to her reins with one hand and clutching the stool in the other. Henry was just coming back from the tack room, and paused to give his sister space to mount her horse. Emma nodded her thanks, placing the stool beside Livvy and kicking one leg across her back. Emma settled herself more comfortably, and then clicked her tongue to nudge Livvy out of the stables and into the pasture.
James had decided it was smarter to skip the stirrups step of horseback riding, since they'd be a danger in battle. He also had much better experience with riding posture and balance without stirrups than with them, and he'd developed a better relationship with his own horse, Noam, because of the more gentle feel of his foot to Noam's flank.
Emma guided Livvy from a walk to a trot, and led her quickly around the grassy area. She paused when James entered the paddock, but resumed her exercises when he went into the stables. She was getting better and better at her jumps, and she kept leading Livvy over, around, and back again through the course in the middle of the field.
"C'mon, Livvy, just once more through, and then we can walk again," Emma pleaded, trying to bring her horse through the course for a tenth time.
"Emma, she's tired," James said softly, reaching up to pat his daughter's leg. He'd rushed over there when he saw Livvy shying away from the jump, and he could tell right away that the baby horse was worn out. "Why don't you both take a break?"
"I've got to get this right," Emma argued.
"You've got to do this without injuring yourself," James warned. "Or, worse, your horse. Feel her, Emma - she's sweaty, and hot, and exhausted. She deserves a rest."
Emma reached down guiltily, feeling the damp, coarse hair beneath the saddle blanket. "Sorry, girl," she murmured, running a hand through Livvy's mane. "Alright," she said to her father, dismounting and pulling the reins back under Livvy's chin to lead her more easily. Back in the barn, Livvy nuzzled Emma with her nose, as if to say "Thanks." Emma kissed her, and began to clean her off.
After a much needed bath, Emma met Henry in the hall on their way to the drawing room for their etiquette lesson. Emma had tied her hair up in a topknot, just like Mulan had shown her how to do when they were sparring. She'd done it because her hair was still damp, and she wanted to keep it off her face and shoulders so her fresh tunic didn't get wet. Henry reached his arm out for her, and Emma scowled, though she knew he was supposed to do it. She kept her sour expression as she looped her arm underneath Henry's, placing her hand on top of his.
They entered into the lounge, Henry leading her to a seat at the table beside Gwen, before taking a seat himself beside Aurora. Emma bit back a grimace as Snow smiled, almost proudly. Emma hated feeling like she was doing something because someone wanted her to, and not because that's what she wanted or thought was right.
"That was lovely," Snow praised, looking at both her children. "I'm so pleased at your entrances. Quiet, but noticeable, and very proper and elegant."
Emma rolled her eyes, but Henry said a quick "Thank you."
"Alright, where did we leave off?" Snow asked. Henry chanced a glance at Emma, who'd lost her poise and slumped down in her chair. Her arms were crossed, and she did not appear as if she was going to provide an answer.
Snow had chosen to ignore the eye roll, but felt the need to correct Emma's seat. "Posture, Emma," she admonished lightly, walking around the table to tap Emma's shoulders so they touched the back of the chair. Grumbling, Emma slid up, but she kept her arms folded, and her elbows pressed defiantly against the tabletop.
Snow went back to the front of the room, and seemed to remember what she wanted to talk about, because she pulled a well-worn scroll from a box on the floor. She unrolled it, clipping it down to an easel beside her. The colors, though the parchment was faded, were still vibrant, and the image depicted was a many-ringed circle.
"Today, we're going to talk about rituals and customs," Snow announced. "I have here a chart of the festivals celebrated in our land."
"This is helpful," Emma muttered under her breath.
"Let's start with the winter holidays," Snow said, pretending not to hear Emma. "The first holiday is Yule, which is very similar to Christmas. It takes place on December the 21st, and there are a few traditions we use to celebrate. There is, as in the Christmas tradition, a ceremonial Yule log. This log is lit for the first time on Yule, and the remnant is kept for kindling on the next Yule, which symbolizes prosperity and protection the whole year long. Then, as with most of our festivals, there are banquets and gift-exchanges, similar to a Secret Santa. Each guest brings a small present, and puts them in a basket on their way into the feast. They are then pulled out randomly, and distributed amongst the guests. Finally, there is the joust, which takes place on Yule and also at Midsummer. The joust takes place between the Oak King and the Holly Queen."
