Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time or the characters or settings therein. This is a work of fanfiction created for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from this story.
Additional Disclaimer: Today's chapter title comes, once again, from the musical The Phantom of the Opera. The three PotO lyrics are from the same song, sung by main character Christine Daaé, and read, "Twisted every way/What answer do I give?/Am I to risk my life/To win the chance to live?" It seemed appropriate for both Killian and Emma at this juncture. Also, I borrowed a line from Cordelia from Buffy the Vampire Slayer: "Tact is just not saying true stuff." So props to whoever wrote that episode.
Authors' Note: I AM SO, SO, SO SORRY for the long hiatus. It was not intentional. On the bright side, here's another long, heartfelt CS conversation…
Chapter 14: To Win the Chance to Live
Killian thought that the quiet moment between father and daughter would signal the end of the conversation, but he was proven wrong when David pivoted to face him, eyes blazing and jaw set. Before Killian had a chance to do more than open his mouth to explain himself, the shepherd's fist connected to his nose in a hard jab, rocking his head back and making his eyes water.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, reaching up to feel his nose, trying to determine the extent of the damage. It hadn't been hard enough to break it, he thought, but it still hurt like hell.
"You deserve at least a punch to the face!" David shouted at him. "You made a deal with Regina?! You convinced Emma to meet her. You were going to abandon us!
"At the time, I didn't think I had a choice," Killian said. It sounded stupid to his own ears.
"And now you think you do?" David challenged him, crossing his arms over his chest. "How am I supposed to trust you? How am I supposed to believe anything you say ever again, knowing at the first opportunity you could turn on us?"
"I won't, you have my word." And he knew it was not enough. He knew, even as he poured every bit of the sincerity and truth that flowed through him into his words, it would not be enough for David.
"Your word…" the shepherd-king scoffed.
"Yes!" he insisted. "After this, after seeing this…" he waved his hand at the destruction, the damaged and smoldering buildings, some of which had already fallen and several more tilting ominously as the terrified and stunned villagers looked on at the remains of their lives now in ruins.
And Emma…Emma with the Evil Queen's hand clutching her heart inside her very chest. His own heart clenched in sympathy, remembering the Crocodile reaching into his chest, the way his heart had pounded in protest, his lungs constricting, the crushing pain as his vision darkened that awful dawn in the alley of Hamlin. The outcome of that morning was a stark contrast to the outcome of this night. Magic or miracle, he was grateful to whatever power had saved Emma's life and stopped his idiocy from becoming a true disaster.
"Regina is as terrible as the Dark One," he said, finally believing it. He licked his lips and shook his head. "I've done a lot of…reprehensible things in my life, I won't lie. Piracy is not a vocation for the benevolent and forbearing. But I always preferred a fair fight. This?" He gestured again to the burned village. "This was a massacre, and I want no part of it. I would rather stick with those who are fighting the Queen's tyranny and protecting the people of the realm than side with the one who was responsible for this."
David glared at him, his breathing still heavy with anger, his jaw locked and his arms tight across his chest. But Emma only tilted her head to the side and considered him. "I thought you didn't care about anyone but yourself?"
It was not an accusation, more of an observation. He could not even be offended as it was the truth not long ago, before Henry, and David, and Red…and her. But things were different now. He acknowledged that part of his eagerness to agree to a deal with the Evil Queen had been because he had felt his anger fading, had felt the loss of his revenge was almost acceptable, and it had scared him. He had feared that to lose the heat of his rage would leave him cold and empty and with nothing better to look forward to than to throw himself into the sea and let it take him down to the depths with Milah and Liam. So he had clung to the thin promise the Queen had offered as a way to keep his anger close and maintain his course to revenge.
Meeting Emma's eyes—green, they were an intriguing hazel green, and he wished he could see them in sunlight, the pirate in him sure that he would find flecks of gold buried in her irises—he considered that he seemed to have traded one kind of heat for another.
And now was the time for honesty. Swallowing quickly, he told her, "Maybe I just needed reminding that I could."
