A/N: Notes at the bottom on this one.
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 7 – The Evening Song
Drained of energy yet buzzing with barely suppressed rage, Regina stalks through the cluttered hallways of the Dark Palace, skirts swirling and servants scattering in the wake of her fury.
In the immediate aftermath of the disembodied encounter with the witch who murdered so many of her people, including one of her closest friends, she accompanied Rodrigo on his inspection of the ruins of Tamerlon. To their horror, at the tail end of the looping canvass they discovered a densely packed pile of bodies, perhaps forty or fifty individuals, still smoldering in the ashes of what used to be a twelve hundred fifty square foot octagonal chapel to the goddess Ēostre, the matron deity of fertility and renewal. No lengthy investigation was required to deduce that these were civilians unable to evacuate and thus trapped inside the fort when the assault began. No doubt Robin, the garrison commander, ordered the noncombatants there for their safety, not anticipating he would be unable to defend the stronghold against a single sorceress. That error in judgment, however reasonable it would have seemed in the heat of the moment, cost so many innocents their lives.
Regina offered no comment as Rodrigo poked and prodded around the often brittle remains on the outer rim and top of the pile, in a futile search for any surviving identification. As he gingerly, and respectfully as possible, dug through the charred corpses he began verbalizing the conclusion she had already arrived at as to how these poor souls met such a grisly demise. Instead of offering her thoughts on the matter as she probably should have, all Regina could do was stand there staring, transfixed by the grotesque scene, impotent rage and indescribable grief becoming more and more unbearable by the second. Only when Rodrigo reached the inner ring amongst the slain and started uncovering the children, the first of them barely a toddler, did she manage to wrench her eyes away. Unable to tolerate anymore of the unspeakable tragedy, she fled as fast as her legs could carry her and scurried outside to where no one could see her just so she could vomit what little remained undigested of the lunch she and Red were served during a break at court. As she wiped her mouth of the sick with a handkerchief she then promptly discarded, she silently vowed justice for the atrocity perpetrated on the residents of Tamerlon, soldier and innocent civilian alike.
That abominable bitch is going to pay if it's the last thing I do, Regina thinks, the olfactory memory of ash and roasted flesh along with the sight of burnt women and children fresh in her mind as she thunders through a clogged tee intersection. She shoulders her way past a throng of bodies milling across and then emerges into the less busy Royal Wing of the castle. When at last she reaches her bedchambers, she bursts through the doors without bothering to knock and announce herself, having forgotten in her hyper-agitated state that she had left Red asleep less than three hours ago. Fortunately for Regina, Red is already awake, relieving her of any guilt at her raucous entry.
Seated upon the cushioned bench under the grand bay window that overlooks the forest stretching as far as they eye can see beyond the citadel, Red's posture telegraphs an exceedingly gloomy state of mind. She is scrunched up as tightly as possible for her lanky limbs, legs folded up against her torso, arms draped over them holding them in place, her head resting upon them with her cheek against her knees so that she can stare morosely out the window. She is no longer in the dress she wore to court, having exchanged the formal garment for a drab gray cotton shift that spills off her starkly pale shoulders and swallows up her svelte frame. Her long bangs are tied back behind her head by a butterfly clasp she borrowed from Regina's collection. With every breath she takes, her chest shivers and the muscles in her forearms constantly twitch as she incessantly worries her hands together.
Regina doesn't need to hear the mournful sniffle that disturbs the silence to have known what was going on. Red had not even flinched in acknowledgement of her dramatic arrival, which never happens because Red can hear her heartbeat from several yards away. There is practically no sneaking up on her, which means she had heard Regina coming and made a conscious choice not to greet her. That alone is cause for alarm, though Regina tempers any fretful reaction by reminding herself that Red is hurting right now and that, self-sacrificial, beautiful, wonderful idiot that she is, she probably did not want her crying to be the first thing Regina saw upon coming home.
Approaching with respectful caution, Regina steps up beside Red at the bench and risks passing her fingers through her wife's silky locks. She runs them through from temple all the way down to its end at her lower back in one long, languid stroke. Red shudders at the contact, her breath hitching over a choked sob. Rather than speak or act in any way that might pressure Red to engage with her before she's ready, Regina forces herself to remain as she is, just slowly and tenderly sifting her fingers through Red's hair as she cries without making any noise other than a few plaintive whimpers and a lot more sniffles. Eventually the tears and the shaking cease, and only when that happens does Red lift her head from her knees and crane her face up to brave looking at Regina. Bloodshot green eyes lock with hers, such indescribable sadness staining them Regina feels her own eyes well up with moisture. Tear tracks have eroded a wavy, irregular path through mascara lightly applied to Red's cheeks, which are visibly ruddy from her overwrought emotional state. Her chin trembles and creases as she gazes up, silently imploring Regina to make the hurt stop.
