Firstly, over one hundred reviews, thank you!
Secondly, I apologise in advance for how many times I use the word "blood" in this chapter, it was only when I read through it that I realised but as there is no other word I can use, it'll have to stay the same I'm afraid.
Thirdly, this is the penultimate chapter, and I will hopefully have the final one up in the next few days.
And lastly, I hope you enjoy the chapter.
Chapter Fourteen
Red as Blood
Regina opened her mouth in a soundless scream, whatever air she had left rushing out of her chest and leaving her hollow.
Her hands scrabbled to where the sword disappeared into her flesh, her fingers wrapping tightly around the blade, cutting deeply into her palms, as though checking it was indeed her who had been stabbed.
Emma smiled grimly, her eyes dark, and for the first time Regina truly feared her, this woman without magic, the avenging angel before her eyes.
"Goodnight, Your Majesty," she murmured, her voice low and soft. "May your dreams be sweet."
On the final word, Emma twisted the sword abruptly, gouging deeper into Regina's poisoned heart, the blade disappearing as she did so, embedded to the hilt; Regina let out a choked breath, blood flying out her mouth and hitting the ground between them, the grass beneath them now churned and destroyed, the mud dyed a deep scarlet.
"Well look at that. Lips red as roses, my Mom has. It would seem yours are red as blood," Emma hissed, and a moment later she took a step back, her sword leaving Regina's body with a sickening hiss, glistening like a crimson flame in her hand as the sunlight caught it.
Regina's knees buckled, her entire body swaying, each heartbeat slower than the last yet the blood still pulsed through her desperately clawing fingers as she stared up at Emma in disbelief.
"No," she mouthed, coughing up yet more blood, her own body turning traitor and suffocating her.
"Yes," Emma said softly. She went down on one knee, sword in one hand, her other reaching forward to grab Regina's face, her nails digging into her jaw even through the stiff leather of her gloves.
She smiled truly then, her eyes alight with triumph.
The angel was gone now, its duty done; this was the Saviour, a warrior princess for a new age of the kingdom.
"I win," she whispered, her voice caressing the words, Regina's eyes locked on her lips as she released her hold on her face, her body tilting backwards.
She was dead before she hit the ground.
It was a spur of the moment thing, and no doubt she'd be looked down upon for it, but Emma wanted proof of her conquest, a spoil of war.
She knew exactly what she wanted; she stabbed her sword into the ground beside her, pulling off her gloves with trembling hands and reaching for the ring at Regina's neck. With a sharp tug, the chain snapped easily, the ring cool in her hand despite the heat of the day.
She wondered for a second just what Regina was doing with a ring like this, but then decided she didn't really give a crap.
A darker part of her wished that it was a ruby, so it would always remind her of Regina's blood on her blade.
She pushed that part away, locking it at the back of her mind, but she knew she would never forget her thought, nor would she regret it.
Keeping her eyes on Regina's slack face, she slid the ring onto her middle finger for safe-keeping; she couldn't help but wonder if it was her grandfather's, and if it was then surely Snow would want it back, and it alleviated her already growing guilt to believe that she was reuniting her mother with something that should have always belonged to her.
She got to her feet, noticing for the first time the soldiers that had gathered around her, some wearing awed, slightly fearful expressions, others grinning at her through their helmets.
She also noticed that most of Regina's army had scattered pretty quickly in the thirty seconds she'd been dead.
She stared at them, suddenly awkward and unsure.
What did she do now?
Say, "Ok, we won, time to go home now?"
She'd never seen that in a film before.
"Victory!" she crowed, pulling her sword from the ground and holding it to the sky, the stained blade flashing in the setting sun as she threw her head back and exhaled sharply with relief, the soldiers around her erupting into cheers; now that they did do in films.
Before she could take another step, she collapsed in on herself, her legs suddenly too weak to hold her as it began to sink in, her entire body feeling like a live wire, like her skin was too tight to contain its energy.
Ignoring the tingling and what felt like a whole swarm of butterflies in her stomach, she took what felt like the deepest breath in her life and straightened up, sliding her blood-stained sword into its sheath, promising to clean it once she got back to the castle.