Emma looked up at him, wide eyes flickering across his face, reading him. He put all of his earnestness and commitment to her and the Queen's defeat into his eyes for her to see. He could almost feel the warm brush her gaze fluttering across his face as her eyes flit from one feature to the next, noting every line and every scar. He nearly gulped with how naked her observation made him feel—naked and barely older than Henry, not his normal devilishly handsome self. But he feared an unwarranted twitch or aversion to meeting her eyes would make her doubt him, so he stood at attention and allowed her to see him in a way he had not allowed anyone else for centuries.
It could only have been seconds, a handful of breaths, perhaps a dozen heartbeats, but it felt like an age before Emma blinked and nodded, lashes fluttering. She looked at David, and shrugged. "He did fight for us," she pointed out. "And he tried to get Regina to stop throwing fireballs."
David gritted his teeth, the grinding audible. "Fine," he said. "But I'll be watching you from here on out."
Killian watched David stride off to assist the villagers in salvaging what they could of their homes and shops. Although it stung that he had lost the shepherd's good faith, not to mention his friendship, he could not be offended. If he had been in David's place, he wouldn't have let a traitor live, much less remain with his crew. Hopefully, in time, after he proved his worth in defeating the Queen, David would look more kindly on him.
Killian opened his mouth, ready to apologize to Emma, ready to thank her, something, but movement from the edge of the forest caught the corner of his eye, and Emma blinked past him at the moving shape. His fingers touched the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it if need be, but Emma stepped to the side to get a better view when Killian turned. The shadow quickly formed into the silhouette of a man, and for a moment he was worried the Queen had sent her Black Knights to avenge her defeat—but then the moonlight showed the man was dressed not in armor but in a leather jerkin over homespun cloth in green and brown, and instead of a sword, he appeared to have a staff in his hand.
"Roland!"
The forester turned at the sound of his name being called by his father, who rushed over to clap him on the shoulder.
Killian raised an eyebrow in confusion as Emma walked over to the two men. "Robin?" she asked, head tilting in confusion. "You were here in the village all this time?"
"I arrived with your father and the dwarves," he explained. When he noticed the pinch-browed expression on her face, his own brow furrowed. "Why, is something the matter, Princess?"
"I—no, no. It's just, your prowess with a bow is legendary," she explained. "When I saw the arrow that caught Regina's fireball, I assumed it was yours."
Robin grinned at his son, who smiled back and bowed to the Princess. "It was Roland who took the shot. We felt it may be prudent to set a sentinel to watch our backs as we rushed to your aide. Ironically, he was supposed to light the arrow and fire it in case of attack from the rear."
"I thought saving the girl would be a better use of the arrow," Roland drawled. "I could always rip a sleeve off my shirt and use that to signal you, had the need arisen. Thankfully for my shirt, it didn't."
Killian raised his brows, looking Roland over in a new light. He remembered that shot flying past him, the fireball meant for the bakery suddenly igniting the kindling tied to the arrow-shaft and diverting it to a different building. Even with two hands, he had never had any skill with a bow, but he recalled the distance the archer had been at, and he assumed the awkward weight of the top-heavy arrow would have made that shot nigh-impossible. Killian admired such a skill, and wondered if he had underestimated the forester.
Considering the light of approval and admiration in Emma's eye, perhaps he had underestimated him too far, Killian thought, frowning.
"That was quite a shot," she acknowledged, smiling. "One day you may surpass your father's reputation—though hopefully on the right side of the law."
"Until there are fair taxes and the people have justice, there will continue to be a need to steal from the rich to give to the poor," Robin replied.
"Perhaps one day we'll both retire from being outlaws," Roland said, shrugging. "Until then, someone has to fight to make sure the poorest of the peasants are fed and protected from the cruelties of the Black Knights and the Sheriff of Nottingham's men."
"For the moment, however, we should see to those who need help here," Killian said, redirecting them to the village around them.
Robin Hood nodded. "Most of the homes and shops here aren't salvageable. They'll need to be completely torn down and rebuilt. For the time being, I've suggested to David that they come back with us to the abandoned town we're bunked in."