"Oh, sweetheart," Regina says, nearly breathless due the suddenly pervasive ache in her chest. With the same gentility she might support a newborn baby's head, she cradles Red's cheek and brushes the tears away with her thumb. "What can I do? Anything at all. Name it and I'll do it without question."
A plump lower lip disappears between pearly white teeth, Red appearing more uncertain and shy and frail than she has in years. Still, she is so distraught and needy, she scrounges up the courage to speak her desire.
"Would you hold me for a little while?"
Rather than chastise Red for doubting for even a second she would accommodate such a reasonable and welcome request, Regina gives her a gentle smile followed by a soft brush of her fingers down the length of an elegant jawline.
"Of course I will," she says, then gestures at Red. "Scoot forward a bit so I can slide in behind you."
Once Red obeys, Regina snaps her fingers to change out of her dress into a pair of tan cotton breeches she likes to garden in and a plain white blouse with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the top three buttons left undone. Feet left bare and now much more comfortable, she clambers up onto the bench behind Red, arranges herself against the back wall with her outstretched legs open and propped up slightly leaving an acute inverse chevron beneath her elevated knees, then pats her lap a couple times in invitation. Red does not hesitate to slide back into Regina's waiting arms, which wind low around her waist as she settles her back against Regina's front, her head resting against Regina's collar, cheeks pressed together, warmth to warmth. Regina tilts her face so she can nuzzle her nose into Red's cheek a few times, then presses a series of kisses to Red's temple before returning to their original alignment.
She chuckles when Red heaves a deep sigh of contentment and covers Regina's arms with her own, their hands automatically weaving together almost of their own accord.
"Is this okay?" she asks, starting to sway them gently side to side like a doting mother would when rocking her troubled child back to sleep after a bad dream.
Red hums confirmation, then adds with a pleading inflection, "Know what would make it even better? Das Abendlied."
Regina groans, stilling their movement. Just her luck Red would request a traditional like that, knowing she would want it sung in the seldom used tongue of her kin.
Like Regina and most nobles whose houses are expected to regularly entertain foreign dignitaries, Red is multilingual – another aspect that makes her a rarity among the class into which she was born. Although hailing from a poor backwater village to a line of peasant stock stretching back as far as her family history kept records, Red was raised speaking her native language alongside the common one used throughout the Enchanted Forest. Most of her peers spoke only the common, their kin having relinquished the old ways for the sake of gradually encroaching modernity, which not only included eschewing local linguistic flavor but religious fervor as well – worship of the many colorful deities native to that region has nearly been eradicated. Despite this prevailing abandonment of regional heritage, and a profound aversion to all religion, Red's grandmother was unwilling to cast aside five hundred years of tradition and wished to keep alive their deeply burrowed roots within their indigenous soil. Even if most of Red's generation could barely put together a sentence in their ancestral tongue, Red was made to learn it first before being introduced to common in time for her to grasp it before beginning what little schooling was afforded children of her station.
Out of respect for Regina's heritage, Red also learned the language of her father-in-law's people, so the least Regina could do was return the favor. Red proved a patient teacher, and a good one, able to confer the meaning of words phrases in a simple way that improved memory imprinting. Such was Red's knack for linguistic instruction that Regina recommended she formally teach any palace-dwellers who wished to add another language to their portfolio – Red has since hosted three such classes and has seventy new speakers of Saxon to boast of.
Admittedly, Regina has grown quite fond of Saxon. So much so that she enjoys speaking it every bit as much as her native Andalusian, if not more, as the language has a certain bite to it, a sort of intrinsic fury that rides knuckle tight upon every harsh syllable. When she gets really upset and does not want to cause too much of a scene in public, she will often resort to unleashing a string of unutterable expletives in Saxon upon her unwitting and confused victim. Strangely enough, though, Red feels the same about Andalusian, preferring it to her mother tongue, especially when they are locked in an intimate embrace. Says it is energetic and romantic and gets her tongue good and loose. Regina does not protest very much because for one she sort of agrees about Andalusian being energetic and romantic, and two she's not a moron. Naked Red can get away with saying a lot things without being contradicted, especially when she's referring to the use of her tongue. Funny thing how that works...
