A/N: Hi Everyone! Long time, no see. I hope you're all doing well. Life update, I graduated from college. Woohoo! I decided to finish this chapter to celebrate. Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, and favorited/followed this story since my last update. Your encouragement means the world to me. I hope you enjoy the chapter. After you finish reading, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Well—enough about me. Let's get this chapter started—Chapter 21 :)
Disclaimer: If I owned anything from OUAT, I would've been hired as a nurse by Dr. Whale and Storybrooke's hospital. ;-)
This chapter is dedicated to the memory of my friend, Michael.
Chapter 21
The clouds over Camelot darken the land into shadow. The stench of burning ash swallows the fresh air. The sound of the rolling thunder echoes louder than the footsteps of Emma and Killian's mighty steed.
Under the cover of darkness, they continue their journey back towards the kingdom of their troubles. Though Emma prefers to stay as far away from Camelot as possible, she cannot leave her family behind.
"Woah boy," Emma whispers, bringing the horse to a halt.
"Why are we stopping?"
"I see fire," she answers, pointing east. "Probably about two or three miles away. Where there's a fire, there's likely a patrol nearby. We better travel on foot. We'll be safer that way."
Though she tries to hide it, Killian senses Emma repressing a question she begs to have an answer to.
"I didn't start this fire," he tells her. "I don't remember this area."
Despite her best efforts, he notices Emma conceal a sigh of relief at his statement. Guilt gnaws at his mind as he worries what will happen if the Savior encounters his path of destruction firsthand.
"We better hurry."
The pirate nods, reserving his feelings for a later time. Time is of the essence. He seriously doubts the knights of Camelot seek to capture anyone else. Sliding off of the saddle, his boots stamp their mark in the mud before he helps Emma down from the horse.
The Savior's cape drags on the ground as she goes and strokes the steed's mane. Even though they knew each other for only a day, the horse gave her a priceless gift. It helped bring Killian back to her.
"Thank you," she whispers, as she slides its reins off. She takes one last look into the animal's eyes as Killian removes the saddle and supplies. When he finishes, the pirate slaps its back and the horse disappears into the smoky forest.
"So, what's your plan, Swan?" the Dark one asks.
"I don't know. I just know we can't go back to the castle, right now. We need to find somewhere else, nearby, to lay low."
"What about the Apprentice's house?"
"Kay knows where it is."
"Kay?" the pirate's features contort with confusion.
When Emma realizes that Killian never formally met Sir Kay, she explains.
"He's—He's King Arthur's brother. He found us and brought us to the castle. He even made me dance with him at the Queen's ball before you escaped and I found you at Merlin's tree."
"Wait—he danced with you?"
When she sees a slight mix of disappointment and jealousy rooting through Killian's expression, the Savior rolls her eyes.
"Oh come on."
"What?" he says, shrugging his shoulders. "It's just—I wanted to dance with you, Swan."
"It was just one dance."
"Only one?"
Emma's emeralds narrow before she places her hand in Killian's, smiling.
"Yes. And if it makes you feel any better—it wasn't nearly as good as ours."
"Well, I should hope so, love," he responds. "After all, you should know that I am the most dashing dance partner that you will ever have the pleasure of dancing with."
"You are so full of yourself," Emma chuckles, an amused smile cracking through.
For a brief moment, she forgets their precarious situation. Gazing into the pirate's sapphires, the Savior wishes she could take herself and Killian out of this nightmare. All she wants is to hold his hand and never let go.
"Well, it seems I owe you a dance," the pirate whispers.
"Yeah, I'm gonna need to take a raincheck on that," Emma responds, looking in the distance. Concerned that a random patrol may stumble upon them, the Savior relinquishes her hold on the Dark One. "Come on."
Emma quietly leads them into the dense woods, away from the beaten path. The wind howls through the rustling branches. The freezing night reminds the Savior of those she spent on the streets as a teenager. No shelter, no warmth, just her against the elements. Though now accustomed to the patterns of the cold, Emma's dislike for being outside remains.
As oak leaves scatter under their feet, Emma hears the Dark One's curiosity spark.
"You know Swan, I've been meaning to ask you something."
"What is it?"
