Chapter 14 - Conversations
Author's Note:
Hi everyone!
Long time no see, I know.
Funny how the summer flies past, isn't it?
Many, many, many thanks to all my fantastic reviewers, who make my day every time they leave a note: Thank you!
xxMadameMysteryxx
Dreamflower02 - You will have your wish, because you're so lovely : )
Sara KM - Thanks for the suggestion about the conversation: I'll try to insert it, if it goes with the context. And you'll see about the mirror...
Guest - You're welcome!
Psalty - loved your answer, thanks!
Bailfire - Oh, your review made my day. Thanks! Actually, this is going to sound strange, but for some reason I'd never really imagined boys/men reading this story. I'd always considered OUAT a thing for females to love more... Silly, I know. Anyway, thank you ever so much!
OK, I'm a bit nervous about posting this chapter, because it includes some POV I've next-to-never written before, and I'm not sure how well I did that.
You guys'll tell me, right?
I know it's quite short, but this was originally part of a much longer chapter, which you'll see quite soon.
Have fun reading!
The fellowship was led to a small glade between two of the main mellyrn, furnished with graceful stretches of white material strung between poles to create a roof, along with small tables sporting elegant vases of water and bowls of fruit for them to consume at their leisure. Emma nearly fainted with pleasure when she saw that the floor under under the canopy was strewn with rugs and soft blankets, along with the plumpest, most comfortable pillows she'd seen since since the Shire.
She sighed in relief as she sank to the floor and flopped backwards on the pile of pillows and cushions, closing her eyes and revelling at the feeling of letting go of all tension from her limbs on a surface which wasn't riddled with roots, stones and fallen leaves full of creeping bugs.
She felt someone collapse on the floor either side of her, and opened her eyes to see her parents sighing with relief. She smiled a little, suddenly too tired to do much else. Emma really couldn't be bothered to worry about orc patrols, mysterious elves communicating telepathically or the fact that she was still wearing her muddy boots. She was even too tired to feel more than a twinge of guilt and worry when she thought of Henry. She closed her eyes again and snuggled a little deeper into the cushions, letting the sweet, shadowy oblivion of sleep claim her. She distantly heard Mary-Margaret asking if she wanted to eat some fruit first, but didn't respond because she was so far gone it could very well have been a dream.
Emma thought she felt someone remove her boots and a soft hand stroking the hair out of her face, but for all she knew, that could have been a dream too. She'd never had anyone do that to her before, after all, or not that she remembered.
She dreamed of Henry. She dreamed of the Shire. She dreamed of walking in the green fields of Hobbiton, her arm around her son's shoulders and laughter bubbling from both their smiling lips.
While her daughter slipped into a deep slumber to sleep off the exhaustion of their strenuous journey, Mary-Margaret gratefully ate some fruit and a strange kind of flat, elvish bread - which looked plain, but tasted wonderful and felt far more nourishing than the waybread the elves of Rivendell had given them. She sipped some clear water from a tumbler and tiredly rested her head against David's shoulder. She too was exhausted, although much less willing to show it than her daughter. She smiled slightly: Emma was much like her when it came to staying strong in face of tiredness when in public, but the difference lay in that - unlike her mother, who after all had been raised a princess to provide never-ending strength for her people - Emma valued sleep over pride.
David idly ran his fingers through his wife's short black locks, fondly noticing how much it had grown over the months they had spent here: it was now reached just below her ears, and was much more similar to the style she'd had before the curse was broken. He smiled in satisfaction. Good. He preferred it that way.
"That elf couple we saw earlier was a little creepy." Snow mumbled sleepily despite her efforts to stay awake, her cheek resting on his shoulder.
David chuckled.
"You think? They looked like the exact opposite of the Nazgúl, to me - which is always a plus." A small shiver ran down his spine at the memory of the ghastly wraiths. What a relief they'd been washed down in that enchanted river.
Snow fiddle with the fastenings of her husband's coat, a small frown marring her forehead. She seemed to hesitate to say something else.