In any case, the problem isn't having to sing the lullaby in Saxon so much as it is having to sing at all. Regina has never considered her singing voice to be anything special. While she can carry a tune just fine, it is sounds rather plain to her if not a little huskier than most women. By no means is her voice as extraordinary as Red makes it out to be. If Red is to be believed, it is a rival to that of the angels, as if she the idea she has ever heard such a sound is not absolutely ridiculous. And when Regina tells Red she's just biased, that her voice is really not so great, Red either ignores her altogether to continue insisting otherwise or suggests she might need to pay a visit to Victor and get her ears checked out. The sassy little minx. How Red gets away with all she does is a puzzle Regina has yet to solve, nor is particularly keen to since she is either the primary beneficiary of those shenanigans or is far too amused by them to be upset.
"Please? Pretty please? With sugar on top?"
Glancing over, Regina finds Red staring at her with those huge soulful puppy eyes, lips pursed in an exaggerated pout there is no arguing against. Resistance would only be a waste of time and energy when both of them know she is going to concede no matter how much she does not want to sing right now. Looking at her that way, Red could ask her to belch the alphabet and she would probably give it a try.
"Bah. Fine." She rolls her eyes for show, then narrows them at her suddenly much perkier wife. "Just don't blame me when all the dogs start howling."
Red makes an offended noise that is more genuine than it is for the sake of obstinance, reminding Regina that she really does believe the words that follow. "Shut up. Your voice is gorgeous, and I'm not the only one who thinks that. Iris has told me more than once she agrees with me about that."
"Iris is merely concerned about her job security, as she should be," Regina points out half-heartedly. Their handmaid is a woman of intelligence who understands one never bites the hand that feeds them. That said, Red is handily winning the argument, although habit dictates Regina never give in easily. "If she were allowed the luxury of honesty, I'm sure her opinion would be very different."
"Oh, stop it," Red says with a dramatic eye roll of her own, clearly getting a little upset. "You're being ridiculous right now. Can't you do this one thing for me without making a frustrating production out of it?"
Regina tuts, then squeezes her arms around Red's waist. "No need to get snippy, even if you're right."
Deflating more quickly than an air bladder just popped, Red sighs wearily. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."
"It's alright, mi amada." Regina rubs Red's arms, accepting the apology. "You're under a lot of stress and reeling from a loss no one could have anticipated. A little moodiness is to be expected."
"Doesn't mean I shouldn't apologize for being an ass."
"Fair enough. In that case, I accept. But only if you accept my apology for being just as much of an ass as you were." That earns Regina a smile, muted as it is.
"I can live with that compromise," Red says.
"Good." A sharp nod precedes clearing her throat and a redirect back on track. "With that settled, do you still want to hear The Evening Song?"
Red perks up instantly, eyes dancing with barely restrained excitement as she bounces up and down, her butt slamming into Regina's pelvis like a one hundred fifteen pound bony hammer. "Yes, please, please, please, pretty pleeeeease!"
"Alright, calm down before you knock us both off," Regina chuckles at Red's antics, then laughs outright when Red starts wiggling like an unruly worm just to be stubbornly amusing. She tightens her grip in response, wrestling the squirming monster until she is subdued. "Now then," she says when Red goes limp then huffs in mock surrender, "why don't you close your eyes and try to relax. And if you start to fall asleep don't fight it. When I get uncomfortable I'll use magic to get us both in bed. Deal?"
To her credit, Red does not act up again, merely yawns and nods listlessly. "'Kay. Sounds good." Her eyes slip closed for just a second before popping back open, her neck craning to catch Regina's eyes as she calls out her name. When Regina answers, she sweetly adds, "Thank you for doing this. I know it's an imposition, but I really am grateful. And I love you."
That does the trick. Regina melts, her insides turning into so much goo. The power this woman has over me ought to be illegal. And yet she loves it far more than it is bothersome.
"You're welcome, sweetheart," she replies from the bottom of her rapidly warming heart. "I love you, too. Go on now and close your eyes. I've got you." To emphasize the point, she snugs up her hold and presses another kiss to Red's temple before resting their cheeks together one last time. Then she starts humming the tune to the requested song and waits for the opportune moment.