"You told me you used a locator spell earlier. And then I noticed earlier you had to go and look in the satchel for the rum and-"
"Killian, what are you getting at?" the Savior turns around and stops him. The pirate notes a sense of impatience in her tone.
"It's just—I haven't seen you use your magic since you arrived. Is there a reason?"
His question causes the Savior to retreat into silence. Her defenses up, she turns around, tightens her grip on the satchel, and carefully steps away from the curious Captain.
"Swan, are you avoiding me?"
"No," she lies. "We just need to keep moving."
A sense of powerlessness creeps back into her mind. All Emma wants is to reassure her Captain and be a sextant of hope in his darkness. How can she tell him about what forcing the darkness out of the sorcerer did to her magic? If she confesses the truth, the fact that her damaged powers couldn't save herself from her assailant or bring her to Killian faster, she dreads seeing the hopelessness in the pirate's eyes.
"Emma, stop."
Any attempts to lengthen the distance between them fails when she feels the steel of his hook around her arm. It is then the Savior realizes the jig is up. Emma knows if there was a contest of who could sense someone hiding the truth from the other, her Captain wins hands down.
As much as she wants to squirm her way out of his hold, his gentle touch to guides her back to his eyes. The walls she put up cannot hide from the pirate's perception.
"Swan, look at me," he pleads. Inside, her anxiety climbs at the thought of her strength crumbling to pieces.
Killian's heart aches when he sees the Savior's emotions betray her. Though they aim to exude strength on the surface, he knows Emma better.
"We can't keep doing this, love." He shakes his head.
"Doing what?" she asks, pretending to shrug off the tension.
"I need you, Emma. I can't face my demons alone."
"I know, but—"
"But I don't want you facing your demons alone, either. Swan, if we are ever going to get out of this, we've got to start trusting each other, fully. No secrets, no walls. So, please—talk to me. What's going on?"
Like an ax chipping away at the dam of a waterfall, Killian breaks her walls. Exposed, the truth and the orphan's secret face the light.
"I've tried using my magic," she confesses. "But—it hasn't been the same."
"What do you mean?"
"Ever since I used my magic to force the darkness out of sorcerer, I can't—It hurts to use it. When I've used it, it hasn't worked like it used to. What if—What if I can't use it when we need it?"
The expression that paints Emma's face reveals a growing concern. She has him back, but she fears the darkness will take Killian away from her at any moment. When the time comes, will she be able to save him? Without her magic at its full capacity, what chance does she have against the darkest force imaginable?
Reality creeps back into the Savior's heart. She needs her magic, as she knows their situation grows precarious. Her family remains trapped in Arthur's castle, Merlin remains trapped in a tree, and they are at the mercy of an unknown enemy. All she wants is to protect her family and Killian, and the idea of being as powerless as she was Isaac's reality consumes her.
At the sight of her worry, the pirate tenderly slides his hand around her neck. As his thumb tilts her chin, moonbeams peaking through the clouds sparkle in the Savior's emeralds.
"Nothing is going to happen to me, love," he reassures her, cradling her chin. "I'm right here. I swear to you, we're going to get through this."
Her walls stand no chance against the pirate when he pulls her into his embrace. She finds herself melting in his arms, discovering a quiet peace in the turbulent chaos. Though neither of them truly have control over Killian's actions, to her, it doesn't matter.
Now more than ever, she realizes that they must rely on each other. Though exhaustion plagues her soul, Emma draws her strength from Killian, as he depends on her love to pull him from the clutches of darkness. As long as they have each other, the Savior resolves to never let the darkness win.
When she slides her arms to her sides, the pirate's hope sparkles like the gleam in his eyes.
"Don't think I'm taking my eyes off of you for a second," she says, remembering the first time she told him those words.
At her words, a slight smirk, similar to one he displayed at the beanstalk, sprouts across his features.
"I would despair if you did."
Just as the Savior gathers a smile, the woodlands carry the echoes of galloping horses and clanging armor. It takes only a second for her to realize that the commotion races towards her and her Captain.
"Hey! You! Stop in the name of the King!"
"Run!" Emma tells the pirate.
