Standard Disclaimer: These lovely characters ain't mine, I just play with them gently. Please don't sue me. The mistakes are mine, though.
Chapter 2 – Tension Rising
After departing the council chamber, Regina heads straight for the office of Misthaven's Supreme Military Commander. Mulan has been serving in that capacity, and the adjacent role of Chief Adviser to the Crown, for just over nineteen months. Most of her deployment to date has been spent in the field whipping the army into a shape that satisfactorily approaches her exacting Eastern standards. It is only recently that Mulan felt confident enough in the officers she personally retrained to delegate the vital task of maintaining an acceptable level of discipline throughout the various branches of the military. This means she is finally able to attend to other duties that were being neglected in the meantime, such as the copious amounts of paperwork incumbent upon the occupant of her current position. She also conducts daily debriefings with Regina or Red or both, and is expected to attend court with them as often as she is able. Needless to say, Mulan is a busy woman, which is just the way she likes it.
Taken as a whole, Mulan's appointment is one of the best decisions Regina has made in recent memory. It was also one of the most highly controversial. Elevating a foreigner, whose service to the realm was a fairly recent development, to the ultimate military post in the land was a calculated risk. Unsurprisingly there was a great deal of backlash. The nobles were especially aggrieved, as their ranks traditionally supplied the position regardless of the applicant's military service or lack thereof.
If people are generally resistant to change and highly xenophobic in nature, amongst the nobility those moral deficiencies are greatly exaggerated. Any and all interlopers are regarded as a threat and handled accordingly with suspicion bordering on paranoia that often gradually develops into tactical subversion, overt and otherwise. By contrast, those whose origins are not anchored to blood and soil are immediately besieged by every available weapon in their impressive arsenals with which to discredit the newcomer. For instance, as it was, crowning Red made waves that have yet to completely dissipate five years on; but had Red not been native to Misthaven, chances are the glancing threats leveled by the Council of Nobles would have been explicit broadsides. In that case, the choices available to Regina would have been to either voluntarily surrender the throne, give up Red, or refuse to do either and potentially plunge the country into a bloody conflict from which recovery would take decades. That is how rigid and insular the nobility is.
Imagine, then, a woman born in a land thousands of miles away, of which ninety-five percent of the born and bred aristocrats have never even heard, being entrusted with power second only to the ruling monarchs. Not only did Mulan command the might of the realm's armies, but she also oversaw the vast spy apparatus Regina had painstakingly constructed over more than a decade. It came as no surprise that upon announcing the replacement for the recently retired General Dru the entire council erupted into a frenzy of disbelieving shouts and vociferous condemnations. Had Regina not made plain her vehement displeasure at their disrespectful behavior, they might still be squawking to this day.
Of course, their falling into line quickly under the force of her will while inside the council chambers did not extend to the outside. In short order, many reneged on their acquiescence and proceeded to make Mulan's job as difficult as possible. Liars, the whole rotten lot of them.
No prior Commanding General has endured as much antagonism from the noble houses as Mulan. The first several months of her service were constantly frustrated by Lords or Ladies randomly wielding their titles to force allowance of spot troop inspections or to tie her up in mountains of completely unnecessary formalities or traditions they insisted to be the opposite. Several recalled locally mustered regiments from key strategic deployments out of bald spite. All sneered down their noses at her during public functions and ridiculed her at ever opportunity. Regina watched all of this without intervening, which required much restraint considering her considerable outrage. The guiding principle behind her inaction was a keen desire to avoid the appearance of subverting Mulan's newly conferred authority, and furthermore she wished to avert any implication of there being even a minuscule hint of mistrust between them. Regrettably she would come to regret staying her hand when these unending nuisances eventually culminated in a proper disaster.
