A/N ~ Okay, so I am very truly sorry for this particular tragedy but I guarantee if you hold on to chapter fourteen, everything will be worth it. Also, I'm sure you'll everyone's favourite familiar face appearing at the end.
11.
She woke blearily to yellow light and dust drifting in the air above her.
Immediately, she was confronted with blaring pain exploding through her shoulder and her side, a dull throbbing in her temples. She heard her sharp wince, hands immediately going to touch the searing hurts. Her mouth was very dry. Think. Thoughts. Emma breathed heavily, struggling to assemble the facts in her mind. She was lying on her back on a hard wooden floor. She was alone, if you didn't count the corpse slumped in the chair in the corner. A quick inventory showed she had a series of cuts along her arms, ugly yellowing bruises flowering on her legs and shoulders, a split lip, a nasty gash on her side, thick with congealed blood. There were dried streaks of the stuff in her tangled hair. Facts, Emma. Think what you know. She was in the witch's cabin. She'd been trying to help Regina. Regina was gone. She failed. Regina was gone. Regina was gone. She coughed violently on the dust.
Emma laid there for a long time, gathering her thoughts and quashing her pain, until she gagged on the thick, cloying smell of death in the corner and couldn't be still anymore. Home. The word surfaced in her mind. Home, I need to get home. She scrambled to sit up, aching palms catching on the splinters and the filmy dust. Her hands darted to her pockets, but they yielded nothing. She twisted, staring behind her on the floor. The smashed remains of her compass were scattered across the floor, amongst the dirty boot prints. A further look showed that the filthy rag, torn and muddy in the dust, had once been her map. They had taken her sword. Her whole body collapsed into a sigh.
When she found her feet, Emma ran outside. The tree they had tied Feather and Rocinante to was abandoned. Feather was gone, and with her all of Emma's food and water. "Damn," Emma heard herself snap, kicking the tree trunk hard. "Damn." The sound that tore from her throat as she drove her fist hard against the trunk was like nothing human. Damn. She breathed deeply, trying to push out the blinding pain that threatened to swallow her whole (not the pain in her muscle and skin; the other kind, the worse kind. The white hot kind that tore at her from inside out). If she gave in now she'd die here. She had to at least get home. She had to just not think until she got there.
So Emma walked. She found the direction she thought they'd come from, and she walked.
She stared down at the blood-spattered leather of her boots and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. After a while, hard dirt turned to soft pine needles and leaves beneath her feet. Emma walked through the pain protesting in her shoulder and her hip and her side, and the invisible place inside her where her feelings lived. She walked because she'd forgotten how to stop. She wondered why they hadn't just killed her. Above the treetops, the sun shone brightly, washing warm, green-tinged shadows across her broken skin. Emma couldn't say that the walking healed her because she was as unhealable as the dead woman she'd left behind (or maybe she was the dead woman. She didn't know anymore).
She couldn't say how long she'd been out, but the russet stains on her shirt had dried like a pattern, like the flowers she wove into Regina's hair when they were eight and untouchable. Emma walked. Her chest was caving in, but she walked.
After a long time, the ditch beside her became a muddy trickle that became a stream. Crystalline waters twisted over a bed of pebbles like a silvery ribbon, playing a rushing tune that was so good it almost hurt. Emma fell to her knees in the mud, sighing heavily. She bent, cupping the freezing water in her fingers and lifting it to her mouth. It was so cold it hurt her throat, made her gasp and she knew it would make her stomach cramp but right now she'd take anything over her tongue feeling like old parchment for a second longer. It had to be some kind of miracle. A godsend. Emma followed the river for miles, until her feet began to blister, her skin began to crack under the abrasive sting of the chilled wind, and her stomach began to flash angrily with pangs of hunger.
It was kind of a harsh reality check, but the message was clear. She could play knight all she liked, but she was a princess born and raised. She'd never, not once, felt what it was like to be hungry. There were fish in the stream, but there was no way Emma could catch one without a spear or a net, and she couldn't gut it without a knife anyway. She'd seen berries, but none she recognized: she wasn't stupid.
She gritted her teeth and walked through the hunger, until night begun to descend, purple and grey and speckled with stars. Emma found some flint by the water, and after several attempts managed to strike up a fire, stoked with leaves, ringed with pebbles from the stream. She sat down beside it, a glowing orange jewel against the falling dark. The heat of it thawed her skin, and her mind.