"I heard her voice in my head." Snow said quietly, after a minute had gone by.
David raised his head slightly and peered down at her. The frown was still there, and she didn't raise her eyes to meet his gaze. He could tell she was troubled by what she'd just said.
"I heard her too." he told her quietly. "I thought it was just a trick of my mind - that maybe I'd gone too long without water or something - but, now..."
Snow tweaked a button a little more firmly, now downright worried.
"I didn't know they could do that." she said. "Elves."
They heard a quiet chuckle nearby: Legolas was sitting on a large tree root, polishing his bow. He'd taken off his surcoat, and revealed a silvery grey, delicately embroidered shirt beneath. The overall effect was as surreal as their surroundings - like his kin, he seemed to glow in poor light, and his fair complexion with his light shirt only enhanced this effect.
"The Lady Galadriel is one-of-a-kind among our people." he explained quietly. "Some of the eldest and wisest of the Eldar live so long and are so blessed by Erú that they start developing abilities which not all elves can possess. The Lady Galadriel had the gift of prophecy, and can communicate with others of our kind over great distances. Lord Elrond has similar powers, though not as developed as the Lady of the Galadhrim ."
Snow smiled slightly.
"Where we're from," she replied, "we have ways of communicating halfway around the world, too. And they're available to anyone."
Legolas looked incredulous (for a elf) and momentarily put down his bow.
"Truly? Do all humans have such powers? Such is not the case here. Apart from the Dúnedain, who are blessed with long life, no edanea have any supernatural abilities."
Snow chuckled.
"I'm guessing you meant humans, there... Well, they're not powers, per se - we call it technology."
Legolas tilted his head slightly to the side, considering this new term.
"It must be a powerful source of power." he concluded after a moment.
"Er.. Well, technology is more of a general term to refer to any kind of machinery or industry we have, but nearly all technology is powered by an invisible, powerful kind of energy we call electricity." she explained patiently. "It's not magic. We generate it ourselves, using natural resources we extract from the earth, and the movements of nature like the waves of the sea, the current of rivers, wind, waterfalls, etc..."
Legolas looked slightly confused, but nodded in acceptance. Whatever these young mortals said, invisible, powerful forces still sounded like magic to him. And what on earth was "exetera" supposed to mean, anyway? He shook his head. Young mortals. Always trying to draw attention to themselves by adopting strange ways.
Snow rested her head back onto David's shoulder, who was still chuckling at the elven prince's clueless reaction. The frown of worry was back, and she exchanged a look with her husband. She was clearly troubled by the revelation of Galadriel's telepathic powers.
"What did she say to you?" she whispered.
David hesitated - he wasn't sure if he wanted Snow to know. Not because he couldn't trust her, but because he didn't want her to worry unnecessarily.
"She said... She said to be careful." he began slowly, choosing his words with care. The elven lady's message had been clear and disturbingly worrying. "She said to be as true to my love as always - whatever that means. I've always be true to you, haven't I?" he asked with a bright smile and a joking tone, trying to alleviate the seriousness of her expression. She was not fooled: she knew he was still keeping something back. David sighed, then consented to explaining the rest. "She also gave me a... Well, a kind of warning. Something about being careful not let my love get in the way of our happiness."
Snow's frown deepened, and she returned her attention to the buttons she was fiddling with. "What does she mean by that? We have true love - how is that meant to get in the way of our happiness?"
David shrugged lightly, seemingly not bothered by the warning, although in truth it bothered him more than he could say: he loved Snow. That was a fact. She was his world, his other half. There was no way on Earth, Heaven or Hell that he would ever forfeit that. And he loved his daughter, too: he had loved Emma since Snow had told him she was pregnant with her.
"Maybe she meant another kind of love?" he suggested idly, twining a lock of her hair around his finger. "I love Emma, too. And Henry. This whole quest on our part is all about finding him, after all."
