Chapter 12
Camelot, long, long ago
Morgana grabbed her basket and stalked out of the healer's cottage.
"Get thee back here this moment, girl!" yelled the healer querulously. "Ye've a mountain of work to do before this day is at an end!"
Morgana continued walking, clenching her hands into tight fists. If she didn't leave now, she wouldn't be responsible for what she did to the bitter old woman. How dare she accuse Morgana of being careless? The healer had berated her morning, noon and night for the last few weeks since the royal wedding, and Morgana's patience was coming to an end. If the healer wasn't pleased with the way Morgana mixed the potions and crushed the dried herbs, let her do it herself!
"Leave now and you can forget about coming back!" the woman shrieked. "I don't apprentice lazy slackers."
Something snapped in Morgana. She turned so quickly she nearly tripped over her long brown skirt. The blood rushed to her head as she marched back into the cottage and slammed the door behind her. She had suffered the healer's sharp tongue for the last time! Call her lazy? Call her a slacker? The old woman would soon see what happened to those who crossed Morgana Le Fay!
"What did you call me?" Morgana said in a deceptively soft voice.
The woman's eyes widened as she looked up at Morgana. It seemed she recognized her danger. "I…I but wished you to finish today's potions," the woman said in a meek voice. "There's no need to make such a fuss."
"Oh but there is," Morgana continued in the same soft voice. "You besmirched my honor, and that is a slight I do not forgive."
For many minutes the sound of anguished screaming came from the healer's cottage. Then it abruptly came to an end.
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Morgana brushed a sweaty strand of hair from her brow. This summer was a long procession of one interminably hot day after another! How she hated the heat! How she hated everything about the ridiculous life she was living!
Six months since the royal wedding and she was no nearer determining a way to fulfill her destiny as the "dark force" than she had been on the day of the wedding! It certainly didn't help that she hadn't a spare moment to call her own anymore.
She supposed she was at least in part to blame for her situation. She shouldn't have lost her temper with the healer that day several months ago, she really shouldn't have, but the rage had simmered for so long it was bound to boil over at some point.
Morgana had tried a new enchantment she'd found in her spell book. The book had described a procedure by which one could tear out the heart of another and crush it to dust. It was quite an ambitious feat, really. Morgana still struggled to complete the most basic spells; it was nothing short of presumption to believe she could pull off something of that magnitude.
But it had worked! Morgana had known it would work from the moment she reached toward the healer's chest. A feeling of raw power had shot through her arm right to her fingertips. Her hand had slipped through the healer's chest as easily as though it were butter. Morgana had felt triumph like she had never known as she held the old woman's heart in her hands and slowly started to squeeze.
The triumph had been short lived. With the healer gone, Morgana was called upon to take over the care of all within the village. The litany of small ailments these commoners found to complain of was endless! Morgana knew that if she was ever to find a way to break the Round Table and take over Camelot, she would have to orchestrate events herself to make it happen.
The bell over the door rang again. What now?! A timid teenaged girl peeked around the corner at Morgana.
"What?" Morgana asked irritably. Wasn't it enough that she had three potions left to brew tonight without being interrupted every five minutes?
The girl shrank back. "Your pardon, healer," she said meekly, "I have a message from your brother."
A message from Mordred? She had seen him but an hour past; what could he want?
"Yes?" she asked when the girl continued to stand silent before her. "What might this message be?"
"He…" she began, swallowed convulsively and then tried again. "He wishes to tell you that the queen is on a tour of the kingdom. She will be passing this very cabin not ten minutes hence. He thought you would like to know."
In a moment a plan had sprung, fully formed into her mind. She knew exactly how she could earn a place at court. Once firmly within the ranks of the nobility, she could destroy the Round Table from within.
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"Her Majesty the queen!" the deep, resonant tones could come from no one but Sir Lancelot. Morgana glanced once more over her spell and then stepped out of the healer's cottage door. Sure enough, Sir Lancelot flanked Queen Guinevere on one side. Beads of sweat formed against his smooth, ebony skin and slid beneath his chain mail. What fools these knights were to appear in full chain mail at the height of summer. If they didn't die of heat stroke before returning to the palace, it would be a wonder!
"We've reached the healer's cottage, Majesty," Sir Gawain said from the queen's other side. Ever the chivalrous knight where the ladies were concerned was that one. Noble Sir Galahad led the procession, scanning the road ahead for dangers, while the remainder of the Round Table followed in the queen's wake. So Arthur had sent his whole contingent with his lady bride, it seemed.
Morgana briefly made eye contact with the queen, muttered her incantation under her breath, and then sunk into a low curtsey.
"Majesty?" Sir Gawain called in a distressed tone, "are you quite well?"
Morgana rose from her curtsey to see Queen Guinevere doubled up in obvious pain, clutching her belly. Sir Lancelot turned worried eyes toward Morgana.
"You are the healer?" he asked.
"Aye," she answered affecting a look of deepest concern, "quickly, bring Her Majesty into the cottage. I can help her, but by the look of her pain, there is little time to waste!"
