Brangane handed two quilts and two pillows out the door to Finn, then turned to smile warmly at Snow and David. "I'd be honored if you'd take my bedroom for the evening, your majesties," she said.
"Oh, no...please don't feel like you have to put yourself out for us," Snow replied. "We'll be comfortable wherever you put us."
"You're as much our royal family as you are in the Enchanted Forest," Brangane pointed out. "Please, I insist." She turned to Emma and Killian. "There's another bedroom at the end of the hall - the bed is a bit smaller, but you should fit."
"It'll be fine," Emma said, smiling.
"I'm sure we'll make do," Killian added, raising a brow at his wife. They all bid Brangane goodnight, and headed for their beds.
Brangane reached down into a large chest in the corner, retrieving another blanket and holding it out to Lorelei. "The remaining room is used for storage, but it's very small and only room enough for one. There's a tufted bench that would make a fine bed, your ladyship," she said.
"Then you should take it," Lorelei replied. "I can roll out my bedroll right here by the hearth."
"But, milady - "
"Please, call me Lorelei, I'm not nobly born," she explained. "And I'd feel terrible to have you on the floor. Besides, I'm not used to the cooler air here. It'll be warmer by the hearth."
Brandt stood up. "Well, I guess I'm sleeping outside, then." He rolled his eyes, not entirely thrilled at Lorelei's choice.
"Brandt, you take the room," Brangane said. "I'll sleep here by the hearth, as well."
"No, she's right," he agreed. "Your back isn't what it used to be. You can't be sleeping on the floor." He glanced over at the hearth, then at Lorelei. "I can bed down under the eaves outside."
Brangane gave him a fond smile. "Goodnight, then," she said, nodding her head at them both before leaving to find her own bed.
Brandt walked over to the chest, rummaging through and finding a blanket for himself.
He gave Lorelei a look. "I'll be out front, if you need me."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Lorelei said, rolling her eyes. "You can sleep in here. I'm not going to bite."
"I assumed that for modesty's sake, you'd prefer not to have another man in the room with you - much less one you hardly know." He raised a brow.
"Emma and Killian trust you. That's good enough for me," she said with a shrug. Then her eyes narrowed. "And are you insinuating that I have no modesty?"
He held out his hands. "Did I say that?"
"You might as well have." She crossed her arms over her chest, staring him down.
Brandt let out a sigh. "I'll just sleep over here by the door."
"Fine."
"Fine, then."
He threw his blanket down on the floor as Lorelei shook out her bedroll. She leaned over, blowing out the candle before she settled herself down, pulling her blanket over her.
Brandt's voice broke the silence a moment later.
"I really didn't mean to insult you."
"It's fine."
He let out another sigh. "Why are you here, anyway? You said you're not noble. Are you a ladies' maid?"
Lorelei made a scoffing sound. "What - because I'm not noble I must be a servant? Is that it?"
"I'm just trying to understand," he said, in a thoroughly annoyed tone. "What are your stakes in this? Why help us?"
"I'm helping because it's the right thing to do."
There was a long pause, and Lorelei thought he might have fallen asleep.
"Thank you," he said. "Really. The kingdom is all but lost, and to have all of you here - it's more than I could have ever hoped for."
"You love it here." She said it curiously, as though she wasn't quite sure why.
"Don't you love your home? It may lay in ruins, but it's still my birthright." Brandt folded his hands behind his head. "It was a land of great beauty, once. And the kings and queens that sat upon the throne were marvelous and just." He rolled over to face her. "I'm named for a king, you know."
Lorelei rolled on her bedroll facing him. "Let me guess...he was one of the marvelous ones."
"You think me arrogant?"
She rolled back on to her back. "I don't know what to think of you." She fluffed her covers a bit, folding her hands across her chest. "Well, go on then. Tell me about him."
"Really?"
"I'm wide awake. It'll pass the time."
"Hopefully, I won't put you to sleep."
She turned her head. "Maybe that's exactly why I asked."
He gave her a reluctant smile, and began.
"Four hundred years ago, King Brandt was overseeing the rebuilding of a monastery, high in the mountains, along the river Yorn..."
###
Emma fluffed her pillow for the third time, but it was still painfully flat.
"Will you settle in?" Killian complained. "Every time you move I get an elbow in my ribs,"
"Sorry. This pillow is like a rock." She punched it again. "Come to think of it, a rock might be softer. Maybe I should go find one."
"And maybe," Killian said, pulling her down and across his chest, "You should just use your devilishly handsome husband as a pillow, instead."
She gave a sigh of contentment as she rubbed her cheek against him. "Mmmmm. Much better."
"Get some rest, love. "We've got a long journey back tomorrow."
"Are we really going to do this? Depose a king?"
Killian sighed. "It seems like the right thing to do. Perhaps he'll give it up peacefully. There's not much of a kingdom left to save, after all."
Emma grimaced. "To tell you the truth, I hope he doesn't. I'd like to hurt him a little."
"Indeed. The old blighter deserves a dire fate, and more, for what he did to Bryony's mother."
Emma pushed herself up to her elbow. "Speaking of Bryony...what do you think?"
"What do I think? I think she's bloody dangerous, that's what I think. My arm is still sore."
"I mean...her and Finn. What do you think?"