That first winter of Mulan's service saw record lows in temperature and highs in snowfall accumulation over much of the country. While she was out on extended patrol with a company of footmen, a particularly brutal storm blew in from nowhere, catching them all out in the open. As misfortune would have it, the patrol was slogging through lands belonging to an obstinate Lord who was the leading voice of opposition to Mulan's promotion. The coward chose that most dire moment to express his discontent by denying her request for emergency quarter, and then went so far as to threaten to sic his personal force upon her tiny outfit should she refuse to comply. The purpose of the patrol was supposed to be observation so that any holes in training could be corrected. Instead, turned away from safety and shelter, the company spent a frigid evening constructing ramshackle shelters out of any available material. Mulan then passed the entire night without sleep tending to her suffering soldiers and fighting to keep the fires going against the driving snow. By morning, a third of the company had frostbite – including Mulan, who thankfully did not lose any fingers and toes unlike many of her soldiers – and another third came down with respiratory illnesses, the worst cases of which developed into full blown pneumonia. Three died of exposure during the night and an additional five of ensuing disease.
When Regina learned of this travesty, she flew into an ungodly rage. After assembling every dissenting noble upon the palace courtyard, including the perpetrator, she called the offending Lord forward and executed him on the spot. To drive the point home, she used the bastard's own sword to lop his head off, then wiped it clean upon the twitching corpse's clothes before presenting it to his closest friend and clandestine lover. It wasn't the first time Red watched her kill someone, but it was the first she had done so in a fit of unbridled wrath. And while she never wants to see her wife look at her so fearfully again, she does not regret her actions. That was the end of the nobles' resistance to Mulan. It also served as the occasionally necessary reminder to the uppity patricians that while they have some authority within the realm, they were also her subjects.
Fortunately, the results that have rolled in since speak for themselves. When Mulan has yet to lose a battle and worked undeniable wonders with the army, neither her exotic ancestry nor her deep aversion to court politics can be used against her as a smear. Slowly but surely, she is winning over hearts and minds with her quiet demeanor, sharp tactical and strategic acumen, no nonsense leadership style, and a dutiful attention to detail that she uses as effectively to verbally disarm opponents as to complement her friends. Those who continue to oppose her are increasingly ostracized in the face of her impressive successes.
Yes, Regina thinks as she nears Mulan's office located within the east wing of the castle, she is excelling even more than I had hoped. And that's saying something, because she was as confident as could be of Mulan's abilities beforehand.
Upon spotting the Queen's approach, the guard posted outside Mulan's office grants Regina entrance without requiring her to issue a stern command.
"My, aren't you such a good boy. Your General has you well trained," she says, smirking at the young soldier who ducks his head in obeisance as she passes through the threshold and steps into the office.
Not much larger than the chambers upon the upper floors assigned to castle staff, Mulan's office is a decorative representation of the occupant. The only pieces of furniture are a desk as stern in appearance as the warrior seated behind it and a high-backed chair with minimal padding that is sure to leave a number of aches and pains behind after a long day seated upon it. Few ornaments are to be found upon the surface of the desk, only a statue of a serpentine dragon carved from marbled rhodonite she lovingly refers to as Mushu and an ordinary wooden spindle once belonging to a spinning wheel whose provenance Mulan refused to elaborate upon. It was a gift from someone special, she would say, then dismiss any further discussion of the peculiar memento.
Tall cedar shelves line two of the walls, holding a myriad of tomes, nearly all relating to the art and philosophy of warfare, command administration, and a vast assortment of military histories both foreign and domestic. Most have been acquired over generations, each Commanding General adding his or her contribution to the collection for their own benefit as well as to the furtherance of their replacement's success. There are a few manuals and manuscripts that Mulan procured at great expense from her homeland back east while a handful of others she has composed, compiled, and bound into book form herself. The other two walls are bare save for a hand-carved wall hook for Mulan's sheathed katana, a priceless heirloom passed down in her family for more generations than can be accounted. The weapon hangs proudly next to the door, both a warning to those entering as to whom they will soon be facing and a constant reminder to Mulan of her deep, unwavering sense of duty.
Inside the office, Mulan – as is typical on days when there is no troop drilling scheduled – is nose deep in a monumental pile of reports.
"Your Majesty, I wasn't expecting you," the stoic warrior greets upon looking up from her work. She makes to stand but Regina holds up a hand to halt her. Frowning, Mulan tilts her head to regard her intently. "Normally you don't arrive for the daily briefing until much later in the evening. Also, you told me yesterday that you were taking the afternoon off. Is something wrong?"