"That's a good idea," Emma agreed, standing straighter holding her chin high. He could almost see her pulling the mantle of Princess back around her shoulders, becoming the leader her people needed. "Try to save any supplies and tell the villagers to gather any personal items they can carry with them. We'll leave in an hour."
Killian glanced at the sky and read the position of the stars. He was surprised that there were still a few hours of darkness left. It seemed as if the night had been interminable already, and yet he was glad he would have a bit more time with Emma in her human form.
With a final firm slap on his son's shoulder, Robin pulled Roland forward to help with the cleanup and recovery for the rest of the town. Alone again, finally, Killian turned back to Emma. He shuffled for a moment, awkward now. He wanted to say so much, but pouring out his heart had never come easily to him. But what he could do was show her that he truly was a gentleman and fall back on good manners and formality. He took a small step back and nodded deeply, not quite a bow, but enough to show his respect for her. "Thank you, Swan, for interceding for me with your father. I give you my word, I'll do nothing to endanger you or yours again."
"I hope not," she said. Then she sighed and scrubbed her hands up and down her face. "I suppose I should be thanking you, too. Without this little adventure, I would have kept running from my responsibility…to Henry, to the kingdom, everything." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Everything you said…you were right."
They moved together, both stepping out to join in the cleanup efforts. Their steps were slow, almost meandering, as they took in the extent of the damage and tried to determine where they should start, especially since he did not want to leave her, not yet. Not when she had given him such a perfect opening to ask more questions. He had to find out more about her past, how they had come to this impasse that had led to such destruction.
"What happened, Swan? What made you doubt yourself?" he murmured as they found a cart that had remained unscathed by the Queen's temper. The villagers were already starting to load the belongings they could salvage onto the bed. He hopped inside and started to shift the load to make the most of the space.
"Nothing, really," she said, shrugging, as she took a bundle from one of the villagers and tossed it up to him. "I just…I never felt like…" She glanced around and waited until they were alone again before she confessed, "I never really felt like I was what my mother truly wanted."
"From everything that I've heard of Snow White, I'm sure that can't be true," he said.
Having grown up in the slums along the dock and then been intimately acquainted with that culture as an adult, he knew full well the kinds of circumstances that would leave a woman with no wish to have a child, but that was not the feeling he got from Emma. While there was some pain in her eyes, it was not the pain of not having been wanted at all.
"It's not that she didn't love me," Emma protested, as she waved over another group of refugees with their bundled belongings. "But…she wanted a perfect little princess who wore pretty pink dresses, just like she did when she was a girl…a daughter that she could train to be a perfect queen." She shook her head. "That was never me. I preferred fighting and hunting and riding to dancing and politics. I usually ended up accidentally insulting dignitaries, and stayed mostly silent during council meetings."
Emma chuckled as she helped a little boy about Henry's age lift a sack into the cart, and Killian took hold of it, stowing it to the rear. "Everyone always said I inherited Father's tact," she continued, smiling. "And it's true. There was a good reason my mother always gave the speeches. My father and I tend to just say whatever comes to mind, regardless of whether or not it's what we should say at the time." She shook her head ruefully. "Tact is just not saying something that's true and everyone already knows. It's stupid and it wastes time."
Killian had to laugh at that. He remembered their conversation that first night he met her—gods, only a few days ago. It seemed like years he'd known her. But he recalled how she continually back-tracked and corrected herself when what she said came out wrong. He remembered her saying that she had not had to be politic and genteel for a long time.
"I think I agree with you, Swan," he chuckled.
She sighed, resting her arms on the rail of the cart, and he crouched down in front of her. The laughter was gone from her face now, and her eyes were pinched, her jaw tight as she swallowed twice before continuing.
"But when you're a princess and everyone is looking to you for leadership, and you're the one responsible for keeping peace between feuding factions at court, being able to say the right thing and not offend people is important." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her arms, and avoiding his eyes. "And that… That was my brother's forte. He knew what to say to people. Except for being able to play dress up with him, I think my mother was relieved when she realized that she had a child that was just like her."