Closing her eyes she exhaled slowly, focusing on…well, she wasn't sure exactly what; her mind was all over the place, jumping from one thought to another, making up for the time it had turned off during the battle.
It's over, you won, they're safe.
She'd done it
She had saved them all, defeated Regina, just as she was supposed to, just as she would a thousand times over if it meant keeping her family safe.
She had survived.
For her, that was the most surprising.
"Emma!" she heard someone call, turning towards the sound and letting out a cry of relief as she saw Graham running towards her, his quiver empty.
She met him halfway, throwing her arms around him and holding him tight against her and wanting to pull him closer still.
"Thank God," she murmured, feeling slightly faint, the adrenaline beginning to wear off as everything she had shoved away with her calming breath suddenly hitting her like a punch to the stomach, leaving her shivering and sick. "Thank God."
He pulled back, keeping his arms wrapped around her waist, one of his hands rising to the cut on her head as he frowned at her worriedly.
"What happened to your helmet?"
"Long story. Are you hurt?" she asked hurriedly, her eyes darting from one body part to another, searching for any injuries.
She smiled when she saw his quiver.
"Looks like I beat her just in time; you're all out of arrows, Robin Hood."
He shook his head, laughing slightly, before kissing her, his lips warm and comforting, and she drew strength from him, the tremble in her muscles lessening against the sturdiness of his presence, her triumph once again filling her veins as she saw the pride in his eyes, driving away the darkness for a little longer, for she knew later that she would begin to hate herself, hate that she had killed so many, even if it had all been for a good cause; she already hated herself for taking that damn ring, but there was nothing she could do about it right that second.
But for now, her blood was singing, Graham was in her arms, Henry was safe, her mother and father were-
Her mother and father.
She hadn't spared a thought for them once since the battle had started, and by the looks of it, that had been several hours ago, the sun low in the sky as evening drew close, casting shadows across the battlefield and turning the already nightmarish scene into a true horror.
Where were her parents?
She glanced around, Graham's arms loosening around her as he gazed down at her in concern.
"Emma?"
"Can you see Snow? Or James? I can't see them."
He looked with her, the two releasing their hold on each other-though their hands remained interlocked, their fingers white with the strength of their grip-and making their way slowly across the battlefield.
"She's there," Graham said quickly, pointing with his free hands towards her mother, and Emma saw her tending to the wounded, her face and armour smeared with mud, though she looked unhurt.
Emma closed her eyes, the relief so powerful she was sure she was going to pass out all over again, and she reached out to steady herself against Graham as he untangled his fingers from hers, his arm curving up to catch her should she fall.
"James with her?"
He was silent for too long.
Her eyes shot open, the relief short-lived, and suddenly her veins were full of icy panic, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.
"I can't see him," Graham said softly.
"Where's James?"
"Emma-"
"Where's my Dad?" she asked quietly, glancing around her at the devastation, and she suddenly felt like a child again, crying out in the night for her parents, her real parents, desperate to know where they were, why they weren't with her.
Only know she knew them, and it was a hundred times worse because of it, and because it was James, James who told her stories and was always good to her and didn't give a crap that she was a screw up or that she called her horse Starlight when he clearly hated the name, James, her Dad.
Graham grabbed at her hand, reading it all in her eyes.
"Emma, you have to stay here, we need to-Emma, wait!"
But she was already gone, wrenching her hand from his and darting between the dead and dying, opening visors and kneeling beside unrecognisable faces, praying that it wouldn't be him before lurching to her feet again.
"James!" she yelled, desperation clawing at her like a beast, leaving her nerves in ribbons. "James!"
She shuddered to a halt, torn between one direction and another, her feet stumbling as her mind remained undecided.
She wanted to scream, wanted to crawl into a ball and sob until she fell asleep and it would all be over, but she couldn't because her Dad was on his own somewhere and she needed to find him.
"Dad," she mumbled, repeating the word louder and louder and louder until her voice became a battle cry all over again, her throat screaming in protest as her voice grew hoarser, her lips dry.