Snow scowled stubbornly. "But how does loving them get in the way of our happiness?" she muttered, worried and slightly indignant at this revelation. "They're our family - sometimes family is more important than your own wishes."
David shrugged again. "Maybe that's what she meant." he concluded gently. He peered down at his wife, who was picking at the fastenings of his coat looking increasingly like they'd personally insulted her. That, and the unusually distant tone of her voice, made him think he wasn't the only one holding something back.
"What did she say to you, then?" he asked quietly, knowing that this was the source of her worries.
Snow stayed silent for a few moments, but at least she stopped tweaking the buttons of his coat.
"She basically told me not to agonize over Emma," she mumbled, and David knew her well enough to sense that she was trying to keep back tears - although to any onlookers she only sounded a little put out. "She said that Emma would come to see me differently only with time, and that for now the only thing that mattered was that we loved each other."
David looked into her eyes curiously. "But that's good, isn't it?" he said, confused. "If she can tell prophecies, that means Emma's likely to see us as her parents - not just friends - at some point in the future. I think that's great."
Snow bit her lip, ducking her head.
"But the way she said it, Charming," she whispered, "it was like she knew we both loved each other, but that there was something holding her back from accepting us. What if that was me? What if I pushed her too much? Expected too much of her too soon?"
She sifted through a few fallen leaves on the ground, her gaze turning nostalgic. "I loved my father with all my heart, but when my mother died, he expected me to take up the role of queen in her place. Not as his consort, obviously, but as a figure our people could look up to for strength and trust. I was willing to give all I had to them, but I was so young - and I wasn't ready. He pushed me into the space she left without waiting for me to grieve for her and come to terms with my duties as the only royal left apart from him."
She blinked back furiously, determined not to cry. The memory of her own mother made this twice as hard for her to think about.
"I want to be a good mother to her." she said, frustrated. "As good as mine was to me. But now I don't know if that will ever happen, because if my daughter can't see me as her mother now, after all we've been through, what makes it so sure she will once all this is over - when she'll have grown even more and I still won't have a clue how to be what any mother should be?"
David sighed, slid his arm around her shoulders and hugged her tightly. He understood her, truly he did. But this time he felt she was being too hard: on herself, on Emma, and on her usually never-ending faith in love.
"Snow," he told her gently, "You're doing it again. The Lady Galadriel just told you not to worry about it. How does torturing yourself on the moralities of being a good mother fall under that category, I wonder?"
She didn't answer, but buried her head in his chest. David sighed.
"Just try not to force it," he told her, kissing the top of her head. "An elven queen used her special telepathy and foretelling powers to specifically tell you not to worry about it, and that it would all come around in time. Somehow, I don't think she meant that lightly." He finished, a dry note of humour in his tone.
"The future is never what we expect it to be." Snow mumbled. "It's full of possibilities, too. It can change. Lady Galadriel isn't necessarily right."
David smirked down at her. "Then what she said to me is probably only one version of a thousand possibilities, too." he pointed out. "If it's unexpected, and changeable, then nothing we can do except following her advice can help us ensure the future."
He kissed the tip of her nose. "So, in short, stop worrying, and I'll make sure you're not in the way when I start stabbing orcs again."
Snow snorted, getting the reference that being his true love, she would, in fact, "get in the way of their happiness" if he hurt her accidentally.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Even in the peaceful glades of Lothlórien, Strider could find no sleep. The Dúnedain ranger was standing up against an unnaturally tall and beautiful tree, unable to rest. The loss of Gandalf was unmeasurable, and he found all he could do was grieve for the loss of his old friend. He twirled a pale yellow flower between his fingers, sadly reliving a few of the many memories he had of the wizard as he stared up at the stars and the waters of the river by him.
Behind the tree, a rustle in the bushes alerted Strider. He instinctively put his hand on his sword, his knuckles whitening with the strength of a battle-hardened and reflexive grip, ready to unsheathe. However only the strange one-handed man, holding a bottle of what was very clearly alcohol, came out of the bushes. How the man always managed to acquire such drink was beyond even the wisest of their company, which up till recently had been Gandalf. Strider walked out from behind the tree to greet Hook without a sound. He could smell the elvish wine from five metres away.