Emma was still in the denser part of the woods, which meant she was still in the borderlands. Which meant this could be one of the streams off the Tigelaar river. If that was the case, then she could follow it back to people and hopefully get directions. Or a map. Emma drew her knees to her chest, curled her arms lightly around them and poked at the flames with a stick. The earth was hard under her, the branches cast swaying black shadows in the night. It was infinitely lonely, with just the sound of her own breathing for company. It suddenly felt as though she was the only person in the whole world.
She wondered what was happening at home, and if her family was worried. She wondered what Regina was doing, somewhere in the world. Probably sleeping. She wondered if she could sleep. She wondered if she was not-sleeping at home or in Ironhaven. She wondered if Cora was hurting her. The Regina thoughts were dangerous, they made her feel too much, so she tried to push them out. But it wasn't Emma's fault the image of her had been branded into the back of her eyelids. Sleeping was a stupid idea out here alone, so she watched the flames until her mind fell silent.
The next day, she drank deeply from the stream and splashed her face before rising with the sun. Emma walked once again. She walked for hours, hurting, hungry, tired enough that her mind was empty. After a few miles she caught sight of marks in the dirt, as if scored by a cart, so she stuck by that instead of the stream, which was dirtying and dwindling anyway. Eventually, the twin ruts in the ground deepened, became a road. Emma's heart quickened as she followed it, and slowly, houses rose up around her. Houses and people. People.
"Hey!" Emma's voice sounded rough and unfamiliar in her ears, like some wild thing. It tasted wrong. She ran, though her body screamed in protest, to the closest, a man holding his baby in the street. "Hey!" She skidded to a stop, breathless in front of him. "Where is this?"
He stared at her as if she were crazy. She could only imagine how she looked – hair bloodied, dirtied and tangled around her face, russet stains flowering her shirt, tired, alone. Certainly not like a princess. Not even like a person at all. "Sherrer." He told her, eyeing her warily.
"Where's the nearest holdfast?" Emma asked eagerly, adjusting to her voice. "What is it?"
"Elmar's?" He frowned begrudgingly. "Town's a mile or so north of here."
"Thank you." Emma nodded. "Thank you."
Even after she'd found a bakers disposing of yesterday's stale bread and kindly taken it off his hands, Emma didn't feel much better. There was a hollowness in her stomach that no food could fill. She lingered uncertainly in the road: the people and their lives were all surreal. They gave her cautious looks. She guessed that was why nobody protested when she hopped onto the first straw cart headed for the holdfast town.
She sat on the end of the cart, falling back amongst the straw as it rumbled away, jolting on every rock. She closed her eyes against the straw and remembered a time Regina was beside her.
-0-
Regina stared at the stars without seeing, knuckles whitening on the stone window sill.
Her breath misted on the glass, obscuring her reflection. Good. She already wanted to tear the skin off her bones piece by piece. She didn't want to have to look at it. It was wrapped too tightly around her, hot and crawling. She was stuck, sewn into the wrong life, trapped in her buzzing skull cage. Thoughts crashed around her mind, colliding and shattering and cutting her. Never had she wanted so desperately to just... stop. To just burn away to nothing. Her wedding dress was cutting into her. It was hideous, confining, dripping with jewels. Very Cora. Regina wanted nothing more than to rip it apart. Well, that wasn't true. There were a lot of things she wanted.
"You're missing your something blue, dearie."
Regina didn't move. She just stared at her knuckles blanching against the stone. "If you're not going to help me then go away."
"Oh, don't be like that." The Dark One chided. "I thought we were just starting to be friends!"
"I don't have friends." Regina reminded harshly, spinning on her heels to stare him down in the pale moonlight. The skirts of her gown tangled around her ankles. Appropriate, she thought miserably. This would be her final fitting. By this time tomorrow, she would have signed her life away. She studied him cautiously, his grim smile, the moon's glow glinting off that unnatural skin, the shadow in his eyes. She was beginning to become more familiar with this Rumplestiltskin than she would have liked. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller. "Now please, just leave me alone."
Regina may have hated her mother, but she was still her mother. She didn't deserve it, but she needed to be mourned. If only for tonight.
"Well I don't see why you're so upset," Rumplestiltskin cocked his head. "You begged me to help you get rid of dear old Cora, so I did. You should be thanking me."