She realised she was moving again, slipping through mud and blood that had become her world for the moment, but still she ran.
"Dad!" she screamed, tears falling down her bloodied face, creating small, salty rivers through the dirt.
"Dad!"
She ran faster, tripping over fallen horses, body parts, chipped weapons, shattered shields, but it didn't stop her; it only pushed her to go faster.
And then she saw him.
"Oh God," she breathed, sprinting further ahead and vaulting over a giant's corpse, skidding to a halt on her knees, her legs twisting beneath her but she shoved the pain away, too focused on her father.
He laid crookedly, his head thrown back, his right arm outstretched for his sword.
And then she saw the wound, his armour pierced at his stomach, dark blood on bright steel, running down his sides and staining the ground below him.
She remembered her earlier wish for a ruby to remember this day by and wanted to be sick, the bile rising in her throat as she stared at the glistening blood on her father's shining armour, so similar to how Regina's had decorated her sword.
She forced it back, crawling closer to him until her knees were pressed against his side, the grass warm and wet beneath her, squelching as she moved.
"Dad-oh God-wake up, Dad, I'm here, please, it's ok now, you're going to be alright, it's over, Dad, I'm here, please," she said through numb lips, tripping over her words, unsure of what she was even saying, only knowing that she had to continue to speak or lose him forever.
She leant forward, unbuckling his helmet on her fourth attempt and throwing it away from her with an exasperated scream before loosening his chest plate and removing it as gently as she could so as to get to the wound.
She pressed her hands against it immediately, hoping to whatever God existed in this world that it would staunch the bleeding.
"I need help, the Prince-King-whatever is hurt," she called shakily to a group of soldiers across from them, her voice breaking slightly on the last word.
They stared at her in confusion, clearly still in shock from the battle but any sympathy she felt for them was nothing compared to the fear her father would bleed to death before her.
"What are you waiting for, get help!"
They jerked into motion, bowing slightly and muttering, "Of course, Princess, right away."
James shifted beneath her, groaning low in the back of his throat as his eyelids fluttered weakly.
"Hey," she said breathlessly, relief coursing through her and leaving her light-headed for the third time, but she realised just how much stronger it was, how it almost hurt to find her father, her heart slamming into her ribs as she stared down at him, her ragged breathing almost deafening compared to his little rasping gasps.
Despite it all, she found it hard to fight off the exhaustion that soon followed; her vision began to flicker, black spots fading in and out at the edges of her eyes, her hands went into spasms, her entire body suddenly wracked with them, so she only increased the pressure and blinked quickly, all the while breathing as slowly as she could, matching her breaths with her father's.
Perhaps it was the added pain but with great struggle James forced his eyes open, focusing them blearily on Emma's.
"You found me," he breathed, his voice groggy and rough, but he was speaking, so that was enough for her.
She smiled, and she realised she was still crying as she laughed, the tears landing like falling rain on the bloodied ground beneath her.
"I will always find you."
"I see you've learnt the family motto," he muttered dryly, his lips twitching.
He glanced down, clearly attempting to see what had happened to him and tried to sit up, resulting in him instantly hissing with pain.
"No you don't," Emma scolded, knocking him back with her elbow. "You have to keep still. Help is coming, I promise you."
"Don't go," he whispered, his eyes closing again. "Please don't go."
"I'm right here," she said in a choked voice. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here. Just stay awake, ok? Keep talking to me." She glanced behind her, and shouted, "He's lost a lot of blood, where's help?"
"Doc is on his way, Princess, he comes as quickly as he can," a soldier said calmly, bowing his head towards her.
She turned back, deliberately not looking at her hands, not even glancing down at where she knelt, terrified of how much blood she would see.
Red as roses, a ruby red as blood, red as blood, blood, blood-
"Do you remember when I was in the hospital?" she blurted out, desperate to keep her mind off more morbid thoughts, determined to keep him awake. "When I was asleep?"