"I'm not sure," Regina answers, choosing to remain standing. She doesn't expect to be here very long. "I've just come from a meeting with the Council of Nobles where they expressed universal concern regarding rumors trickling in from Drakkenhall. A number of villages in uncomfortable proximity to our border have been put to the torch. I gave them my word I would consult with you since you also serve as our Head Spymaster. Have any of your assets gleaned viable intelligence about what – or who – might be the cause of these events?"
Mulan's frown deepens. "Viable intelligence? No. Nothing that can be verified. I heard of these incidents, though. About a week ago, I read a missive from the garrison commander on the border about those same rumors. It was compelling enough that I took the liberty of instructing my best people in Drakkenhall to investigate. They are doing so as we speak. And while they have no definitive theories, I can now at least confirm the rumors are true. In fact, I was just reading the initial reports when you came in. Eight villages in total have been destroyed."
"Eight?" Regina's brows raise. That is not an insignificant number of devastated municipalities. "That is worrying."
"Agreed. Very worrying. My gut tells me something foul is afoot."
A dark brow arches at the General's vagary. "Care to elaborate? I know you and Red share an inadvisable reliance on instinct, but I'll need more than that if I'm to make the best decision on how to handle this situation."
"Well..." Mulan pauses, scratches her chin, then levels Regina with a sharp gaze that showcases her rapier-edged acuity. "According to our sources, loss of life was minimal, suggesting it was not overt aggression by marauding bandits, a foreign invasion, or an ogre incursion. At the same time, it's too widespread to be random. This is no act of the gods. The reports detail the devastation to be precise. Every last public building was reduced to ashes along with the private abodes of key citizens, while noncritical assets remain virtually intact. Normally I would conclude there was arson involved, as there is clearly a human hand guiding the flames. But in most arson cases, there is always collateral damage. That doesn't seem to be the case here, which leads me to suspect the culprit is someone wielding sorcery."
"A sorcerer? Do you really think so?" Regina asks, heart rate picking up speed.
Mulan is rarely off in her assessments, and the possibility of some rogue witch operating so close to Misthaven has her stomach twisting into a painful knot. A magician capable of razing a number of villages without being detected is a definitely a cause for alarm. Such an individual is as cunning as they are powerful, a combination that is especially lethal.
Regina does not fear for her own safety so much as she does for her kingdom. And primarily for her wife. While Red is highly resistant to magic in her fur, on two feet she is as vulnerable as any ordinary human – except during Wolf's Time, that is. With the full moon not scheduled for another three weeks, Regina will need to be on high alert. She also makes a mental note to double Red's dedicated guard until the situation has resolved.
Mulan's brows draw together, revealing her own concern. "Unfortunately, I do. I've seen it before back east. Sorcerers love to sow discord and chaos before striking out at their true target. When a person has power like that, senseless slaughter and wanton carnage become a sideshow for their game instead of an objective. The direct approach is too mundane or boring for them, I suppose."
The assessment is brutally accurate, as Regina knows firsthand. During the Dark Days, she often hit tangential targets for the sake of her own amusement or as an intimidation tactic. The former more so than the latter, as she expects to be true in the majority of cases with power-drunk, morally deficient magicians such as she once was.
"Yes, but to what end?" she asks, not liking the direction this conversation is going at all. "Why the villages closest to our border? Are they trying to draw us into conflict with Stefan?"
Mulan acknowledges the possibility with a tip of her chin. "Maybe. It's too early to tell. In my experience, one never knows the real aspirations of a sorcerer until blood is flowing in the streets." Upon catching Regina paling, she grimaces. "Forgive my candor. Rest assured, I'm monitoring the situation closely. I'll protect you, my Queen, whatever the cost."
"It's not me I'm concerned about," Regina says, voice low and rough.
"I know." Mulan smiles sympathetically.