" 'Ello mate" Hook said in a surprisingly quiet voice, considering he had already downed almost an entire bottle by the looks of it.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" Aragorn questioned.
"Couldn't sleep - sort of situation any kind of liquour helps with." He held out the near-empty bottle to the Ranger, who shook his head in refusal. Hook shrugged and took a gulp himself, leaning back against the tree next to Aragorn's. He fiddled with the cap of the bottle.
"Hey, listen. I'm sorry for your loss," he blurted suddenly, "Gandalf was a good bloke."
Sure, he'd never trusted the old man, but it would take a fool not to see he was truly decent and a good friend to have. Not to mention an extremely powerful ally, Hook thought idly, remembering the wizard's impressive last stand. Hook really didn't like magic, but even he had to admit it had proved more than useful facing the Balrog. And power like that didn't come easy, nor was the matter of keeping it under control. Hook's respect for Gandalf had gone up a notch when he realized the Istar was truly a kind soul in spite of the raw power he wielded. He had bitterly reflected on how Rumplestiltskin could take a few pointers from him, before witnessing Gandalf falling to his doom.
Aragorn nodded in acceptance of the pirate's condolences.
"Are the others asleep, or Valar help us all, at least resting?" he asked.
"Aye," Hook answered, "although I didn't see any sign of Frodo." he added, vaguely wondering where the little hobbit could be.
Aragorn frowned. The Shireling needed the most rest out of the whole company. Carrying the Ring was an enormous burden.
A long silence passed as the two men stood still, staring at a pool which reflected Durin's crown, high above.
"Do we leave tomorrow?" Hook eventually asked
Aragorn nodded. "At first light we head downriver to the Falls of Rauros, where hopefully we shall rest, providing we remain unseen by the Enemy's spies. We then set off across the Eastern shore to cross Emyn Muil. Once we reach its borders, we will be able to see Mordor. The rest will be up to Frodo, for we cannot expect to simply walk through the Black Gate."
Hook easily pictured the route they would be taking. He had a mind for maps, and remembering the many old documents Bilbo had possessed in Bad End was quite effortless for him, for he had spent hours pouring over the ink-drawn atlas, trying in vain to recognise any oceans or lands he knew from either the Enchanted Forest or the little he knew of Emma's world. He nodded in understanding, although he could tell something troubled the ranger. Aragorn's brow was furrowed with something that resembled annoyance as well as worry. Hook thought he knew what caused it.
"I take it not everyone is all too happy with that plan?..." he hazarded, carefully choosing to make his tone curious rather than mocking.
Aragorn grimaced slightly, and didn't answer for a moment.
"Some of us feel it would be safer to... Make a detour." the ranger finally answered, he too being deliberately careful over his choice of words. Either way, Hook understood "some of us" to be Boromir, and rightly so. It was no secret to the Fellowship that the Gondorian wanted them to travel to Minas Tirith first, from where they could make the enemy bend to their will by using the Ring as leverage. It was a sign of the degree of power the Ring had over Boromir that he was the only one who couldn't seem to comprehend that the Ring could not be used in their favour. Hook too made a face.
"Nothing good would come of that, mark my words." he said grimly, taking another swig of his wine.
Aragorn nodded in agreement.
"Don't I know it." he answered darkly.
A few moments of musing silence later, Aragorn spoke again.
"It's nearly dawn. Go, try and rest, or at least recover your strength. A dark and strenuous journey is ahead of us." he told Hook, authority and strength suddenly audible in his voice, although his demeanour didn't change and his face remained calm.