"Thanking you?" Regina snarled, incredulous. How dare he? Hurt flared in her aching veins, a hot prickle crawling across her cheeks. "If you'd just helped us before, when we asked, none of this would have happened!"
"Wouldn't it?" Those unnatural eyes were trained on hers. The world was the darkest shade of blue imaginable; there were no stars tonight. A pale smudge of moon skulked amongst the night clouds, glancing off the snowy fabric of her wedding dress (shroud) and sending deep shadows sprawling across the room. She'd been given the most luxurious chambers in the Mightfort, but Regina doubted she'd be allowed to keep them past tonight.
"You're a monster," Regina told him dejectedly, glaring. She wrapped her arms lightly around herself, shivering under a sudden breeze.
A smile spread slowly across the Dark One's face. "Says the woman who just pushed her own mother through a looking glass."
"I needed her to be gone." Her voice had fallen to little more than a broken whisper in the night. That was what scared her, truly, what terrified her most. How empty her heart was. A lump of lead, for all it held. Regina was just numb. She'd banished her own mother to another land and she didn't care. She didn't feel guilty – not about that. She didn't feel anything at all. "Now she is."
"And you're still to be queen." He taunted lightly, grin baring his teeth. "Married. Trapped. Alone." Regina's eyes met his in a hard stare. Rumplestiltskin searched her gaze for a long time. "Without your precious Emma."
"Don't you dare say her name." Regina warned savagely.
He ignored her. "But all that could be your salvation."
Icy fury lashed through her. "No."
"No what?" He pressed, grin darkening to a snarl.
"No, I will never use magic again." Regina heard her voice break, rise harsh and defensive in the thick night air, strangled around the lump in her throat. She curled her fists tighter, nails biting into the skin of her palm. The pain helped her think. "I'll never be like her!"
Rumplestiltskin studied her, eyes roaming and widening. She scowled. Eventually, a light smile replaced his grimace. "Whatever you say, dearie."
And then the smoke was swirling, and he was gone.
-0-
When Emma woke up, the world was on fire.
The first thing she was aware of was the smoke in her lungs, thick and acrid, invading her in a relentless assault that tore each cough from her with more force than the next. Her aching body doubled over, wracked with each hacking cough. She was choking, choking on it. Water streamed thickly from her eyes, stinging, blinding. Bile rose in her throat.
Straw was scratching at her skin, her body was rocking, where – where? Emma's memories jolted back into place as the cart dropped suddenly to the ground. She grunted, gasping for air and finding only pain. She swung her legs over the end of the cart, stumbling to her feet on the hard-packed dirt. Shouting filled the air, rough voices shot with panic, high screams that shivered against her bones. Gasping, Emma raised her head, squinting in the glaring sunlight.
Chaos ruled. People were running, gagging on the air, some carrying bundles of possessions. There were buildings everywhere, taverns and smithies and houses, all of them aflame. Tongues of red and orange and yellow licked at the sky, flickering curtains, devouring everything they touched. Monstrous groans filled the air as buildings cracked and caved to the destruction. The once-blue sky was scarred grey with the smoke of destruction. Everything was warm, too warm, heat washing over her skin.
Somewhere, horses hooves thudded against the dirt, men were shouting. Emma couldn't see them. Words were forming in her mind. Elmar's holdfast. Town. Raids. The confused fear that had ripped through her was beginning to give way to a fire of her own, blood laced with fury that seemed to undo her at the seams. These were her people. Her innocent people. Without thinking, she turned, gagging on her breath, and ran into the burning streets.
She swooped down to pick up a wailing motherless child, squinting through the destruction. The fire was everywhere. This was no baker's oven spilled over. The word strategy surfaced in her hazy mind, but she shoved it away, hoisting the child onto her hip and holding her tight as she ran. Emma had no idea where she was going, only that she needed to move. To help. Her people. Her people. Failure. Death. Wooden beams creaking and crackling. Kindling. Her eyes stung, throat burned, skin seared. There was a woman frantically trying to tie a blanket of bundled silverware to her donkey, and Emma zeroed in. "Leave it!" She could hear her own guttural cry distantly, as if from far away. "Take her instead!"
She thrust the child at the woman, whose silver was spilling in the dust. Emma fled again, praying he realised the price of life. She tossed her frantic glance all around. The holdfast itself seemed to be falling to the chaos, shouts from inside growing louder. But it was only the town and the holdfast, contained. Emma stopped amidst the destruction, raising her voice until it hurt and then more. "This way! Make for the woods!" She was screaming, but not everybody heard. It didn't matter. "The woods!" Emma motioned with her arms, tears streaming thickly, trying to shepherd as many people as she could. After the first few took notice and followed her instructions, the rest seemed to follow.