He raised a brow, looking up at his wife. "Does it matter what I think? Finn's already made up his mind."
"You think? I mean, it seems like he's hung up on her - "
"He's a Jones, love. Once we've made up our minds, that's an end to it." He pulled his wife back down into the circle of his arms, turning on his side to face her. "Finn has set his course. It's only a matter of time."
"You're so sure of that, are you?"
He gave her a look. "He's a -"
"A Jones. I know. I withdraw the question."
"Good," he said, snuffing out the candle and lying back down. "Now let's see if those flat pillows can muffle the sounds I'm going to pull from you."
###
Bryony bit down hard on Finn's shoulder as she peaked, her nails digging into his back as he rode the wave of his own pleasure right after her. A few moments later, her leg was sliding down off of his hip and he pushed himself off her and onto his side.
"I'm going to sleep like a baby tonight," she mumbled sleepily.
"Why do people say that, anyway?" Finn asked, answering her with a huge yawn. "Have you ever been around a baby? I swear to you, Zale and Ondine used to wake up six times a night. I learned early on to make sure I was never babysitting alone."
"Don't tell me you saddled Grumpy with that job on the overnight?" Bryony chastised. "He's not a young dwarf, you know."
Finn chuckled. "No, no...nothing like that. I'd just walk them around the village or the market and wait for the girls to come to me. Babies are like that - women can't resist them. Then I'd get company for the evening, and they'd take over the children if there was an issue."
He realized a moment after he'd said it how completely awful that sounded.
"That's...devious." she remarked.
"It was," he agreed awkwardly. "It wasn't well done of me."
He suddenly felt like he was fourteen years old again, and being chastised by his father for promising to marry the cobbler's daughter in order to steal a kiss. The girl was heartbroken when he stopped talking to her a few days later, having lost the thrill of the chase. His father had flayed him alive with the edge of his tongue for that one, and he'd deserved it, though he hardly felt that way at the time.
"I would imagine you had plenty of volunteers," Bryony went on. "You just knew how to play them, that's all." She said it quietly, and it bothered him that she'd said it at all.
"Bryony, I - "
"No, it's all right, Finn. I understand. My father was a lot like you, strangely enough. Not my real father," she said hastily, "The man who adopted me. He always had some young co-ed or another babysitting me or taking me to the park for him. He just never got the hang of fatherhood. When my mother died, he didn't know what to do with me, I think. He was a popular professor, and a good looking man. He always had someone he could bring home who'd cook us dinner or do his laundry or entertain his kid so he didn't have to. I suppose they thought they could win him if they went through me." She pulled the blanket up, smoothing it down around her. "It was a stupid idea. He never could settle for just one of them."
"That sounds...lonely," he managed. God's truth, it sounded bloody awful. Her adoptive father sounded like a complete cad.
She made a non-committal noise. "Some of them were nice."
"And what about your father?" Finn asked. "Was he nice to you? When he did pay attention to you, I mean?"
He could feel her freeze, and the silence seemed to stretch for entirely too long.
"I spent my time trying to make sure he didn't notice me," she said flatly. "I'm tired, Finn."
She rolled over, facing away from him, and he laid there, staring at her back, feeling like he should be holding her, but afraid to touch her all the same. Mostly, he was replaying what she said over and over in his mind.
My father was a lot like you...
Eventually, his eyes drifted shut, and he rolled over, pulling her close to him.
She was warm against the front of him, but he still felt the chill of the wet ground against his back.
He opened his eyes, and saw the figure, standing at the water's edge, where she had plainly been watching them. He reached down, shaking Bryony slightly, but putting a hand over her mouth to block the startled sound she made as she awoke. He pointed off at the figure, and her eyes went wide, meeting his.
He rolled off her as noiselessly as possible, reaching for his boot and for the dagger he kept hidden there. Then he pulled his arm back, letting the blade fly.
And Bryony looked at him with startled eyes, her hands gripping the handle of the dagger as it protruded from her chest. She'd leapt in front of him at the last minute, to keep him from striking. He screamed her name, reaching for her as she fell, but his arms were wrenched back, tangled in vines that were pulling him away from her, sliding up his shoulders to his neck and tightening. He saw her mouthing his name as the world began to dim and fade to black.
"Finn." She shook him. "Finn!"
He sat up with a gasp, throwing her back into the straw as he did so. He looked around, and it took a moment for his head to clear and his surroundings to register completely. He fell back again, throwing an arm over his face.
"We were dreaming again."
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"What the hell did that one mean?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm as lost as you are."
"Well do you have to bring me with you when your mind goes a-wandering? Bloody hell."
"I'm sorry," she repeated again, miserably. "I'll go find someplace else to sleep." She made a move to get up, but he reached up, pulling her down and across his chest.
"Apologies, love. I didn't mean that. Well, not like that, anyway." He kissed her forehead softly. "I meant to say that I wish you didn't have to have these kind of visions at all."
"If you'd rather sleep somewhere else, I understand," she said. "It's okay."
He reached down, twining his fingers with hers where they rested on his belly. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, love. Whatever these visions are, whatever they mean - it's better that we face them together."
She didn't answer him, but she didn't try to run, either. He supposed that was progress, of a sort.
He just wished he had more answers, about the future, about her...about all of it.