Adrenaline pumps through her veins as she takes Killian's hand and sprints into the thick brush, praying the knights will not follow. Thorns whip her knees as the icy gale stings her cheeks. Emma's heart soars less from the exertion and more from the panic swelling in her chest. Like flipping through the hundreds of pages in Henry's book, Emma's mind races as she imagines all of the terrifying consequences that could happen if they get caught. Her nightmare becomes their reality when the lovers encounter an impassable wall of stone.
"Stop right there!" the captain of the patrol yells.
Turning around, the Savior watches multiple soldiers and their stallions barricade themselves in front of her and the Dark One's escape route.
Quickly surmising the situation, she studies her opponents. Though it is a small patrol, their decorated armor indicates excellent skill. The grimaces that hide from all but the torches they carry show their anger and thirst for revenge. Emma knows there will be no talking her way out of this one.
"Put your hands up, and don't move!"
As the Dark One and Savior lift their hands into the air, Killian whispers with the corner of his mouth.
"Swan, what should we do?"
Though she has a sword and gun at her side, Emma knows that she and Killian cannot fend off the patrol alone without magic. Though it may be at their disposal, she realizes that using light or dark magic exposes their true identity. It threatens any hopes of freeing Merlin and stopping the darkness. As fast as the lightning that flashes across Camelot's sky, the Savior must decide whether or not to act.
The patrol leader dismounts his horse as she hears the sound of steel greeting the night. The sharp weapon gleams in the moonlight as ash thickens the surrounding forest. Though the fire burns miles away, Emma begins to feel its intense blaze against her skin. Whatever the intentions of the patrol leader may be, she knows they spell disaster for Killian.
Upon seeing anger's reflection in the guard's eyes, Emma feels her magic slowly surging towards her fingertips. But just before it fires to protect her pirate, she hears another sound sailing through the air.
As fast as a shooting star, Emma watches an arrow stab itself at the tip of the patrol leader's boot. In shock, he lets out a scream and stumbles backward. Emma meets the Dark One's sapphires as they both discern that their arrow of luck did not come from their doing. When she hears rustling in the bushes at the top of the stone wall, her eyes look for the perpetrator.
"Ugh!" the guard screams. "Where are you little rat?"
Emma scans the wall of stone to find a figure emerging from the shadows. The mysterious guardian remains concealed from torches of the patrolmen, though two irises of ice cannot hide from night's cloak of darkness.
"Leave them alone, Lucius," the voice echoes from the top of the ridge to the valley below.
Boiling over with rage, Emma and Killian's assailant peers up and thrashes his sword.
"Just who do you think you are?'
The joyful and vibrant atmosphere of Guinevere's birthday seems a distant dream. The courts of King Arthur shutter their doors and cower in their rooms with fear of the Dark One's looming approach. The halls of the fortress of stone become deathly silent, with only the occasional sound of the footsteps of a patrolling guard echoing through the halls.
Though ordered to stay in his chambers, Lord Bartholomew's stomach longs for some late-night delicacies. Unable to restrain himself, the beams from his candelabra illuminate the flags that decorate the fortress' grand hallway. He sneaks away silently with the aroma of frosted pastries filling his nostrils. As he imagines the taste of frosting and jellies dancing on his taste buds, the lord collides with a patrolling soldier, stumbling to the ground with a hard thud.
"How dare you!" the lord scolds, his face painted with disgust. "A clumsy soldier tripping an innocent and majestic lord. Do you know who I am?"
"Sorry," the soldier huffs in a rushed tone.
"Well, I should say—wait a second. You're not Phillip," the lord realizes. "Philip always patrols this hallway. Where is he?"
The lord's question only meets the sound of rattling armor.
"Have you no respect? Answer my question!" he demands. When he gets no response, he raises his fist.
"Very well then, maybe this will teach you to—"
"Lord Bartholomew!" a voice shouts, echoing through the hallways. Moments later, Sir Ector emerges from the shadows.
"Good sir, forgive me, but—"
"Did I not just see you about to strike one of my men?"
"He knocked me down on purpose!" the lord whines. "I was just going to check on something."
"No doubt it must have something to do with your preposterous sweet tooth."
The lord gasps at the knight's response. Upset that he cannot get sympathy from the King's father, the lord continues to chastise the soldier.