Here, Snow unfurled two more posters and handed one each to Gwen and Aurora, who until now, had remained silent. Each woman looked at her illustration and reached down into the box that Snow had removed them from. When Gwen emerged from beneath the table, she wore a leafy wreath in her hair, dotted with acorns. There was also a braided false beard, made to look like wood, tied under her chin. She had also slipped on a robe made of sage green linen, which was held together with a belt of twisted gold rope.
Aurora had donned a wig, made of white hair that stretched to her hips. Atop that sat a tiara, but instead of metal and jewels, it was made of pointy holly leaves and adorned with bright red berries. She also had small deer antlers peeking out from beneath her hair, and a cape of cranberry velvet, trimmed and tied with silver cord.
"Wow," Henry marveled, amazed by the transformations. Emma was impressed, but held her tongue.
"Twice a year they fight for glory," Snow said, as if reciting a tale she knew by heart. "The Oak King reigns for Summer and Autumn, but when Winter's cold fingers cup the world, the Queen of Holly takes the throne. When Spring's beauty fades once more into Summer, the Oak King can regain his title. And so it goes, on and evermore."
"That's so cool!" Henry chirped excitedly.
Snow smiled at him. "I'm glad you think so, Henry. It's nice that you seem to take an interest in the customs of your birthright." She glared pointedly at Emma when she said that.
"Who wouldn't?" Henry asked, oblivious. "This is awesome!"
Emma continued to pout, and Snow decided to let her be.
They continued their discussion. Aurora and Gwen had removed their costumes and resumed their seats, and Snow kept on with explanations of the other holidays. Imbolc was next, which was the February 1st festival of new life, followed by the Spring. In Spring, there was Ostara (the Spring Equinox - March 21st - similar to Easter) and Beltane (a classic May Day celebration, complete with flower crowns and a Maypole). In Summer, there was, of course, Midsummer which was the summer equivalent of Yule. It took place on June 21st and was celebrated with picnics, plays, and carnival games. Then came Lammas, the bridge between Summer and Autumn, and took place on August 1st. It served as the harvest festival, with a Mardi Gras-esque cake honoring the gods (if you received a gold coin or a god or goddess figurine in your slice, you were especially blessed with good crops in the next growing season).
In the fall came Mabon on September 21st, which was the autumnal equinox, celebrated with feasts similar to Thanksgiving, and then Samhain. Otherwise known as All Hallows' Eve, Samhain included the ceremonial hearth lighting, in which each family in the kingdom extinguished their home fireplaces and took a torch from the Royal Bonfire to relight their fires for the Winter; fortune telling, among other spooky games and activities; a masquerade ball; and a symbolic forgiveness of grievances, which came in the form of paper lanterns lit and released into the air.
As time passed, and Henry grew more and more enthused, Emma became surlier, and began to make more comments expressing her utter disdain for this lesson.
Snow had also wanted to talk about the celebrations traditional for royal birthdays, but Emma made it clear she'd had enough.
"Okay, teaching us about Halloween was bad enough, but you seriously wanna talk about our birthday parties? C'mon!" Emma sighed loudly, and Snow slammed her hand on the table.
"That is enough, Emma." Her voice was firm, and Emma shrank back in her seat, obviously startled. Snow softened, and her voice when she spoke next was more gentle. "I am tired of your attitude, do you understand?"
Emma nodded quickly, anxious to get the scolding over with.
"Now, when I dismiss Henry, you will stay behind, and will write 'I will not sass my mother' until this parchment is full." She held up a small scroll in her hand, letting it unroll onto the table. It was long, but certainly not unmanageable, and though Emma was a novice with quill and ink, Snow knew it wouldn't take her more than an hour.
Emma wished she could just disappear. It was one thing to be scolded, and scolded in front of her brother. Henry got scolded in front of her all the time, and vice versa. But Emma knew Aurora (and liked her well enough) and looked up to Gwen, and to be admonished and punished in front of them set her ears and cheeks on fire and made her fume with indignance.
Henry and the other women left soon after that, leaving mother and daughter alone. Snow silently placed parchment, ink, and quill in front of Emma, and gathered her satchel.
Snow stood, not wanted to offend the 28-year old inside Emma any more than she already had. She could tell Emma was upset, and she knew that nothing good would come of it if she sat there and monitored Emma while she completed her punishment. "I'll expect the finished scroll outside my bedchamber before supper, and if it isn't done, then you can plan to finish it up here with me tonight. Are we clear?"
"Yes," Emma muttered.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Snow asked sweetly.
"Yes, ma'am," Emma said, still angry, but clearer.
"Good," Snow nodded. "I'll leave you to it, then."