On Mulan's first day as Captain of the Royal Guard, Regina had made her own safety in the list of priorities clear. Forget everything you've ever been taught about the value assigned to persons within your chain of command. From now on, Mulan, whether in peace or emergency, I am your second concern. Red is always to come first. Do you understand? Mulan had understood back then just the same as she does right now.
"It goes without saying I won't allow her to be harmed, either," Mulan then says, an affirmation of Regina's train of thought.
Regina believes the assertion with all of her heart. Red is the only person in Misthaven who can actually get Mulan to regularly smile and sometimes even laugh. Their friendship is special. Perhaps even more so than the one Red shares with Snow White. For that reason alone, she knows Mulan will go the extra mile to protect her from whatever threat looms so ominously over the darkening horizon.
The problem is that she can't afford to keep Mulan here to make good on her promise. When she says as much, her friend appears perplexed.
"I wish there were another option," Regina adds to clarify her meaning, "but there is no one else I trust more to keep our people safe. That's why I dropped by. I need for you to ride to the border with Drakkenhall and personally shore up the defenses there."
To her credit, Mulan takes the news in stride. She is, if anything else, the most unflappably professional individual Regina has ever met. "Understood. When would you like me to leave?"
"Tomorrow if at all possible."
Like the quintessential soldier that she is, Mulan nods succinctly then pushes out of her chair to stand. "I'll make the arrangements immediately then."
"Thank you, General," Regina says, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. Knowing Mulan will be present at the crux of the presently simmering crisis puts her mind more at ease. Mulan has never once failed in a task, and she doesn't expect her finest warrior to start now.
After a deep bow, Mulan snaps to attention. "Of course, my Queen. I live to serve."
Regina only barely holds back a frustrated sigh. Will the woman ever let down her defenses? After three years, she still hasn't gotten her name to pass through those perpetually severe lips. Nor has she been able to convince Mulan that she doesn't have to be so damn formal all the time.
"I hope you know you're more valuable to Red and me than that," she says, determining now is the perfect chance to bang her head against this unforgiving wall one more time. "You are not just our most capable and trusted adviser, but our friend."
Mulan remains frustratingly proper, ever the unsolvable riddle wrapped in a conundrum. "I do know that, Your Majesty. But I cannot change my nature."
"Nor would I ask you to. I would, however, ask that you exercise caution." Seeing that she's not going to make headway being approachable, she self-corrects for an authoritarian inflection that will at least make a dent. "Actually, belay that. I'm not asking, I'm insisting. Do not take any unnecessary risks with your life. The resources of the kingdom are at your disposal to solve this puzzling problem without putting yourself in harm's way. Consider it an order if you must, but I'll have your compliance on this before I allow you to leave."
"I lead from the front, my Queen. It is my way." Regina clenches her jaw and slowly exhales through her nostrils in irritation. Noting that, Mulan adopts a less rigid stance. Finally. "That said, I will not draw my sword unless I have no other recourse."
Regina nods curtly. "That is an acceptable compromise."
An awkward pause develops then, and after a few too many seconds of it, she decides it is high time for a strategic withdrawal. She's made all the progress she's going to this afternoon and is itching to get back to her chambers. Back to her wife.
"Well, I had better let you go on with your business so I can get on with mine. I promised Red I would spend the afternoon with her and I've already overshot my target by more than an hour. She won't be happy."
Mulan actually cracks the barest hint of a smile at that. "Misfires happen to the best of us. Would you be so kind as to give her my regards when you see her?"
"You should do that in person," Regina says. "You know she'll be upset if you leave without saying goodbye. So will I for that matter."
"Good point. I will drop by in the morning before I set out."
"Very well. In case I am unavailable when you arrive, allow me to wish you a safe journey. Take a handpicked squad and a murder of trained ravens with you. When you reach the garrison send word back to me at once. I'll expect daily reports of your progress to follow."
"Thank you, my Queen. It will be as you have instructed." Mulan then offers her another precise bow, to which Regina responds with a nod of approval and gratitude.
"Good luck, General," Regina says, then turns on her heel and departs.
