"How long have we been walking?" Snow asked with a groan. "My feet are killing me."
"Well, we walked for most of the morning before we found Henry," David said.
"And we've been walking for two hours since then," Henry supplied.
"How do you know that?" David asked.
Henry pointed up. "The position of the sun," he explained. "Killian taught me."
"Of course," David grumbled. "Did he teach you how to figure out where you are when there's nothing but trees all around?"
"We're in the dark mountains," Snow replied. "Those cliffs - I recognize them. I've been in this area before."
"When you were running away?"
"Mmm-hmm." Snow nodded. "Once we get over the ridge -"
The sound of an arrow sliced the air, and it embedded in the tree right next to David. He whirled, drawing his sword as Snow reached for an arrow of her own.
"Keep your arms in the air!" A woman's voice rang out. "I didn't have to miss and I'm not going to with the next one!"
"We don't want any trouble," David called back. "We're only passing through."
"This is private land! You're trespassing!"
"Mama?" A little girl's voice now, followed by the woman again.
"Shhh! Get back!"
"Is he a prince?" the little girl's voice asked.
"It doesn't matter!" the woman admonished. "They need to turn around and get out of here."
"I am a prince," David called out. "And so is Henry." He slowly sheathed his sword. "See? We're here peacefully. Why don't you step out of the trees so we can talk?"
"No sudden moves," the woman warned. "And keep your hands where I can see 'em!"
David's eyes widened as the woman stepped out from behind her cover, with a young girl who couldn't be more than six clinging to her skirts. The woman was incomparably beautiful, raven haired with alabaster skin and blue eyes that stood out in stark contrast. Every inch of her was so superbly formed, it was as though she were a sculpture or a painting come to life. No one could be that close to perfection. And she had a wicked looking crossbow trained right at his chest.
"I'm Prince David," he said.
"Why are you here?" The woman's voice was biting - there was clearly no welcome here.
"We're lost," Snow said. "And we've been walking for hours. I haven't seen any game either, so we haven't eaten."
"Please?" Henry said in his most appealing I-used-to-be-a-kid voice.
"And if I feed you, you'll be on your way?" the woman asked. "Well before nightfall?"
"We promise," Snow answered.
"Please, mama," said the little girl. "You're a very good cook. They could be our guests!"
"That's enough, Anita," the woman said. She turned her distrustful gaze back to Snow, and finally lowered the crossbow. "My name's Lydia."
"Snow," Snow replied, a slow smile spreading across her face. "And this is Henry. It's nice to meet you."
"Come along, then," Lydia said. "I've got food back at the house." She turned, taking the little girl by the hand as Snow continued to smile after them.
"What are you so happy about?" David asked. "She's a real curmudgeon."
"You don't realize who she is, do you?" Snow asked. "The crossbow should have been your first clue."
David's jaw dropped. "Granny?"
"Her daughter, Anita, was Red's mother," Snow said sadly. "She was beautiful, too."
"Granny was hot," Henry said. "Who ever knew she was a MILF?"
David looked confused. "A MILF?"
"What's a MILF?" Snow asked, equally clueless.
"Nevermind. It just means...hey! Did she mention food?" He shoved his hands in his pockets and took off after Granny, and Snow and David exchanged confused shrugs, falling into step behind him.
Granny - Lydia, that is - was as good as her word, feeding them a solid meal of roast venison and potatoes before glancing apprehensively out the window at the late afternoon sun.
"Once you get over the ridge," she said, "You'll be in the village before nightfall. You can find lodging there easily enough - especially if you are who you say you are."
"I've never met a prince or a princess before," Anita said, staring at them in wonder. "Is it wonderful?"
"It's not always wonderful," Snow said kindly. "Most of the time, we're just normal people like you."
"And being in charge means a lot of responsibility," David added, around a mouthful of food. "It can be really hard sometimes."
"Are you a prince, too?" Anita asked Henry.
He smiled at her. "Kind of," he said. "It's complicated."
"I'm sure it is," Granny said. "Must be hard feeling like a prince but not even given more than a passing mention by your own family."
"What?" David looked over at her. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about her," Granny said, tipping her chin at Snow. "Can't even acknowledge her own grandson."
Snow was taken aback. "How did you -"
"It's plain enough to see. You're ashamed of him."
Snow's eyes met David's, then swung to Henry, who looked as lost as she did. She turned to face Granny, but it wasn't Granny who sat at the head of the table now. It was herself.
"Acknowledging Henry means acknowledging that your youth is slipping away," her other self said. "It's hard to feel young - to be young - when you've got a grandson on the verge of manhood."
"Just a minute," David protested, but Snow cut him off with a wave of her hand. This wasn't his battle to fight.
"We have a strange situation," Snow acknowledged to herself. "And it hasn't been easy trying to figure out where we fit in with Henry."
"I should think that's obvious," the other Snow said scathingly. "You don't. You'd rather pretend his a nice kid from the neighborhood. A student. You didn't even introduce him as your own flesh and blood."