Hook blinked and stared at his ally. For the first time, he saw Aragorn as he was meant to be: the heir of Isildur - the King guy. He realized the man wasn't ordering him to do anything, but merely suggesting he rested as one would a friend. It was a mark of Hook's respect for the man that he chose to obey. (Not that he would have done otherwise: the ranger had the kind of tone his brother Liam used when he was offering help as well as leadership to his men) The pirate captain nodded cordially at the man who was now their leader, and walked away in silence, with only the brushing of his clothes in the nearby bushes telling Aragorn of the direction of his retreat.
After a few seconds, a loud thump alerted Strider. Smirking, for he had an idea what had caused it, he listened carefully and heard the pirate proceed to cursing prolifically, the least offensive of which being "Ah, bloody roots!" and the rudest including graphic descriptions of what he would do to the roots were they a humanoid enemy.
Aragorn grinned, cherishing the sudden lightheartedness of the situation, knowing he probably wouldn't smile and laugh for a long time yet. Sombre days were before him, and they were getting darker by the day.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Regina slowly walked down the river that ran through the elven city, her trademark scowl firmly in place as she mulled over what the powerful elven lady had told her. She'd heard her voice, clear as day. Except that she'd heard it in her head. She knew the Lady hadn't spoken out loud.
Regina's scowl deepened. It wasn't that she was especially jealous of the elven queen's telepathic abilities (although she was a little; it would have saved her a hell of a lot of time and trouble trying to find and speak to Gold back in the Enchanted Forest) but she was concerned, and more than a little scared, of what she had told her.
Beware, young queen, she had said, the time will come when you will have to make a choice, where love will either conquer or be conquered. You will have the chance for a new life, but you will be tested, and there will be obstacles for you to overcome. If you fail, you will fall back to your darker days.
Regina plucked a leaf from a bush and watched as it twirled down to float on the river as she mused on the Lady's words.
Darker days.
That obviously referred to her days as the Evil Queen. Regina plucked another leaf, a little harder than before. The question was, why "fall back"? Judging by the others' wary and cordial treatment of her, she was still the Evil Queen. What did that make her future-self?
And what was that other thing Galadriel mentioned?
"A choice, where love will either conquer or be conquered".
Well, that cleared things up.
Next time Regina would have to pick between having bread or Sam's cooking for breakfast, she'd worry about changing the course of her life. Great.
Although, clearly, the Lady knew of her past: how else would she know of Regina's tendency to lean towards dark powers? But it also seemed that she knew of Henry, or perhaps even Daniel to warn her about love. Regina hadn't had much love in her life, except from her father. But she doubted he would be part of the Lady's warning, however. For one thing, she'd... Well, killed him, and for another, she'd already made her choice between power and that love a long time ago. Nearly thirty years ago, in fact.
Regina was disturbed that the Lady seemed to know about her past. No-one here did apart from her companions from Earth. Evidently, chatting amongst themselves had led to a few comments which caused the hobbits to stare curiously at the former queen, but all of them could have been misleading or just plain incomprehensible to any others than her companions. And that made the fact Galadriel probably knew about her all the more concerning: not only did it mean that she was possibly not the only one to know, but also that she likely had ways of finding out other things, too. Like Emma's powers, her own, and Gold's. Like the terrible details of her actions in her former life. Like what she'd done to those she'd yet professed to love.
Regina bit her lip. What if Galadriel judged her too evil to help rescue her son? What if she revealed her past to the rest of her Middle-Earth companions? Just the thought of seeing the horror and disgust dawn on the hobbits' faces was enough to make Regina pale slightly. They'd never trust her again. Pippin would never chat to her mindlessly, not caring that she hardly ever responded, not guessing that she enjoyed his babbling almost as much as she did Henry's. Merry would never again eagerly ask her about their world, and the mischievous sparkle in his eye would fade to a glower of hate and mistrust - just like the ones she'd met in the eyes of everyone she looked at in the Enchanted Forest.
She wouldn't be able to bear it. She couldn't let it happen.
The thought that she had changed enough to actually care and feel ashamed about her dark notoriety didn't even cross her mind.
