Disclaimer: I own Rose and all them other people. Ichabod, however, is not mine.

Once Upon A Time
Chapter Seven

"Oh, are you back again?" The same servant woman who answered Bertha's door for his first visit stood before Ichabod again, staring at him quizzically.

"Indeed," he said.

She stepped back and held the door open further. "You know where to go," she said.

"I do," he told her, though the reply was not necessary. She stepped aside and he pushed forward, up the stairs which he remembered and down the haunting hall. He stepped up to the door, raised his hand, but he barely got the chance to knock before the voice of Bertha came drifting out into the corridor. "Enter," the old woman rasped.

So he turned the brass knob and entered, shutting the door behind him as he stepped inside. And there sat blind old Bertha in the center of the bed, looking half asleep with her unseeing eyes closed. But a small smile played across her lips as she said, "Hello, Ichabod Crane."

"Hello, Bertha," he replied, stepping closer to the bed.

"Your father was here late last night," she said. "He was asking about you."

"My father?" he repeated.

"Not the man you think."

His expression changed, though she could not see it. "So it is true then?" he asked. "Daniel Crane is not my father."

"He is not," she said. "But may I be so bold as to ask how you came to this conclusion?"

"I have my ways," he said, lacing his fingers together. He said no more.

"Then you must have your ideas about who your father truly is?"

"Is my father James Hall?" He was afraid to ask the question, but he managed to inquire after his currently questionable parentage without much difficulty.

Her smiled widened. "Your rival for Rose's affections is indeed the one who gave you that nose of yours," she said, pointing at him although she could not see where he stood. "You are, as your child will be, a Hall after all."

He almost laughed. "What irony," he murmured.

"Indeed," she agreed.

They were both silent for a moment before Ichabod recalled, "You said earlier that my father came to you last night. What did he ask you and what did you tell him?"

"He asked if Ichabod Crane was not a Crane," Bertha said, "and I told him much the same thing as I told you, that he is your true father. Then he asked Rose's first child would truly be his, and I told him that he would share blood with the girl. I did not say how tainted she would be with Knightley blood. I owe it to your mother to protect you first and foremost; I feel no remorse in deceiving her former lover."

He merely nodded, but then another thought occurred to him. "Did you say girl?" he asked. "Do you mean to say that Rose and I shall have a daughter?"

"Yes," she said, "but you shall not know not her until she is grown. And there shall be a man with her, her betrothed. I do not yet know his name, but he plays a large part in both of your lives." She inhaled a deep breath then, sitting up straighter as she did. "Now go," she said suddenly, pointing at the door. "Be gone, for I sense your father. Quickly now; he is near to your Rose."

"Yes," he said, and backed out of the room hastily. "Thank you, Bertha," he said, just as he closed the door. He then ran out of the house with the utmost haste, and he soon found that the blasted horses could not run quite fast enough.


"Oh, Ichabod, thank God you've arrived." Rose threw her arms around him instantly, nuzzling her face into his chest as his arms wrapped themselves about her waist. But she pulled away an instant later, looking worried. "He is with them again," she said, glancing briefly at the door to the east drawing room. "They've been in there for hours; none of them have come out. I fear that the plans are becoming more final, that something is actually going to happen. Oh, Ichabod, what will we do?" She buried herself in him once more.

He placed his arms around her comfortingly, with one hand on the small of her back and the other stroking her hair. "I do not know," he told her. "At present, all we can do is wait and see how this entire ordeal plays out, and then act accordingly."

She sighed and said, "You are always able to produce the greatest words of wisdom, Ichabod."

"And yet I feel so unwise," he said quietly.

She pulled away again, staring up into his eyes with a concerned look on her face. "What could you possibly mean?" she asked.

"Rose," he said, "I have recently found out that James Hall is my true father, not Daniel Crane."

Rose gasped and held a dainty porcelain hand to her mouth. "So the rumors were true," she said. "But...but how do you know?"

"Bertha told me," he said, "and I trust her strange sort of wisdom. She seems to know things that it is impossible for others to know."

And again that question arose: "Why do you have so much faith in her?"

"Because my mother trusted her," Ichabod said. "My mother trusted Bertha quite dearly, from what I have gathered. I trust my mother's judgment, and so I trust Bertha. In all things." He chose not to reveal to her the little piece of information that Bertha had now told him twice: that he and Rose would make a child.

Rose nodded. "Yes, a mother's judgment is always something to be followed," she agreed. Then she blinked rapidly. "But James Hall is your father? Though I must wonder at how it could be. From what I have observed of his countenance, you two are quite the opposite." Her eyes suddenly grew quite wide. "But your nose," she said, and absently poked the aforementioned appendage. "You have the exact same nose. Oh, I shudder to think that this is not the only similarity." She shuddered for emphasis, and he held her close.

Just then, the door to the east drawing room opened, and the two teenagers quickly pulled away from one another. Out stepped Rose's parents and James Hall, who would never earn the title of father from Ichabod. But the man looked at him differently than he had the previous day, with a strange sort of sparkle in his enchanting eyes. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he said, "Oh, good morning, young Ichabod Crane."

"Good morning, Mister Hall," Ichabod said evenly, attempting to hide all signs of his forbidden knowledge.

Then James turned his attention to Rose, and his smile changed drastically. There was something artificial and sincere about it all at once, and Ichabod found it rather disturbing. "Tell me, Rose," James said, "why is it that I only ever seem to see you just as I take my leave?" He kissed her hand, but his lips lingered for a scandalous moment.

"I'm sure I don't know, sir," she said, pulling her hand away. "Perhaps it is because you fancy yourself a morning person, and I am a creature much more of the afternoon persuasion."

"Well then, that must be the reason," he said. He suddenly took her in his arms and whispered, just loud enough for the rest of them to hear, "Just think, when you are my wife, you shall not have to rise until noon if you wish it." He held her for a moment, then released her just as suddenly as he had taken hold of her. He turned a large smile on everyone and tipped his tricorn, saying, "I bid all of you a good day." And he left without another word.

As soon as he was assuredly out the door, Rose turned to her parents and said, "I'm going for a stroll with Ichabod." And that completely settled the matter.


The blood is the life, Sikerra.