"Which time? When you were actually unconscious or when we asked them to knock you out because you had turned into an insomniac due to your insistent belief that you didn't need rest to recover?" he whispered, so faintly she had to lean closer to hear him, his words slurred and disjointed but she got the general gist as his voice shook slightly with amusement, though his eyes still remained closed.
She glared at him even though he couldn't see her. "When they first brought me in. The whole time," she added with a frown, realising it was true.
"Of course. I remember every moment of it," he said matter-of-factly, and she could tell by the expression on his face that those memories would stay with him until the day he died, and not for any sentimental reasons.
"You-what did you do?" she asked, wondering if she was a terrible person for asking someone who was clearly suffering from severe blood loss question.
Save first, guilt later.
"I told you stories."
She smiled, though it looked more like a grimace as it tore at her, making the tears fall harder.
"And now I'm going to tell you a story, but you have to stay awake. You have to listen, Dad," she cried, gritting her teeth against the howl of misery trying to fight its way out of her chest.
"You called me Dad," he said, sighing contentedly, a small smile on his face.
"Of course," she said, moving closer and settling herself beside him, never decreasing the pressure in her arms. "Of course I did. You're my Dad, and I love you, so please stay awake."
"Anything for you," he murmured, and at last he reopened his eyes, gazing up at her with love and admiration. "My daughter, my golden rose."
"I'm going to tell you a story," she repeated. "What story do you want to hear?"
"One that makes you happy," he answered, the curiosity clear in his gaze.
Emma swallowed, thinking carefully for a moment before saying, "When I found out I was-that I was pregnant, I wouldn't let myself-I couldn't choose a name for him-for Henry. He wasn't mine, it wasn't right. But I did. I chose a perfect name for him, and I want you to know it; I was going to call him James, but I couldn't. But the important bit-the bit I want you to know-is that I didn't know you-how could I?-but some part of you stayed with me, the whole time I was growing up. I wish now more than anything that I had, but he is named for you. Maybe I can convince him to use it as a middle name, but he is named for you. Even after everything-in some part of me-I remembered you. And that makes me happy, because I could never ask for a better father, there is no one better, so don't you dare go to sleep on me," she finished hurriedly, nudging him sharply as his head titled to the side.
He righted himself, smiling gently at her.
"Thank you. Emma. Thank you."
"You are most welcome," she said tremulously. "Thank you for sticking me in that wardrobe, for-"
Dying to save my life, she added silently, but she knew that he understood.
He shook his head dazedly, closing his eyes once again and frowning. "No. No, don't thank me for that. That was…any father would have done that. I would do it again in a heartbeat. Never thank me for that."
"I owe you everything," she cried, and it scared her at how much emotion she was showing, at the broken quality to her voice. "I am sorry for what happened to you, I am so sorry. For everything that happened before, and for this, for dragging you into this fight-my fight-when I should have kept you safe. I was supposed to save you and now-" She broke off, forcing herself to breathe before saying in the calmest voice she could, "And I will do everything to make it up to you, I promise."
"Emma, listen to me. Are you listening?"
She nodded, realising belatedly that he couldn't see her, but she needn't have worried; he opened his eyes, meeting her tearful gaze and holding it, soothing her with just a look as her chest loosened, allowing her to breathe again; the last thing she needed was to have panic attack, and she felt closer to a heart attack than anything else.
"You don't have to do anything, anything, to make me forgive you because there is nothing I need to forgive. I will love you no matter what, just as I have since the moment I laid eyes on you. I held you for minutes before I had to put you in that wardrobe and I loved you, and I have never loved anything more than I love you. I doubt I ever will."
"Even Mom?" she asked in a small voice.
"Even Mom," he echoed sombrely.
She laughed, ignoring how it sounded like a sob.
"Tell me more," he said softly. "Please tell me more."
And so she went on, telling him everything and nothing, her entire story from start to finish, his eyes steady on hers, his blood warm on her hands, though finally slowing.
And that was how Snow and Doc found them, long after the sun had set and the sky had turned to dusky blue; Emma kneeling at her father's side, as they found and saved each other once again.