Emma watched from the corner of her eye as her mother left the room. She started on her task as soon as she knew no one was watching, and though there were some rips and ink blots on the paper, Emma thought it looked pretty good for a first attempt.
But Emma was still angry, though if you'd asked her, she probably wouldn't quite know the cause. She was just mad. Mad at being spanked, mad at her nightmare; mad at everything. And the root cause, at least in her mind, was her mother. And so she formulated a plan to get back at her.
"Henry!" She yelled, running from her parents' room to the one she shared with her brother. "Henry! I need your help with something!"
"Wanna help me with my homework?" Emma asked Paige - Grace, she mentally corrected - as they came down to the banquet hall for the evening meal.
Grace shrugged. "Depends on what it is. I've got my own, you know," she teased.
"Oh, this is homework we can do at dinner," Emma said with a wink. "See, Henry and I have to practice our strategy skills, and we're waging a mock war. We're trying to do boys vs. girls, and whoever has the biggest army will probably win. Can you help?"
Grace shrugged. "Sure! But I don't know if the other girls will."
Emma smiled slyly. "I've got my ways."
By the time James called for supper to begin, Emma's army of nineteen girls was ready to face off against Henry's army of sixteen boys. Altogether, they had twenty and seventeen respectively. As a courtesy, Emma let Henry fire first.
"Forward, march!" Henry called, rallying his troops. Each of the boys readied a spoon with a brussel sprout, prepared to take aim when their general commanded.
The boys had taken a very Norse approach to the battle, choosing only to push their cups together to form a sort of barrier to attack, and then assembling all their ammo to fire at once. Henry normally favored the Roman strategies, and thought Emma would be thrown off by his sudden change.
Emma, on the other hand, normally went for the all-out tactics of the Vikings, and thought Henry would be surprised by her choosing to follow a Roman idea. She'd split her soldiers into three groups of ten - the first wave would be in charge of cracking the barrier, the second in charge of occupying Henry's forces, and the third (of which Emma was a crucial part) was to be in charge of conquering his remaining resources and, ultimately, winning the battle.
Emma quietly signaled for her girls to load their forks with mashed potato lumps (as forks were springier), their spoons with cubes of squash and meat, and the metal straws they'd filched (the adults used them for drinking mead) with peas.
"Aim, fire!" Henry cried. All seventeen boys launched their sprouts and asparagus spears, tossing them over the girls' makeshift wall, and, inadvertently, playing right into their hand. All the girls who got hit by a flying vegetable took themselves out of the fight, but everyone else in the first tier took their spoon catapults and aimed them at the boys' side. Seven boys went down due to squash and/or beef injury. Then the second tier of girls fired off their makeshift pea shooters, causing eight more casualties. Only Henry and Pinocchio were left in the boys' camp, and Emma and the girls shared a triumphant look as they got their mashed potato bombs all set.
Half the remaining girls took the brussel sprouts they'd recovered from the boys' attack and put them on their now-empty spoons. The other half took their potato-covered forks and the forks of the otherwise occupied girls. Emma called all her girls to order, and they fired off their bombs in rounds.
Emma smiled slightly at the terrified looks on the faces of both boys after the first round of bombs. Henry had deflected a potato projectile with his knife, but a bit of shrapnel now decorated his formerly-red tunic. Pinocchio had fallen, and was in the process of ducking under the table. Emma was so preoccupied with the finale she was preparing, that she didn't notice someone take a spot behind Henry.
"Ready, girls?" Emma didn't wait for a response, and just lobbed her last mashed missile at her brother. But there was an intake of breath next to her, and Emma looked to her left before looking up, into the stern and now-goateed face of her mother.
Emma gulped quietly as Snow's face turned even more sour. Her mashed potato beard slowly fell off her chin and to the floor, but that didn't change her expression at all.
"You," she said with conviction, her voice low and dangerous with fury. She pointed at Emma, and then pointed at Henry as she said "And you. Go to your chamber, now."
Henry got up first, but it took Emma another glare from Snow to send her chasing after her brother. When she reached their room, he turned on her.
"I can't believe I listened to you!" Henry yelled, pacing back and forth in front of his bed.
"Me? You were totally into this idea until Snow got mad!"
"But it was still your idea," he countered. "Why do we always follow you? You have the worst plans! And nothing ever turns out okay! You ruin our lessons, you get us both in trouble-"
"Hey! That's not fair! Back home, you were responsible for just as many bad ideas as I was!"
Henry turned to her, face a mask of disgust. "Yeah, well, ever since we got here, you've been getting meaner and meaner. I should've listened to my mom," he muttered.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Emma was near tears, but if Henry noticed, he didn't care.