"Aye, I know what you mean," he confessed. When she gave him a skeptical brow, he smiled, shaking his head slightly. "I had an elder brother who sounded much like your James. Perfect. Always thinking he was right—and usually being right, the arse. A natural leader, able to make others believe in him, but somehow not a ponce about it."
"Yeah, that sounds familiar," she said, nodding.
They were interrupted by a new group of villagers clamoring to stow their belongings and thanking the Princess for saving them from the Evil Queen. He quietly stowed the villager's belongings while Emma handled her people with awkward nobility. He smiled at how uncomfortable their praise made her but felt a warm rush of pride listening as she quickly and calmly soothed fears and assured them they were safe now, and she would do her best to make sure they remained so.
"You seem to do well enough," he told her once the villagers had moved off.
"I know it sounds strange but…" She shrugged. "I would be more comfortable leading an army into battle—or a group of refugees to safety—than standing up in front of them trying to decide what's the best taxing policy or passing judgment in a land dispute."
She found a rope and tied down one of the salvaged rocking chairs that teetered precariously on the side of the wagon.
"It's not the fight against Regina that scares me. It's everything that comes after it. It's…doing the tedious, hard work that is needed day after day to keep a kingdom running smoothly. It's being someone whose every decision is scrutinized. With all of the mistakes I've made in my life…I'm not sure I can live up to the standard my mother set. She was a wonderful mother and a great queen, and I'm just…me."
It boggled his mind how she could think that her actions—youthful mistakes that may certainly have been shocking to a royal court, but were hardly the shortcomings she feared—made her unworthy of her parents' esteem and her peoples' faith. Not for the first time, he wondered if his own king, now long dead, had ever had a moment of self-reflection or doubt that could have made him a better leader, that would have saved the kingdom from war with its neighbors, that would have saved Liam from death.
"Swan," he said, then paused to lick his lips and pull in a deep breath. "Might I ask you a—a hypothetical question?" He shrugged carelessly, grinning to hide the throbbing pulse he could feel in his throat. "Call it a test of your leadership abilities."
"Alright," she responded after a second's hesitation, her brows pinched.
"If you had access to…let's call it a weapon which would allow you not only to defeat the Queen, ensuring she would never harm anyone again, but to destroy her forces and anyone loyal to her…would you use it?" He watched the confusion on her face edge into wary curiosity, and he continued. "It would be easy to use, transforming a single scratch from an arrow or the tip of a blade into a mortal wound. With this weapon, you could kill hundreds, even thousands of people—anyone who threatened you."
"This weapon sounds pretty powerful," she observed, frowning. Her gaze darted across his face, reading him, before it narrowed. "Does such a weapon exist?"
"Not at all," he said quickly, waving her off with a careless flick of his hand. "Merely hypothetical."
Emma's mouth flattened, and she leaned back, pulling away from him. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Hook. I'm pretty good at knowing when people are lying to me."
He felt a muscle in his jaw tick and he regretted even voicing the question. Forcing his breath to come in even puffs and his heart to remain steady, he shrugged. Then he offered her his most charming smile, leaning in. "Humor me, love."
Her brows furrowed, and he could see in her wary posture, almost ready to find her knife again, this time to hold it to his own throat, no doubt, that she did not believe him. But then her gaze slid out of focus as she actually considered his question. His breath caught as he watched her mind work behind her eyes, weighing the possibilities.
"It sounds like this weapon is indiscriminant in who it kills," she mused.
"Most weapons are," he replied.
"But most weapons require force behind them to kill. You have to mean it. What you describe…" She shook her head, her vision clearing as she met his eyes. "Whatever you're thinking of could too easily be used to hurt people who have nothing to do with my grievance with Regina and her Black Knights. Or later, it could be used arbitrarily against anyone who might be a threat—if not by me, then by someone. Once that kind of weapon is known to exist, it will become a race between all of the kingdoms to acquire it or something even more dangerous."