"That's because it sounds so unbelievable!" Snow defended. "And I am not ashamed of Henry! He's incredible! He's everything I would want for my daughter and he's everything a young man ought to be!"
"A young man," the other Snow chided. "But not your grandson. Not everything your grandson ought to be. You can't even say it, can you?"
Snow had had enough. She stood, shoving the chair back hard enough to send it tipping over. Her hand slapped down on the table and her voice cracked like a whip.
"You listen to me," she said fiercely. "I come from a line of kings and queens that stretches back hundreds of years. People who ruled justly, with great compassion, with strength and integrity. My husband comes from a family that raised him to appreciate the simple things in life: love, family, honor and courage. Together, we made not one but two amazing children, and one of those children found a man worthy of her, and they made Henry. He carries a bit of us all, but is entirely and fully his own person, and he is magnificent. We couldn't ask for a better descendant, a better representation. My grandson is the culmination and continuation of us all."
Her words hung in the air for a moment, before her other self vanished in a cloud of smoke, and Granny sat in her place again. She reached in her pocket, pulling out a glittering topaz.
"Here," she said. "Take this with you to the village. It'll buy you a room for the night. And don't dawdle. There are wolves in these hills."
Snow closed her fingers around the gem, and Henry reached out, squeezing her other hand.
###
"What was that?"
Emma felt Killian stiffen and she lifted her face from where it was laying against his chest. "What?" she mumbled sleepily.
"Something's wrong." He slid out from under her and reached for his clothes, shoving his legs quickly into his pants.
"What's the rush?" Emma sat up, yawning. "It's just a little wind."
She could hear the sound of the sails flapping.
"No, it's a lot of wind," he replied, jamming his boots on his feet. "And we shouldn't be hearing the sound of sails at all. I had them battened down because the storm was on its way."
He ran for the ladder as the ship started rocking, pitching side to side. Emma threw on her skirt and pulled the blouse over her head, not even bothering with the corset. She made to follow him but got thrown into the table as the ship pitched again.
"What the hell is going on?" she shouted as Killian threw the hatch open. The sound of the sail was deafening as the wind had picked up considerably.
"The sail!" Killian's bootheels rang across the deck above her as she climbed up to join him. The large sail on the main mast was billowing - fully inflated but the lashings were wound around the bottom of it.
"What happened?" Emma had to scream to be heard over the groaning of the mast and the wildly flapping sail.
"Someone's cut the main lashing!" He shouted, reaching for the line and heaving with all his might. It was no use - it was too hopelessly tangled.
"Uh..." Emma looked up, tracing the line down with her eyes to the coil she'd hacked her way out of earlier. "Uh...sorry," she said, a little more quietly.
"What was that?" Killian asked, pulling at the rope from another angle. "It's no use - I'll have to climb the riggings."
Emma could hear the mast groaning from the strain of the pull exerted by the sail. The ship was pitching so wildly now it was nearly in a spin right there in the harbor. She was suddenly very, very afraid.
"Killian!" His name tore from her throat as the groaning turned to a crack, and the mast sheared off, slamming into the deck, nearly crushing them both.
"We have to get off the ship!" Killian shouted. "Emma! We have to get to the dock!"
Emma realized with dismay that the ship had pulled far away from the dock, having ripped through the mooring line. They were pitching violently every time the mast rolled and shifted on the deck.
She looked over the side at the cresting and rolling sea and her knuckles gripped the side of the railing more tightly.
"This is all my fault!" she cried as Killian threw himself toward her, gripping her hand as he dug his hook into the railing.
"We've got to go!" he said again, and she gave him a nod as he wrapped his arm around the lashings and stood on the rail, reaching down for her.
"Dive out as far as possible - you can't risk the ship coming around and slamming into you," he explained. "Once you're under, keep swimming and get as clear as you can!"
She nodded again, and he pulled her up.
"I'll find you!" he said one last time, and with a deep breath, they both dove in. Emma swam until her lungs felt like they were bursting, but in the shifting water, she felt as though she were being pulled back every time she crested a wave. She couldn't see a thing - including Killian - and her arms began to flail until the landed on something solid.
The dock!
She pulled herself up, coughing and sputtering, laying flat until she got her breath. She rolled to her side, wiping the water from her eyes so she could see, when she realized she wasn't alone.
"Well, well, well...what have we here?"
Blackbeard put the tip of his cutlass to Emma's throat. "Trying to make off with my ship, were you? Next time you try to sail in a storm, do it with an experienced captain aboard and not a lowly deckhand. You've cost me valuable time and money repairing that mast."
"Killian!" Emma turned her head, looking for him, scanning the water. He was being pulled up onto the dock by two of the crew, his body hanging limply between them.
"Is he..." she couldn't even say it.
"Dead?" Blackbeard spat on the dock. "No. But he'll wish that he was soon enough. And so will you."
He gave her an evil grin, and she kept her eyes on Killian, willing him to move.