"It means, I shouldn't have gotten involved with you! You're nothing but trouble!"
Emma was about to retort, her hurt making her vicious, but that's when Snow walked in. She noticed the body language of her children, and went to Emma first.
"Wait here," she said, firmly but not unkindly. She pushed Emma gently down onto her bed, and walked across the room to Henry.
"You first, Henry," Snow said, placing Henry before her as she sat on his bed. "Now, I don't know who's idea this was, but I don't really care. I do know that you have been paying attention to me during your lessons, and I know that you know better than to start a food fight during supper."
She continued to lecture as she hauled him over her lap, but though Henry protested loudly, Emma barely heard them at all.
It was an all-too familiar scene; parent comes in to punish, not caring who was responsible for the "crime" and not caring about hurting the child. Just doing whatever they wanted to, and leaving pain and destruction in their wake.
Emma shook, and began to shut down. Henry's spanking, though only minutes long, seemed at once transient and eternal. Emma curled into herself, feeling a headache and stomachache coming on at the bad memories.
Henry apologized profusely, accepting blame and feeling awful for yelling at his sister. Snow kissed him, and reassured him that he'd get his chance to make amends when she had punished Emma.
Snow, for her part, was nervous about spanking Emma again. She had, now, memories of Emma's multiple bad reactions to Mary Margaret's punishment in Storybrooke, but she also had Emma's not-terrible reaction the week prior in the wood. She was confused, and wasn't at all sure that she was doing the right thing. However, she knew from the parenting books she'd read on the sly as Emma's guardian in Storybrooke that consistency was one of the most important factors in separating the good parent/child relationships from the bad ones, especially in the case of step- or fostered children. So Snow steeled herself for what she was about to do.
"Emma, listen to me," Snow said, tapping Emma's thigh to make her sit up. Snow saw her daughter shift, and figured that was as good as anything. "I am disappointed in your actions, but once you're punished, the slate will be clean. All will be forgiven, I promise. So let's just get this over with, alright?"
Emma had raised her eyes to Snow's, but unlike her mother's, Emma's eyes were blank. Emma's mind was full of bad visions, and she did not see her mother before her. Instead, she saw a ghost of her past.
Eight-year old Emma shivered in the cold morning air. Mr. Robinson had awoken to find his favorite cereal finished, and so the entire household had been roused for punishment.
Emma thought he'd probably eaten the rest of the Corn Pops when he'd come home twisted the night before, but didn't have near enough nerve to say anything. She crossed her arms in front of herself, and looked up and down the line.
Her foster brothers and sisters stood in age order, from twelve to four. There was Toby and Larissa and Eric and Emma, and then Benji and Molly and little Violet. They were all nude, and they ranged in moods from more embarrassed than scared to terrified and only slightly embarrassed.
Mrs. Robinson, their foster mother, had woken them all up that morning, at the crack of five AM.
"I don't care if you did it or not," she warned every time. That morning, she said. "Mr. Robinson knows one of you finished his cereal, so he's asking for y'all to get into the living room. You know what to do."
Emma was too tired to argue. She got out of bed, stripped off her oversized t-shirt and underwear, and marched awkwardly into the communal space to await the group belting.
Emma wanted desperately to get away. She would give anything to be anywhere but in Chicago with the Robinsons, again. She imagined being safe, safe from another beating and more neglect. Feelings rushed through her, the foremost being the need to escape. And in the span of a millisecond, Emma had vanished.
"Emma? Emma!" Snow called for her daughter, willing her to appear in vain.
She didn't know how her daughter had disappeared, but she hoped that Merlin would know what to do.
"Henry, stay put. I'll be back as soon as I can," Snow said, trying to remain calm.
Henry nodded, frozen to his spot. He watched the place where Emma had been as he listened to his mother leave the room and race downstairs.
Emma was still shaking and hyperventilating when she landed in this new place, completely unaware of the change in location. But someone else did notice her presence in the room.
"What the-Emma?" Morgan le Fay was totally shocked by the appearance of her mentee on her bed. "Emma, how did you get here?"
Morgana was pretty unnerved, but what disturbed her even more was the fact that Emma was barely breathing, save the occasional whimper.
"Emma, hey," Morgan nudged Emma, trying to jolt her from whatever mind trap was holding her hostage.
"Please don't hit," Emma cried. "Please!"
"Emma!" Morgan said sharply, shaking the girl in front of her. Finally, she grabbed a bit of powder that she and Henry had worked on earlier and blew it in Emma's face. It was an attempt at a cure to the sleeping curse, and Morgan was completely unsure if it would work or not. She held her breath, and let her shoulders slump when Emma's eyes remained glassy.