"Well, your incompetent and clumsy subordinate has no respect for a person of my important status. He does not even have the decency to answer my question."
"That still gives you no right to raise your hand against any of my men. With all of the violence outside in the villages, the least you can do is maintain your sanity within this castle. You must learn to get along with everyone, regardless of their status."
The lord takes one more look at the guard with disgust. "Well if you're going to replace Phillip, you shouldn't be hard-pressed. Any other soldier would be better than this one."
"That's enough, Lord Bartholomew." the knight responds. "Go back to your chambers. Your stomach can wait until dawn."
With a groan, the lord sulks back towards his room, grumbling under his breath. The Knight of the Roundtable watches with a hardened stare as the lord slams the doors of his chambers. The entire time, the soldier he scolded does not move and barely breathes.
When the light from the lord's chamber recoils and darkness returns to the hallway, the knight turns to the soldier.
"Come with me—now."
Obediently, the subordinate follows the commander as he leads them down several hallways and corridors. As he quickens his pace, the knight hears the armor weigh heavily upon the soldier, slowing both of them down.
Silence remains their only form of communication until they reach the darkest part of the castle. After dismissing the nearby guards, Sir Ector guides the soldier into an empty library and closes the door.
"I apologize for Lord Bartholomew's outburst," the knight says, as he sparks a flame and lights a lone candle. "I've always thought he's not entirely stable in his mind when one comes between him and his sweets."
Though Sir Ector tries to be lighthearted, the soldier says nothing.
With his attempts to be friendly proving fruitless, he decides the games are over.
"Why don't you tell me your name, soldier? As I recall, I don't believe I stationed anyone but Phillip to guard that particular hallway tonight."
Only the flickers of the candle's flame reply to the knight's request. As he paces the room, the commander finds his soldier staring intently at the doorknob.
"Very well," he says, entertained by the mute soldier. "I don't need it anyway. I already know who you are."
At his comment, Sir Ector sees the soldier attempt to conceal the heartbeat pounding against their breastplate and silence their quivering armor.
Though Sir Ector applauds the soldier's cleverness, he ends the charade.
"You can remove your helmet—Lily."
At the sound of her name, Lily draws her sword and corners the knight's throat against a wall of brick and the steel tip of her weapon. Her helmet crashes to the floor as strands of chestnut flow down her shoulders.
"How did you know?" she demands, an act of intimidation hiding her fright.
"Your walk and stature gave it away," he answers, undeterred or fearful of the weapon threatening to tear open his neck. "How about you put that sword down and we talk?"
Maleficent's daughter shakes her head, refusing to let her guard down.
"Not a chance."
"Okay then," he sighs. "Let's talk with the sword."
"Don't move another inch," Lily warns. "I will use this."
"I admire your instincts—your guts," he complements. "I assume it is a trait passed down to you from your mother."
"I didn't get it from her," she responds gruffly. "It comes from having to survive on the streets alone."
"I see," he says, amused. "Tell me, if you were in that hallway, what did you do to poor old Phillip?"
"Sleeping potion," Lily answers.
The irony of her deed forces the knight to hide a laugh. "Of course. Like mother, like daughter."
"Don't worry. Mine is not forever. He'll be awake in a few hours."
"With no clothes, I assume," he responds with an eyebrow raised.
It annoys Lily how Sir Ector seems to take his possible death by her sword in stride. Instead of fear, he appears to be—comfortable. Despite her attempts to show strength, Lily knows that the knight enjoys the entertainment, laughing on the inside at her pathetic attempts to subdue him.
Desperate to keep her composure and quell the panic in the pit of her stomach, she grazes the tip of her sword against the knight's throat.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now?" Maleficent's daughter commands.
"I'm trying to help you, Lily," he replies, sending shock down her spine. "I talked to Kay and he told me everything. I'm not going to hurt you."
His manner and tone seem genuine. Could it be true? As much as she wants to believe the knight's words, the loner knows better. Life on the run taught her that strangers cannot be trusted. Every man she ever gave her faith to defiled it.
"Yeah," she huffs, shaking her head. "You're just going to throw me into a cell instead, along with the rest of my friends."