Sir Lancelot took the queen into his arms and carried her into the cottage. Setting her gently on the cot in the corner, the large knight stepped a respectful distance away. Morgana grabbed the tea kettle from the hearth, and poured a generous amount of near-boiling water into a large, earthen-ware mug, and then added a pinch of fragrant herbs.
"Here Your Majesty," she said placing the mug into the queen's soft hands. "This will ease the pain and make you more comfortable."
Guinevere took a sip and the lines of pain on her brow eased almost immediately.
"Thank you, healer," the queen said in soft tones, "I am much refreshed by your brew."
For now, Morgana thought to herself.
"I am most pleased to be of service to Your Majesty," Morgana said with another deep curtsey.
"I remember you," Guinevere said, looking closely at Morgana, "You were the lady behind me at King Arthur's ball, were you not?"
"Aye," Morgana answered with a smile she desperately hoped looked sincere, "I had that honor."
"You were most kind to me then as well," Guinevere said with a smile, "so reassuring. My nerves were so grievously on edge."
Morgana merely nodded her head in acknowledgement.
"How might I thank you for all your kindness?" the queen persisted.
Morgana attempted a modest blush. "It is thanks enough to see the queen regaining her health and beauty. I ask nothing more than to be of service to you."
Queen Guinevere slowly sat up and Sir Lancelot was at her side in a moment, helping her to her feet. It was clear the procession would soon be on its way.
"I have but one request, Your Majesty," Morgana said humbly.
"And what is that?" the queen asked gently.
"The tea should help to calm your stomach and ease your pain," Morgana said, "but should the symptoms return, please don't hesitate to call for me. I would be most honored to minister to you."
Queen Guinevere thanked Morgana profusely and then continued on her way. Morgana smiled broadly to herself as she tidied up the cottage. It would be but a matter of hours before she was summoned to the palace. It wasn't a remedy that she had given the queen but a very slow moving poison…one that was sure to leave the queen writhing in agony. Imagine the royal family's gratitude when celebrated healer Morgana Le Fay swooped in and saved Queen Guinevere's life!
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Somewhere between New York and Boston, present day
Hook looked over at Emma as they drove slowly over the snow-covered highway. Her back was ruler-straight, her hands clutched the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white, and her jaw was clenched. The lass was wound as tightly as a drum. He longed to reach over and massage the tension from her neck, but the layout of this vessel made it impossible; from his perch in the passenger seat, it was his hook hand which was closest to her.
It was just as well, anyway. As tense as the lass was, she would likely jump out of her skin at the slightest touch. Who were these Smith's to whose house they were travelling? Emma had given him only the most basic information. They'd been her foster parents; she'd spent three years with them. Had they mistreated her? Something traumatic had happened to her in relation to them, that was plain to see.
"Mom," Henry whined from the back seat, "are we there yet? We've been driving forever!"
Emma clenched her jaw and then answered in a tight voice. "If we were there, we wouldn't still be driving, would we kid? Please stop asking every five minutes! We'll get there when we get there."
It had been a tediously long journey so far. Emma had assured him the drive would take no more than four or five hours, but they'd already been on the road for seven. It seemed the snowstorm that had passed through the night before had made travel treacherous.
"Lass," Hook said gently, "Perhaps we best make a stop. It will give Henry a chance to stretch his legs and you a chance for a moment's repose."
She took her eyes off the road for a moment and gave him an incredulous glare. "You're the one who keeps telling me what a dire situation the Enchanted Forest is in right now," she said angrily. "We don't have time for 'a moment's repose.' Let's just get the enchanted water and get the hell out of here!"
The car in front of them stopped abruptly, and the lass slammed on her breaks sending them skidding toward a massive snow bank along the shoulder. With a bit of fancy steering, Emma pulled them out of the skid and away from their imminent danger.
"Be reasonable, love," Hook pleaded. "We'll not do your family any good if we are in an accident ourselves. At any rate we need to discuss our strategy for obtaining that enchanted water. I'd much prefer to have your undivided attention during that conversation."
She frowned over at him again, and then abruptly sighed and turned back toward the road. "You're right, Hook," she said finally. "There's a rest stop about two miles ahead. Let's stop there."
Accordingly, about five minutes later Emma turned on her blinker and coasted off the highway into the parking lot of an attractive stone building. Emma stepped out of the car, waited for Hook and Henry to get out, and then locked the doors.
"I'm going to stop by the restroom," she said, "Henry you better do the same. I don't plan to stop again until we make it to our destination."
The lass stalked off, leaving them in her wake.
"Why is Mom in such a bad mood?" Henry asked as they walked toward the building.
"I don't know for sure, lad," Hook answered, watching as she forcefully pulled the glass door open and marched through, "but I'd wager going back to the home of these Smith's will be quite painful for her."
"Why," the boy asked curiously.
"I wish I knew lad," Hook answered sadly, "I wish I knew."