"That's true, but mightn't it be worth the risk?" he asked. "You must know that Regina has her supporters amongst some of your nobility. She would have been assassinated quickly after coming to power—magic or no—if she didn't have a few allies. Fear alone does not stop everyone from attempting to fight back. Those allies at court or in other kingdoms—such as the ruler of Loxley's realm—will make your return to the throne difficult, to say the least. If we are headed for a war, the Queen will have allies with armies to back her against your motley band of rebels. So I'm asking you again, Princess, would you use such a weapon?"
Emma closed her eyes, clenched her hands into fists, and pulled in a deep breath. "I don't know."
He waited, and she opened her eyes, murky with anxiety and doubt, and he felt his stomach clench.
"To have a weapon that could destroy my enemy quickly, saving my kingdom from what could be a long and costly war, ensuring that my forces triumphed even if we only scratched our enemies… It would be tempting to use," she admitted, nodding. "All I can say is that I'm glad I don't have this 'hypothetical' weapon. I'm glad that I don't have to make that choice. I don't know if that's the right answer, or what you wanted to hear, but it's the only answer I have."
He was unsure what he had wanted to hear, but her answer allowed that knot inside to ease, and shrink, and finally disappear. She did not claim that she would never use the dreamshade poison if it came her way, if it was the only option besides a long and brutal war. But she also did not press him for details. She questioned whether or not he told her the truth about the existence of such a weapon, but she did not ask him to produce it, where to find it, how to use it. She just washed her hands of the option, glad that such a tool was not in her hands now.
"It was the right answer, Swan," he murmured, nodding.
She sucked in a deep breath, holding it in her lungs as her eyes fluttered closed, her hands braced on her hips, as if his opinion mattered to her. She let the air out slowly through pursed lips, nodding back. Then again, one quick nod, surer now as she opened her eyes, clear and once again catching the light of the moon and reflecting flashes of silver, like starlight glimpsed through a thick forest canopy.
"Does it exist?" she asked again.
He shook his head. "Not in this Realm."
She sighed. "Good. Let's leave it at that."
He couldn't help his smile, the relief pulsing in his veins like clear water after a drought. He nodded deeply to her. "As you wish."
David calling to one of the villagers, directing the man leading a panicky mule, alarmed by the smell of smoke and the night's activity breaking in its routine, to the wagon. "Let's get the mule hitched here, and as soon as everyone is ready, we'll move out. Let's get the remainder of these supplies stacked."
Emma stepped forward to hold the mule steady while the villageman prepared the harness and traces. Killian straightened up in the bed of the wagon, braced his hand on the side rail, and vaulted over. He joined Emma at the front of the wagon and grabbed hold of the mule's bridle to help hold it steady.
He looked over in time to catch Emma in the midst of a jaw-popping yawn. "It will be dawn before we get halfway back," she predicted. "And I don't know if I have it in me to make the flight today."
Killian nodded toward the bed of the wagon. "I saw some blankets and soft sacks in back. If dawn comes, we'll make a nest for you, and you can sleep on the way."
"We might have to," she said, her eyelids drooping, and only the mule bobbing its head sharply kept her from leaning her head on the animal's neck to rest.
"For what it's worth, Swan," he murmured, prompting her to open her eyes and look at him. "I think you'll be a fine queen."
The sleepy smile accompanied by a fluttering of lashes was almost, he thought, as addictive as magic.
The population of the formerly abandoned village swelled with the addition of those displaced by Regina's tantrum. The huts and cottages that had been in disrepair were being mended and rebuilt. The common lodge at the heart of the village had become make-shift hospital, childcare center, and war room. From the lower village, several of the young bucks in their teens and twenties, and even a few of the family men and women who had recovered their ire and courage now that their children were safe, had volunteered to be part of the makeshift army growing under the Swan Princess's banner.
And they were not the only ones. Word had gotten out, spread by the dwarves, the werewolves, and the Merry Men that the lost Princess of Sainte-George, the one who was destined to defeat the Evil Queen and return all the happy endings, had been found. She was gathering an army. And her people flocked to her, thankfully bringing food and additional supplies with them. They even found two blacksmiths to make additional blades and arrowheads, saving them from Killian's piss-poor efforts.