After leaving the General's office, she wastes no time traversing the many corridors winding through the Dark Palace, on her way to the Royal Quarters. Upon reaching the safety of her bedchambers, all she wants is to curl up on the chaise lounge with her wife and let Red's love soothe away the stress clogging her pores and hammering away at her brain.
Those plans go up in smoke when she draws near enough to hear the chatter belonging to two female voices through the thick oaken door. Their conversation is punctuated by airy giggles that give Regina the wrong idea, which is the worst possible scenario that could have happened considering her current state of mind. The Council confronting her today already had her hackles raised and this only stokes the embers that had since died down into a rejuvenated inferno.
Storming inside, she catches Red in an embrace with their handmaid that, while her rational side recognizes as perfectly innocent, is yet far too intimate for her tastes. The way the young, pretty Iris clings to Red's arm and smiles as she leans in so close their noses are almost touching sets off a spark of outrageous jealousy. That Red isn't rebuffing what Regina deems as inappropriate proximity boils the blood coursing through her veins.
"Get out, Iris," she all but shouts, grimly satisfied to see the enviably shapely handmaid jump away from Red like she's been burned. The guilty look they share is a spur thrust into Regina's side. "Now!"
Eyes blown wide, Iris stammers, clearly terrified of her Queen's rage. "Y-yes, Your Majesty," she manages after a moment gawking uselessly. Ducking her head, she rushes out the door as if fire is nipping at her heels. In a manner of speaking, it is.
With Iris gone and her chest being seared with caustic fury, Regina sets about pacing the length of the chambers. Perhaps wearing a rut in the floor will help diminish the anger burning behind her eyes and building unsustainable pressure at her temples. Those factors, along with the telltale throbbing at the back of her skull indicates the onset of a blistering migraine.
It takes Red a bit to recover from the shock of her dramatic entrance. And at her poor treatment of their handmaid. Tentatively, she approaches, hands extended out in front of her in a show of innocuous intent.
"Hey, come on. There's no need for this. You need to calm the hell down," she firmly orders as she reaches Regina, who halts her pacing the moment strong hands find purchase at her elbows. "If you keep this fretting up you're going to give yourself a headache. Unless you want to land yourself abed for an entire day."
What Red said is true. Once or twice per month, sometimes longer, either stress or a rapid change in the weather incite a massive migraine that renders Regina utterly useless. Unable to bear even faint sources of light, all she can do is throw on a night mask and sleep off the relentless attacks. During the worst ones that hurt so terribly she whimpers and cries without even realizing, Red refuses to abandon her side and regularly applies cool, damp cloths to her forehead that are marginally effective at prying away the vice jaws clamped around her temples. Red being present doesn't relieve the agony, but it does supply a reassurance of value far beyond pain relief; when she's at her weakest, she is never alone.
Be that as it may, she would prefer to avoid triggering another excruciating spell. So when, without another word, Red gathers her into a secure embrace and guides her head into the crook of her neck, she does not put up even a shred of resistance. The steady thrum against her ear of a strong heart pumping blood through vital vessels and the pressure of warm hands that begin rubbing up the length of her back help to assuage the ravening, jealous beast that momentarily took control of her faculties. All at once, she feels the tension ebb from her body, a sweet release that frees of her of an oppressive weight that has been incrementally crushing her over the past few hours.
"Better?" Red asks when Regina heaves a contented sigh, suddenly weary to the bone.
"Very much. Thank you," Regina murmurs against the exceptionally warm skin of Red's neck, her sanity having finally returned.
Regina feels Red gently smile down at her. "You're welcome." When she pulls away after a while of enjoying their closeness, the smile is gone. "You know, there really was no reason for you to be so mean to Iris. She didn't deserve that. Whatever you thought you walked in on, I promise it wasn't that. You've met her husband and know she is every bit as happily married as we are."
Mortification at her behavior colors Regina's cheeks. Not for the first time, she feels like an idiotic child who has just thrown an inexcusable tantrum. She trusts Red implicitly and absolutely. Since they became a couple, many have shamelessly thrown themselves at Red. Those who approached respectfully were always turned down politely while those who came on aggressively were spurned in kind. There are few things in life Regina is as sure of as Red's fidelity, the sun rising each morning or the moon at night being two of them. And it isn't as if she has reason to suspect Iris of harboring forbidden feelings when she is, as Red so aptly stated, every bit as happily married as they are.