A few minutes later, Hook stood beside Henry looking at what the boy called a "vending machine." He wondered how one was supposed to obtain the food and beverages displayed there.
"Need some change, Hook?" Emma asked, handing her son a dollar bill. The lad skipped off along the row of vending machines scoping out his snack options.
"That won't be necessary, Swan," he said smiling down at her, "your father provided me with a sufficient funds for my journey."
"David gave you money?" she asked in some surprise.
"You might be surprised, love," he responded. "Your father and I have become rather close mates in the year past. It also helped that he wished me to succeed in my mission nearly as much as I wished it myself."
She looked away, her glance landing on the vending machine before him.
"A bit tamer than your normal beverage choices," she quipped. "Is the rum gone?"
He looked intently down at her. "Rum dulls the memories," he said simply. "I made you a promise; I promised that I would think of you every day we were apart, a promise I faithfully kept. To tell the truth, lass, I rather think the pain of forgetting you, even in part, would be worse than the pain of missing you."
She took a deep breath, and he could tell she wanted to pull away from him. But she didn't. With a small nod, she looked up and smiled back at him. He longed to take her into his arms, kiss the sadness from her eyes, make the world disappear, but there was no time for that now. They had a mission, and it couldn't wait.
With a sigh, he brought up the topic on both of their minds. "How are we to obtain the vial of water, lass?"
She stepped away and dragged a hand through her hair. "I don't know Hook," she said in agitation. "I can't just ring Mrs. Smith's doorbell and say 'Hi, remember me? I'm that foster kid you got rid of twenty-five years ago. Can I have your husband's most prized possession?' Doubt that'd go over well."
She tried to gloss over the pain in her statement, but he saw it clearly; he ached for her. "Lass," he said finally, "we don't need the vial itself, just its contents."
"Well," she said in frustration, "I hardly think it would be any better to ask her for the water out of the vial. That's just weird."
"Then perhaps a bit of deception is in order," he said, feeling unease at the very suggestion. "Perhaps while you are…reminiscing with Mrs. Smith, your lad and I can switch out the water in the vial with ordinary water."
She frowned. "I don't like it," she said. "Like I said, that was his most precious possession. I don't like deceiving her like that."
"I don't either much, love," he said looking away. "Hardly good form. But I see very few options. We must have that water to return to the Enchanted Forest, and as you said earlier, time is of the essence."
She held his gaze for long moments and then nodded. There was so much pain in her eyes; so much sadness. Hook reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand.
"What is bothering you, lass?" he asked gently. "What happened with the Smiths?"
Tears filled her eyes, but she resolutely blinked them away. "I can't talk about it, Hook," she said in a tight voice. "I'm not trying to shut you out, it's just…it's still too raw to talk about. Maybe someday."
He caressed her cheek and nodded. "In that case, I just need to know one thing," he said firmly, "did they abuse you? Were you in danger in that home? I'll protect you and Henry, with my life if need be. I need you to know that."
She smiled and covered his hand with her own. "I'm hardly a damsel in distress, Hook," she said gently. "I can take care of myself."
He leaned forward and gave her a soft peck on the lips. "Well do I know that, love," his voice was rough with emotion, "but know this. You no longer need to fight your battles alone. I will stand beside you for the rest of my life if you'll allow it."
Notes:
-Well, this chapter took far too long to write. It fought with me the whole way through! Morgana got way more violent than I intended her to, for one thing. I hate it when villains refuse to follow my planned plot! For another, I fully intended to include a scene with Hook, Henry and Emma at the Smiths, but that scene ended up being nothing but sickly-sweet melodrama no matter how many times I tried to write it. I think I'm going to have to leave Mrs. Smith and the grown up Tommy to your imagination, because they flat out refuse to cooperate with me!
-So in the long, long ago section, Morgana found a way to get in good with the royal family. I also wanted to take a moment to introduce (or re-introduce in the case of Lancelot who has already appeared on OUaT) the three knights who basically form the "inner circle" of King Arthur's court: Lancelot, Galahad and Gawain. The latter two MAY end up having a surprising connection to various other characters that have been mentioned thus far in the story.
-Hook, Emma and Henry are on a road trip, but it's clearly not the most enjoyable experience for Emma. Why is she so nervous about going back to the home of the Smiths? What happened with them that Emma found so traumatic that it's too raw for her to talk about even now? I guess you'll have to keep reading to find out.
-Up next (assuming my muse is back on speaking terms with me): 1 year ago in the Enchanted Forest, the inhabitants of Rumplestiltskin's castle are reunited with several more familiar fairy tale people, they have their first run-in with the Wicked Witch of the West, and they begin to make and carry out a plan to defeat said witch. In Boston-New York present day, Emma, Hook and Henry manage to obtain the enchanted water they were after. I plan a fluffy scene or two following their successful mission. But all fluff must come to an end. Before they are able to get back to the Enchanted Forest, Hook tells Emma about one more obstacle they must overcome…and it's a big one.