"M-Morgan?" Emma whispered, reaching out to touch her, as if afraid she wasn't real. When her finger met flesh, she jumped. "What the hell am I doing here?"
"I was trying to ask you the same thing," the blunt blonde replied. "Do you remember anything about what happened?"
"There was...the food fight, at dinner," Emma said slowly. "Then...Henry, we fought, and Snow hit him. And then..." Emma tilted her head in confusion. "I was in Chicago?"
Morgan had no idea where or what Chicago was (though she assumed it was a place), but she knew that the town where Snow and her kids had come from was called Storybrooke. And from what Emma said next, she knew it couldn't have been real.
"And I was eight again...and then, I saw you."
Morgan was more than a little terrified, but tried her best not to show it. She wasn't quite sure why she was feeling so protective of Emma, but the girl reminded her a lot of herself - nervous, but abrasive, and equal parts amazed by and afraid of her magical potential.
Morgan opened her mouth to ask Emma some more questions, but she heard a frantic knocking noise down the hall. She'd heard Merlin take a visitor about an hour prior, and hadn't heard him bid them goodbye, so knew that he wouldn't answer whomever was calling on him at the moment.
"Stay right there," she told Emma, and went out to berate the noisy pest in the corridor.
"Merlin's with a guest," Morgan said sharply, sticking her head out in the hall. Her eyes widened when she realized who was there, and quickly stepped out, shutting the door behind her. "Your Highness," she said, curtsying slightly.
"Morgana," Snow answered, breathless. "Have you seen Merlin?" She asked, apparently not having heard Morgan's previous words.
"Last I was aware, he had received a visitor. But I think you should come inside with me," Morgan said, opening her door to usher in the Queen.
Confused but acquiescent, Snow preceded Morgan inside her suite, and then proceeded to scream and hug her daughter.
"Oh, Emma, what happened?" Snow asked, kissing the girl once more and hugging her close to her chest.
"I don't know," Emma murmured. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry for," Snow said, rubbing the smooth skin above Emma's eyebrows as if to free it from wrinkles.
"What exactly happened, Snow?" Morgan asked.
"She just...went poof!"
"I remember...wanting to feel safe," Emma said, so quietly that the two women could barely hear her.
"Oh, Emma," Snow said, the words like daggers in her heart.
"I was scared," Emma continued. "But not of you, though I guess you brought it on. It was...a memory, of Chicago. Mr. Robinson."
Snow searched her memory banks for a mention of a Mr. Robinson. She hearkened back to the first time she'd tried corporal punishment on Emma, and gasped. "Oh, baby," she whispered, cradling Emma against her chest. "I'm so sorry. It was Henry, wasn't it?"
Emma nodded. "I think that's part of what made me think of it."
"I'm so sorry about tonight, and about the woods. We'll find another way, okay? We'll find another way."
Emma nodded into her mother's chest, reveling in the comfort she'd denied herself this past week.
"I still want to know what happened, though," Snow said, looking questioningly at Morgan, who had been feverishly flipping through a dusty tome during the reunion.
"I believe Emma has the ability to travel seamlessly between where she is and where she would like to be," Morgan said, almost in awe. "That would account for the fact that we cannot figure out how she could possibly fly."
"You mean, I can teleport?" Emma asked.
"Teleport," Morgan repeated, feeling the strange word out in her mouth. "I suppose that could be the...technical term for it. I will have to confer with Merlin about the exact details, but I think it's safe to say that we've finally solved this mystery."
Emma yawned, and Snow shared a look with Morgan. "Alright, little miss," Snow said softly. "I believe it's time for bed."
"What about my punishment?" Emma asked, stifling another yawn.
"I think we can figure something out tomorrow," Snow answered. "Tonight, I would be remiss if I didn't put you to bed. I think you've had enough excitement for one night."
"Okay, Mama," Emma sighed.
Snow's eyes filled with tears as Emma fell asleep on her shoulder. Snow mustered all of her strength, and lifted Emma into her arms.
"We'll see you tomorrow?" She asked Morgan quietly.
"Goodnight, Snow," Morgan answered. "I'll let Merlin know when I see him."
Snow nodded, and let herself out of the room. When she finally reached Henry and Emma's bedchamber, her son was asleep in his clothes. She undressed Emma and tucked her in, and then did the same with Henry. As she stood in the doorway and watched her children sleep, she marveled at how it could've been.
"I love you," she murmured. Then she blew out the candles and shut the door behind her.