Regina let out a deep breath, hugged herself and shook her head as she mused, annoyed at her own paranoia and trying to think logically. Just because the Lady Galadriel knew about the future didn't mean she knew about the past. She told Regina only what she could foresee for her, not warn her about her previous actions.
Besides, Regina knew enough about foretelling to know that the future was never what one expected. She had no doubt Galadriel knew this, too, and so her warning was probably as precise as she could make it, but still not definitive in the slightest.
Regina walked on a little more, deep in her thoughts, and didn't notice Aragorn leaning against a tree until she heard him chuckle. She glanced up, startled and none too pleased at having been caught worrying fruitlessly.
The ranger was twirling a small flower in his fingers, and laughing softly. Regina could hear what sounded like that shameless pirate swearing at the top of his voice at something. Roots, by the sound of it.
Once the sounds of cursing faded, Aragorn stopped chuckling and cordially inclined his head at Regina.
"My Lady," he greeted her.
Regina smiled tightly, a little unsettled by the fact that it sounded strange to be addressed so formally once more, and that it didn't thrill her the way it used to. "Your Majesty" was usually much more suited to her status, of course, but even "Lady" here sounded too formal to her, not to mention... Cold. And way too distant.
"Good evening," she said in return.
Aragorn tilted his head slightly.
"I was told by your friend a moment ago that you were all asleep," he informed her sternly. "Or at least resting. You, however, look about as far away from restful as it gets."
Regina shrugged, her trademark mask of indifference once more sliding into place, hiding her annoyance at his nagging, and her indignance at being called that rum-soaked pirate's friend.
"Lot of things on my mind these days." she said flatly, determined not to let anything through to the mysterious ranger she knew next to nothing about. She trusted him, but only as the leader of the company. She wasn't about to get personal with anyone, least of all him.
Aragorn nodded pensively. "One of them being the Lady's message, I imagine?"
In spite of her carefully schooled expression, Regina couldn't stop a little surprise from showing. Her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed, immediately suspicious.
"What makes you think she said anything to me?" she asked sharply, automatically on the defensive.
Aragorn smiled faintly, holding his palms up in a gesture of peace.
"I only meant that she warned us all of co-operating, or the quest would fail." he explained, his smile soft but his gaze knowing. "I assure you, the matter grows ever more on my mind, too."
Regina nodded, but didn't relax, knowing she had revealed more than was intended. Aragorn knew, too.
"What did the Lady tell you, if I may ask?" he asked her, still twirling the flower.
Regina looked away and didn't answer.
Aragorn smiled and straightened from his position, clearly intending to take his leave.
"Forgive me, Lady, I did not mean to pry."
Regina watched as he bowed slightly and walked a few steps away. His retreat suddenly reminded her of how others would flee from her if they knew of her past.
"She told me I would have a choice." she blurted out. "She said I would have to overcome many obstacles to have a chance at..." she hesitated, what could she say? "...improving... and having a better life. But she also said that if I don't, I would go back to... being the person I was before we got here." She finished, not needing to clarify that "here" was Middle-Earth.
Aragorn had stopped and turned to face her again. The look on his face seemed far too old and wise to be on his still quite youthful features.
"And what person would that be, my lady?" he asked gently.
Regina swallowed. She didn't want to answer. He would fear her, hate her, show disgust for her.
He smiled again, this time a little self-deprecatingly. "Ah, I am prying again. Fear not, I will not insist on an answer." He rubbed his face pensively. "But... If I may, my Lady?"
She nodded.
"Do not let the Lady's warnings dwell to much on your mind. She told you of a choice you will have to make. So must we all." he said. "Life is all about choices, and the ones we make determine our lives, yes, but not necessarily who we are. One can make the wrong choice without being a bad person, the same way one can make a good decision, but will not always make a good choice."
He met her gaze, which she'd kept on the ground so far, his keen grey eyes intent in their sincerity.
"Make choices, for good or bad. Learn from them, and learn to make the right one from what you gain in the others. Do not fear to act on what your heart and mind tell you. They make you who you are."