Ash was falling like frost, scorching snowflakes drifting in the air. The flames were advancing, and the sound of hooves, of steel on steel ringing stridently. Emma was hurrying after the refugees, heading for the sanctuary of the pines, mind buzzing to try to make sense of what was happening when she heard the scream.
She had heard lots of screams, but this was the last one. Thin and frantic and high as no grown person could be. Emma shot one last watery glance at the tree line and turned, weaving through the panicked crowd, a fish against the current. Foul-tasting bile threatened to choke her, but it didn't matter. The screams were cutting her right down to the bone, she'd never live with herself if she didn't at least try. Emma held her breath against the acrid invasion of black smoke, fighting her way through fire and debris and frenzied livestock, pausing with a ragged heartbeat to hear it again. Left, it was coming from the left, where the animals' enclosures were. She ran, gaze desperate, searching.
"Help me!" It came again, strangled and desperate, and Emma's head whipped down to see the source.
The great wooden fences separating the pigs' pen from the goats had collapsed, blackened and crumbling, against the dirt. The animals were gone, but there was someone trapped beneath it. A very small someone. Pale face, ash-streaked brown hair, yelling and struggling. He couldn't have been more than six. Panic rose in her. Emma dropped to her knees, digging her fingers beneath the beam. The burned side crumbled under her fingernails. A long, low groan escaped her as she tried to wedge her shoulder under it, feet scrabbling in the dirt as she forced up with all the strength she had left.
Emma cried out with the pain of it, teeth gritted, eyes streaming, bruises protesting wildly, but she pushed through it. Her shoulder was crushing, trembling, sweating muscles screaming, heartbeat ragged, breath all gone from her. "Out!" She managed to scream, the instant she felt the weight shift.
The kid wasn't stupid. A small, pale body lunged out into the open just as Emma's shoulder gave and the wood dropped heavily to the dust, sending up a storm of dirt. She was on her feet in a second, though how was beyond her. "Where are your parents?" She yelled, through the panic. Red hot sparks spiralled through the sky, searing her skin where they landed.
"They left when I was a baby!" He shouted back. So Emma snatched his small hand in her own and ran.
He kept good pace, stumbling only once or twice as they neared the edge of town, coughing furiously. The tree line was getting closer and closer, the other side of the small grassy plain, they just had to get out of sight. The thunder of hooves swelled in the air. Emma's blood iced over in her veins. She stopped suddenly, staring around.
A horse had been tied to a post nearby, snorting and screaming and hoofing the ground. He was a big carthorse, unsaddled, terrified, probably never been ridden in his life before and yet...
Emma felt the boy following her as she raced over to the animal, fingers working at the tough leather knot that bound it. With a panicked glance behind her, she dropped her work and spun to face the boy. He was staring at her with wide eyes so full of dependence and fear it hurt, huge in his pale, dirt-streaked face. Half his cloak had been seared away, his hair was all a tangle, boots too big. She gasped for air. "You're gonna have to trust me now, kid."
Before he could reply, she'd lifted him up, pushing with all her might until he could swing a leg over the horse's back, pale hands fisting in the animal's mane. The horse whickered nervously, clearly distressed. But Emma had no other option. The shouts were growing in the air, rough, violent voices. She snatched a rock off the ground, beginning to saw through the horse's tie. It gave way quickly. She kept a firm grip on her makeshift reins as she kicked off from a fallen beam to join the kid on the horse's back.
Emma sat behind him, so she wrapped her arms around him to grasp her makeshift reins. With frantic glance over her shoulder, she winced and put her heels to his flank. The animal shot off. She kept her arms strong, despite everything, to stop the boy from falling. He was breathing heavily now. The wind rushed over them as they rode away, jolting and rough. A final glance back at the burning town confirmed what she didn't want to let herself suspect – her heart sunk through her insides like a rock through water. The black banners of Ironhaven were flying from the holdfast.
But she couldn't let her mind stick on that. "Kid," she managed, voice rough and unfamiliar in her own ears. "What's your name?"
He was still gasping air as if he would never breathe again. "Henry," He told her. "My name's Henry."