Over the next few days, David and Robin Hood organized rounds of training for their new forces. The Merry Men taught the peasants how to use a quarterstaff and bow. Those that already knew archery were sent to Robin and Roland directly to improve their skills. A few had some military experience as the foot soldiers for this lord's or that one's army. Those men, Killian and David took aside and guided them to develop their sword skills. They were up before dawn and practiced until after sunset. The muscles in his arms, back, and stomach—all of which he had previously been quite proud—throbbed and burned from strain by the time the day was over. He had not worked this hard, this steadily since his days in the naval academy, and Killian noticed with amusement that he was packing away more food than he had since he was only a few years older than Henry.
And Henry! That boy seemed to be everywhere at omce, always in the company of a few other lads his own age. He woke early to help with chores around the village, seeming to enjoy having work to do for the first time in his privileged life. During the day, he ran back and forth between the different groups in training, passing messages, watching what he could, practicing from time to time before he was called away again. Then he sat up late with his mother, David, and their counsel as they tried to devise the perfect plan for defeating the Queen. Either Killian or David had to carry the boy to his cot when he fell asleep leaning against Emma's side. And the next morning, he did it all again.
Within a week, the fighting force was becoming more disciplined and more adept with their weapons, almost as if that good magic Henry swore by was aiding them. They would never be able to combat a professional army of knights and infantry, but Killian had been the mastermind behind plenty of pirate raids. The plucky band had enough tenacity and resolve on their side to form a credible guerilla army. These humble foresters, farmers, herders, and carpenters were good and tired of a tyrant ruling their kingdom, threatening and killing their families and friends on the flimsiest provocation. They were angry and determined to take their lives and their kingdom back, never sparing a thought that they may die in the process. That kind of mentality would get them through a few skirmishes, but Killian still worried about their chance of success. The peasants' inexperience could lead to disaster if they ended up in a drawn out war with the Queen's forces.
Emma attended as much of the training as possible while she had her human form, and Killian found more and more that he had to struggle to keep his mind on his task when she joined the morning sword drills. After their return to the haven of the abandoned village, Emma had collected a change of clothes from the Merry Men. She cut quite the figure dressed in brown leather breeches, tall boots, a white shirt, and a blue doublet that made her eyes appear enchantingly aquamarine in candlelight. He tried to treat her with the respect a princess ought to receive, but he couldn't stop his eyes from appraising the tight fit of the breeches as she ran through her drills. The cut she had incurred on her hand during her fight against the Black Knights who had abducted Henry a few days earlier had now healed, but Emma repurposed his black scarf to tie her hair back from her face. Killian knew he should be annoyed, but was instead strangely flattered. He loved seeing that band of darkness in the light of her hair.
Ten days after Regina's attack, Killian brought his dinner to the long table in the town hall that made up the war room and settled in to listen to David and his unofficial generals once again try to formulate a plan to defeat Regina that would not lead their fledgling army to their certain deaths. From the beginning, they agreed to give up breaking Emma's curse before facing the Queen. David and Emma both hoped that with Regina's defeat—read "death"—the curse would end, though Henry still brainstormed, hoping to come up with an alternative.
He felt eyes on him from across the table and looked up from his meal to find Emma considering him. He raised his brows in question. She raised her chin, seeming to come to a decision, but Killian could not read what it was before she turned to face her father.
"Hook mentioned something to me," she announced, drawing everyone's attention to both her and him. He swallowed a bite of roasted carrot and tried not to squirm under scrutiny, instead flashing the assembly a dashing smile.
"He said that we're a motley band of rebels," Emma continued, "and that Regina is going to have an army behind her. He's right. We can't let this escalate into an all-out war. We have to defeat her in one quick coup that doesn't allow her forces to have time to muster. Whatever we do, we have to succeed in one attack, or we might not get another chance. We can sort out who our enemies and allies are later."
"I doubt there are many who are actually loyal to her," Grumpy scoffed, laughing with his brothers. "Who would want to serve the Evil Queen?"