Regina swallowed, wanting to speak but not sure she could keep her voice from cracking. She steadied it as much as she could and met Aragorn's gaze directly.
"What if that person had always made the wrong choices?" she said, pleased at her tone, whose steadiness did not reflect the quavering emotions inside her. "What if those choices did in fact make them who they were? What if that person, in spite of doing everything to change things and correct the choices, couldn't, and will always be bound to make the wrong choices because that's who they are? What if in the end, even though they try to change, they'll always go back to who they were because the wrong choices and the bad decisions and the base thoughts were part of them for so long that they can't change back? What if that person is terrified of making the wrong choice, again, but know that they most likely will because that's who they are?" She finished loudly and more sharply than she intended.
Aragorn looked at her silently, his expression unreadable in the poor light. Regina bit her lip, suddenly furious at herself and deeply regretting her tirade. She'd blown it, now. She'd revealed her dark past as surely as she'd secured his contempt and disgust.
Aragorn walked over until he was right in front of her. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it slightly. He met her gaze, and she saw in surprise that there was no horror, no fear, and no disgust in his eyes. Instead, there was kindness, sympathy, and what surprisingly looked like understanding.
"Only those who fear the darkness most of all never become it, my lady." he said quietly. "We all have a past, and we all have parts of it we wish to hide from the world." He smirked faintly. "I do believe your... ah... anarchical friend, Captain Hook has many aspects of his life to disguise."
Regina was surprised. How did the mysterious, rather-less-than-talkative ranger know? Sure, Hook wasn't very discrete about his opinionated nature, but that was hardly a reason to assume he was a pirate - for, she had no doubt, that was what Strider had restrained from saying. To mask her astonishment, Regina looked away and shrugged slightly, not wanting to reveal anything of her companions' lives as she had her own. But Aragorn seemed to take her shrug for a "yes", anyway, for he smiled and crossed his arms, satisfied.
"His strategic opinions in battle and manners of speech are similar to those of many sailors I have met during my travels, most of whom engaged in less-than-reputable professions." He smirked a little, and shrugged. "His attire is also strange; unlike your own and those of your other companions, his clothes are visibly mismatched and of various exotic styles, the likes of which can be seen in many nations in Arda. You will agree, my Lady, I am sure, that these are no fit reasons to accuse anyone of-" his mouth twisted humourlessly "- dare I say it? Piracy - but I had an inkling, and if I do say so myself, I am a very good judge of character."
Regina raised an eyebrow. It was deliberately neutral. She agreed, but would also let him take it they way he wanted.
"No-one here knows anything of your past, and I will keep it that way." Aragorn assured her. "In fact, one might even say your past remains a secret to all, for if you do not wish for this conversation to ever have happened, I will forget everything about it at once, my lady." he told her with utmost sincerity, his kind eyes old and wise all at once, making Regina wonder why this man acted like he was a hundred year old: he sounded as thoughtful and knowledgeable as Gandalf, yet looked only a little older than Charming and Hook - there was definitely something strange there. She made a mental note to ask someone about it - maybe Legolas, who he seemed to be long-term friends with.
Regina nearly smiled darkly at Aragorn's last remark, though. Once upon a time, she could indeed have made it so that this conversation would never have happened: she could have erased his memory, enslaved his mind to her own, or simply killed him.
Now however, as Aragorn bowed and took his leave with another smile, the mere thought of such options was enough for her to feel sick with disgust at herself. She would rather give up her powers altogether than hurt anyone who had been so kind to her, like he had been this evening.
Feeling disgust wasn't new to the queen, but it was possibly the first time she felt it truly directed at her own self. It felt so odd she didn't even reflect on just how much it showed the extent to which she had changed in Middle-Earth.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Emma's eyes shot open, uncharacteristically awake and fully alert despite the fact she'd been deeply asleep two seconds ago. She couldn't help but wryly reflect how useful that would be on the road: Aragorn usually had to throw water in her face to efficiently wake her up every morning at dawn (Yes, precisely: dawn. What sane person ever got up at such an ungodly hour?).