Her defiance masks the soldier quaking in her armor. Discerning her weakness, the knight boldly raises his hand and lowers the sword. As he suspected, he finds Maleficent's daughter unable to bring herself to kill him. As the weapon trembles in her hands, Sir Ector stares straight into Lily's soul.
"Is that what you think? Lily, if I wanted to do that, why did I not expose your secret in front of Lord Bartholomew? In fact, why did I not lead you to the feet of King Arthur, himself?!"
She doesn't trust him. Every fiber of her being wants to run and scream. As the only person who knows her secret, Lily realizes that all she has to do is kill the knight with the sword. If she does, her secret remains, but she knows she risks allowing darkness to creep back into her heart.
Protecting her new-found family is her only focus. Emma relies on her to protect them, as she is the only one left who can. Yet, the Savior's request is the one Lily cannot achieve if she rots in a jail cell.
"Lily, when I gave you my crest, I gave it to you because I believed in you and trusted you. I still do."
"Really?" she responds, skeptical.
"Indeed," the knight replies. "But now, I need your trust in return."
"Why?"
"Because I need your help."
She studies his features in close detail, finding they soften with the sincerity in his tone. But she cannot let her guard down. If she does, she risks breaking her promise and failing Emma.
The tip of the sword realigns with Sir Ector's throat.
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because if you don't help me, your friend is going to die."
"Not good enough," she retorts, resting the tip of her sword on the knight's skin. "Emma can take care of herself."
"I'm not talking about Emma."
At those words, the weapon of steel falls to Lily's side. Terror pulses through her veins, with her new reality leaving her gasping for breath. She cannot afford to lose one person from Storybrooke. She would never forgive herself. If it is not Emma, her mind races as to who it is.
"Who?"
Sir Ector's mood grows somber. He gives no reply but proceeds to saunter over to the bookcase, disregarding the weapon Lily holds at her side. She watches him remove one book from the top of a bookcase and put his hand in the empty space.
The ground beneath them rumbles as the bookcase moves backward, revealing a secret passageway. When the ground stops threatening to knock her over, Lily sees the knight take the candelabra and motion for her to follow him.
Though the air in her lungs constricts, Maleficent's daughter ignores her instincts and reluctantly follows the knight. As they step into the darkness, her cheeks become tangled in cobwebs as she hears the sound of dripping water. With each step down, every fiber in her body begs for her to take flight and run for the surface.
As they creep further into the depths of the earth, the stench of blood and decay invades Lily's senses. The flickers of light illuminate the staircase, revealing a crimson trail of smeared blood. After a few more steps, the sound of faint moaning eclipses the drips of water. Near the bottom of the stairway, bile begins to crawl up Lily's throat.
When they reach a narrow doorway, Sir Ector escorts Maleficent's daughter into a cramped room. The place reeks of blood, nearly causing Lily to retch what little food she has left in her stomach. In the corner, she discovers the source of the moaning. When the flames of the candelabra give light to the nightmare, Lily gasps in horror.
In the corner of Camelot's hell lies less of a body and more of a slaughtered animal. Lily spies the shell of a man twisted in the carnage of protruding bone and gore. She feels the hairs on her skin crawl and her toes squirm in her boots. She chokes on the bile crawling up her throat, hardly able to stomach the sight. As she looks on, her solemn captor observes her ill reaction.
"I know it's hard," Sir Ector finally says. "He looked worse than this when I found him."
Lily stands stunned in silence. No man, regardless of his crime, deserves to endure such torture and suffering. It sickens her that he is alive, still gasping for each painful breath. As she tries to distinguish anything remotely human left on the body, the knight discerns her difficulty.
"I know he may be hard to recognize, but this man right here is—"
Though he tries to explain, Sir Ector does not finish. For Lily already knows the man's identity.
"Robin."
A/N: Oooooh! Poor Robin! Hooray! The chapter is complete! I'd love to hear your thoughts about the chapter in a review. Also, don't forget to favorite and/or follow this story if you haven't already! Thank you for the continued support. It means so much to me. I'm hoping to update sooner than later, but we'll see. Side note, if y'all are missing OUAT (like me), check out OUAT the Musical by the Pattycake Productions YouTube channel. It's a short video you won't regret watching. Again, thank you for reading!
Until next time!
C.M. Singer :)