"I know," she whispers repentantly. In the back of her mind, she makes a note to apologize to Iris at the first opportunity. "I'm sorry. I...I should not have taken it out my frustrations on her."
"No you shouldn't have. Any particular reason you're so agitated?"
Red's question is posed gently as she rubs lightly calloused palms up the length of Regina's upper arms. The toughness of Red's hands built up over years of grueling toil is slowly giving way to the softness of royalty, and Regina isn't sure whether she likes it not. Each day, it seems, her opinion is different. Some days she loves the new texture against her skin, how it produces different sensations in different areas of her body, and can coax out knots in her muscles with such delicious finesse. Others, she misses the way the callouses would feel like they were scouring her skin, removing old dead layers in favor of the fresh, and how they provided a little pain with her pleasure as they swept greedily over her erogenous zones. In the end, though, she of the mind to not care so long as the hands – whether soft or rough – are attached to Red's arms.
"The council meeting today went poorly," Regina answers after a momentary pause, then winces as much at the understatement as at the unwelcome reminder of her oath to the council.
Swearing to produce an heir within a year's time had effectively quelled their malcontent. But at what cost? Not only is she now honor-bound to do something that utterly terrifies her, but Tremaine's contemptuous little speech provoked her into reissuing a threat not a single soul in those chambers would have dismissed as mere bluster. Lord Maurice alone was not a resident of the palace during the Dark Days.
"To say the very least," she adds, thinking of how the council members are likely to be walking on egg shells around her for some time, "next week will be interesting. As with Iris just now, I believe I successfully reiterated their many reasons to be afraid of me."
"Do you wanna talk about what happened?" Red asks, being her supportive self. There is no point trying to estimate how many times Regina has decompressed to her after particularly difficult meetings. Red invariably listens as if there's nothing else she'd rather be doing than indulging Regina's colorful ranting and raving about the incompetent morons she has to work with. The woman has the patience of a saint.
"I'd prefer not to if it's all the same to you," Regina replies, not eager to discuss the reason she became so perturbed. Having it out again with the council was stressful enough. She has no interest in taking it up again with Red. She needs a quiet evening in her wife's arms, not another argument, which is where the topic will inevitably lead.
Sensing Regina's reluctance to confide in her, Red moves back a step and takes her hand. "Alright. What would you like to talk about then?"
Regina shakes her head and heaves a weary sigh. "Nothing at the moment. I just want...I need...oh, bother. Damn it all!" Sometimes it's still hard for her to admit she's not invulnerable and that she requires an affectionate touch like any other human being. Frustrated at herself for her inability to ask for comfort she knows will be given without question, she flails her free hand as she says, "Just forget about it. It's getting late. Let's have an early dinner brought up. You're probably starving and I haven't had anything since breakfast."
Red, unfortunately, isn't having any of her deflection. "Hey. Don't do that. Don't deny yourself for my sake. Yes, I am hungry, but for you it can wait. Being here for you is more important than accommodating my greedy stomach. So, what is it?" Regina fights with herself for a several seconds before Red slips back into her personal space. Long arms wrap low around her waist and tug her forward until their hips make contact. "Oh, love, stop torturing yourself. Just tell me what you need. I love you. Unconditionally. I'm not gonna judge. Whatever it is, I'll be glad to do it if it's within my power."
Tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, Regina cannot hold in a whimper of want. Pathetic. Her mother's voice in the back of her head condemns her weakness and berates her for letting a scrawny peasant so effortlessly break down defenses that took decades of painstaking effort to construct. It takes all of her strength to banish the insidious whispers into the vault buried in the deepest recesses of her mind where they belong.
"Could you hold me again?" she asks, voice barely a whisper. Already she is leaning in, her body having betrayed her will before her mind could catch up. "Just for a while longer?"