"Those who are evil themselves, generally," Killian drawled, and found himself once again the focus of the room's attention. He gestured widely to those around the room. "Everyone here is part of this little insurrection because of their own desires—whether it's for peace, for a return to a time of lenient government, or for a separate agenda that includes the Queen's downfall." He shrugged. "The same can be said of Regina's supporters, no doubt."
"Luckily, those who would be truly loyal to Regina are few and far between," David said. "Regina's politics are as capricious as she is. She's just as likely to turn on her allies as she is to attack her enemies."
Looking around the table, David nodded to his daughter. "Emma is right. If we can make one quick and unequivocal strike, we should be able to galvanize our supporters within the nobility and isolate those who were loyal to Regina with relative ease."
"We were operating under the assumption that the Queen was housed in Sainte-George castle," Killian reminded them. "Do we still believe she's there?"
"I could fly reconnaissance for us tomorrow and find out if she's still there or if she's moved back to the Dark Palace," Emma offered.
"Either way, our best plan will probably be to attack at night," Roland proposed. "Darkness provides the best cover for a sneak attack."
David nodded. "Snow and I used a similar plan when we attacked Castle Sainte-George the first time to oust old King George. A similar attack may work+ now. Red?" He looked to the woman at his right. "Would your wolves be able to take out the external guards?"
Red nodded.
"Now we just need to figure out how to get into the castle itself," Emma muttered. "I doubt the front gate of either castle is going to be undefended, especially not now that Regina knows I'm coming for her."
"What would prompt the guards to open the gate without question?" Robin questioned. "If we seem to have something the Queen wants, I think they'll be less likely to try and stop us from walking right in the front door."
"We could pose as merchants delivering supplies," Roland suggested, shrugging. "It's worked before."
Henry planted his hands on the table in front of him and stood up, eyes wide and intent. "It's me! She wants me. We can use that to get in—I can be bait."
"No," Emma said right away. "Not happening. You'll be staying right here in the village. If I could send you to another Realm to wait this out, I would."
"I can help!" Henry insisted, looking across the table to meet Killian's scrutiny before he turned those earnest brown puppy eyes to his grandfather. "The guards at either castle will recognize me. And if there are 'Black Knights,'" he said, pointing to each of the adult men around the table, "escorting me in, they'll take me—and whoever's with me—right to Regina."
Emma was shaking her head, but Killian thought the lad's plan was sound, and it was no riskier than the other escapades Henry had engaged in so far in his quest to defeat his adoptive mother. "I think the lad is on to a good plan," he said.
"And how would he explain showing up again after we fought off a group of Black Knights to save him, huh?" Emma demanded.
"I could say that you weren't what I expected, and I don't want to be with you anymore," Henry suggested, rolling his lips between his teeth in thought. "Or that I want to do what's right for the kingdom, and I'm willing to come home as long as Regina promises not to hurt anyone else."
"And it's not like the guards on duty would recognize us," Grumpy pointed out. "Those helmets have mesh inside that hides the face of whoever wears it. You put one of those on, you can waltz right in."
His brother—an older, spectacled dwarf with a creaky voice but quite the aim with a pick-ax—nodded along with Grumpy, adding, "And we could guard your escape route, in case things go wrong."
"I don't like the idea of involving Henry in this," Emma protested, although the slump of her shoulders and the soft, worried look in eyes told that she knew this was the best plan they could come up with, even if she did not like it.
"He's already involved," Killian reminded her gently. "Knowing Henry, he'll likely tag along behind us if we try to leave him behind."
He raised an eyebrow at the lad, who grinned back, nodding. Killian shook his head, then turned and shrugged at Emma. She flattened her lips in annoyance, but she could hardly argue her boy would do no such thing since Henry had proven time and time again that he would face almost any odds to do what he believed was the right thing.
She snorted. "Running headlong into danger apparently runs in our family," she muttered. Then, on a resigned sigh, she said, "Okay, so we sneak in with Henry's help. Regina could still launch a magical counter-attack. How do we withstand that?"
"And that," Killian said, standing up as he tossed his napkin onto his empty plate, "is where I can provide some assistance."