But as great as that sudden ability was, Emma knew it wasn't because she'd suddenly developed the reflexes of battle-hardened and hard-turned suspicious warriors. Something had woken her, and it wasn't entirely natural.
She raised her head slightly, sure she'd heard something which had woken her. She glanced around their small camp, surprised and a little alarmed, she could've sworn it was voice that had called for her. Seeing nothing out of usual, Emma made to snuggle back into her pillows again, but a movement caught her eye. She froze and trained her gaze on what had moved.
It was Frodo. The little hobbit was clambering to his feet. His eyes were wide and alert, just like Emma. He too was staring at something. Emma saw what had captured his attention a second after he had: the Lady Galadriel was walking past their camp, her bare feet making no noise on the dewy grass. Her eyes were fixed ahead of her, yet both Emma and Frodo knew they were meant to follow. But Frodo hadn't seen Emma yet, and for some reason she remained motionless until he was nearly out of sight. She didn't quite know why, but she preferred for Frodo to remain ignorant of her presence.
As soon as the hobbit was safely out of sight, Emma shook off her blankets and crept after him, carefully stepping over her sleeping companions. Her foot nudged someone (Hook, she saw) and she winced at her clumsiness, but the pirate just exhaled a bit louder and shifted a little in his sleep. She sighed in relief and jogged as quietly as possible in the direction she had seen Frodo and the Lady disappear to.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Hook was sitting at a table, staring in anticipation at a dusty but undeniably beautiful bottle of rum. It had a glass next to it, and no-one else was around.
In other words: perfect.
The pirate uncorked the bottle and reverently filled his glass with the amber liquid, not believing his luck at finding a perfectly good bottle of rum in the middle of... Well, wherever this was.
Hook idly traced the wood patterns of the oaken table. It was good craftsmanship, and a nice table. Very solid, stable, and just the right height for a little drink.
Hook grinned and picked the glass off the table, raising it in an imaginary toast at a similarly non-existent drinking-partner before eagerly bringing it to his lips.
Ahh, rum. So good. How long had it been since he'd had such a nice drink?
Well, not since that place with the trees... and the little lights... and beer. Very nice brown beer.
Oh, stuff beer. This was rum. Much better. Mm.
He opened his mouth to take his first sip-
Something connected to his ribs and jolted Hook out of his dream.
Bugger.
Hook was Not Amused.
Who had dared interrupt his slumber? He grunted a bit and shifted in his half-conscious state, desperate to find the pleasant dream once more. It had been so nice, so... harmless. It had been so many nights since he'd had such innocent night-visions.
Usually, they were filled with memories of Milah, fantasies of winning every card game, tripping up Rumplestiltskin repeatedly, and... Well. Best not go too far, eh? Otherwise, he'd soon stumble through Dream Street, take a wrong turning into Memory Lane and start being pelted and battered by its self-throwing paving slabs of souvenirs.
Still, something had woken him, and now it was their fault he found himself suddenly so bereft of rum. He blearily opened an eye and turned over on his side to seek out the offender. He caught a flash of blonde hair and jeans disappearing behind a corner covered in shrubs. Ah, the Swan girl, then. How strange. Usually, she slept through the whole night without stirring unless someone was unfortunate enough to bear the task of waking her to take the watch (a thoroughly unpleasant and dangerous job - Hook spoke from experience).
Frowning, Hook got to his feet and followed the plucky lass. He didn't feel reassured about her wandering around this elf-filled place. Who knew what those pointy-eared ballet dancers would do if she went somewhere she wasn't supposed to?
He picked up his pace and turned at the corner she'd disappeared at.
Thanks for reading!
I love you all xxxx
Please drop in a word or two: I want to know what you guys think of my Regina, and what you think I should put in the next scene...
Until next time!
Stel