The empathetic pained noise Red makes reminds her of a dog who's just seen it's owner injured. "Sweetie, of course I will! C'mere," she says, and then with a hand pressed between Regina's shoulder blades, fits their torsos together.
Regina sinks into the embrace with the liquidity of warm honey dripping from the comb in the middle of a sweltering summer afternoon. Needing to be even closer, she again tucks her face into Red's neck and breathes in a lung full of air as her wife begins murmuring an unending string of encouragements and endearments. As those smooth muliebral tones soothe her ears, the rich, wild scent unique to Red inundates her olfactory sense, causing a sweeping wave of serenity that washes away all of the tension from her mind and body. Like a daisy stem slowly unfurling from a knot, she feels her muscles and joints relax, knowing she's safe and supported by arms perfectly capable of holding her upright should her strength fail altogether. It wouldn't be the first time that has happened.
About four years ago, an earthquake rocked the northern regions of Misthaven. Infrastructure was destroyed on scales that baffled the imagination. The loss of industry set the economy back six months or more. Nearly two hundred fifty lives were lost. Regina had personally journeyed to inspect the damage. After thirty hours without sleep dealing with the calamitous fallout of a natural disaster no one was prepared for, she finally magicked herself back to the palace. She was so exhausted, she hadn't realized she was drawing energy from so much vapor. Needing a bastion of strength to prop her up, she sought out Red's embrace. Situated much as she is right now, Red swaying them to and fro to the pacifying rhythm of a kinetic lullaby, she promptly fell asleep standing up. If Red hadn't been what she is, she could not have held her up, not to mention hoisting her bridal style and carrying her from one end of the castle to the other to their chambers before ever-so-gently depositing her in their bed.
There is a deep sense of security in knowing Red's strength is always at her disposal. Every now and then she can afford to let go of the threadbare rope of control she precariously dangles by most days. So long as Red is by her side, there will always be someone willing and able to catch her lest she be dashed against the jagged rocks that await her at the bottom of a meteoric descent. No one else can handle her when she's a loose canon, bore packed with charge and shot, fuse in place and igniter licking at its highly flammable threads. No one else understands her when she's maudlin and mopey and irritable because she's been thinking about Daniel off and on all day. No one else gets the internal struggle to subdue the monster inside that some days presses so close to the surface that it can taste delicious freedom and the chance for a good old fashioned slaughter. Red alone knows how to talk her down from the ledge, recognizes when to give her a wide berth, can tell when it's time to stand toe to toe with her and fight out their differences, and senses with eerie accuracy when she needs a hug so badly it's embarrassing. Such as now.
"So...when I came in, you and Iris were embroiled in a cozy discussion." Regina pulls away after several minutes, using the age old tactic of a subject change when she starts to feel like she's indulged too much in her rediscovered touchy-feely, lovey-dovey side. When an arched, chocolate-colored brow shoots up, she realizes how that might come across. "I didn't mean it as an accusation. I'm merely curious. Care to fill me in or have you been sworn to secrecy?"
Sometimes Iris will confide in Red about her home life and ask their discussions remain private. Regina doesn't like that very much, though she can't really object seeing as Iris does the same with her on occasion.
"Not at all," Red replies, suspicions alleviated. "She was just telling me about John's plans for their anniversary in a couple months. He's been talking about taking them abroad. Iris has never been out of the country, you know. Come to think of it, why don't we do something for them. Oh! I know! We could arrange a trip for them to Chansiréne. You know, it's so beautiful there this time of year. I bet they'd love it, all that warm ocean air and the gorgeous beaches. And, oh, hey! Maybe we could go too if things aren't too busy around here. I've been thinking we needed a break what with tax accounting winding down, and I really wouldn't mind visiting Ariel and Eric. We haven't seen them since Melody was dedicated, and we did promise them, remember? And..."
And so it goes on. Once Red gets started about a subject she's passionate about, such as traveling the world, there is little stopping her. Regina doesn't mind, though. Red's voice is one of her very favorite things in the world. An afternoon passed listening to it so enlivened and invigorated is one well spent. So that's exactly what she does. With no regrets.