When Red finally stills, her breathing settling in a relaxed cadence, Regina takes her cue. With a preparatory breath, she begins to sing the familiar Saxon lyrics she learned just for Red.
"Der Mond ist aufgegangen,
(The moon is risen, beaming,)
Die goldnen Sternlein prangen
(The golden stars are gleaming)
Am Himmel hell und klar;
(So brightly in the skies;)
Der Wald steht schwarz und schweiget,
(The hushed, black woods are dreaming,)
Und aus den Wiesen steiget
(The mists, like phantoms seeming,)
Der weiße Nebel wunderbar.
(From meadows magically rise.)
Wie ist die Welt so stille,
(How still the world reposes,)
Und in der Dämmrung Hülle,
(While twilight round it closes,)
So traulich und so hold!
(So peaceful and so fair!)
Als eine stille Kammer,
(A quiet room for sleeping,)
Wo ihr des Tages Jammer
(Into oblivion steeping)
Verschlafen und vergessen sollt.
(The day's distress and sober care.)"
As the stirring melody drifts through the room, Regina swaying their tangled bodies to the gently flowing rhythm, she feels a sense of serenity wash over her that she was in desperate need of. The horrors of the day fade away with every line of the beautiful lullaby. Robin's twisted, agonized face is no longer visible; the mounds of smoldering corpses and skeletal buildings of Tamerlon disappear into the shadows; and the sorrow she shares with Red over their mutual losses gradually secedes to the realization that they are still together and that tomorrow will bring a new day. No matter what may come, they will face the trials ahead and emerge on the other side stronger for them. Because together they can withstand any assault. Together they can weather any storm. Together they will rise from the molten ashes of grief, a mated pair of phoenixes the fires of pain and death and despair can never destroy.
Swelling with hope, she pours her heart and soul into the song, allowing it to carry her away on the wings of love for the woman in her arms.
Seht ihr den Mond dort stehen? –
(Look at the moon so lonely!)
Er ist nur halb zu sehen,
(One half is shining only)
Und ist doch rund und schön!
(Yet she is round and bright;)
So sind wohl manche Sachen,
(Thus oft we laugh unknowing)
Die wir getrost belachen,
(At things that are not showing,)
Weil unsre Augen sie nicht sehn.
(That still are hidden from our sight.)
Wir stolze Menschenkinder
(We, with our proud endeavor,)
Sind eitel arme Sünder
(Are poor vain sinners ever,)
Und wissen gar nicht viel;
(There's little that we know.)
Wir spinnen Luftgespinste,
(Frail cobwebs we are spinning,)
Und suchen viele Künste,
(Our goal we are not winning,)
Und kommen weiter von dem Ziel.
(But straying farther as we go.)
Götter, lassen uns deine Herrlichkeit sehen
(Gods let us see thine glory)
Auf nichts Vergänglichs trauen,
(Distrust things transitory,)
Nicht Eitelkeit uns freun!
(Delight in nothing vain!)
Herren uns einfältig werden,
(Lords, here on earth stand by us,)
Und vor dir hier auf Erden
(To make us glad and pious,)
Wie Kinder fromm und fröhlich sein.
(And artless children once again!)
Wollst endlich sonder Grämen
(Grant that, without much grieving,)
Aus dieser Welt uns nehmen
(This world we may be leaving )
Durch einen sanften Tod!
(In gentle death at last.)
Und, wenn du uns genommen,
(And then do not forsake us)
Lass uns in Himmel kommen,
(But into heaven take us,)
Oh Götter, bitte halte uns fest!
(O Gods, please hold us fast!)
So legt euch denn, ihr Brüder,
(So lie down, my friends,)
im Vertrauen hier auf der Erde
(In trust down here on Earth.)
Kalt ist der Abendhauch.
(How cold the night-wind blew!)
Verschon uns, Gottes! Mit Strafen,
(Oh Gods, Thine anger keeping,)
Und lass uns ruhig schlafen!
(Now grant us peaceful sleeping,)
Und unsern kranken Nachbarn auch!"
(And our sick neighbor too.)
When the last words have passed through her lips, Regina pulls back enough to chance a glance at Red. Dead still, breathing even, eyelids closed yet relaxed, lips slightly parted, she appears more a slumbering deity than a sleeping woman, like an Olympian wreathed in flesh, Artemis fair and lithe and powerful become mortal just so Regina can know the incomparable gift of her love and be given the extraordinary privilege of returning it. And that she does with an intensity that burns brighter than a thousand furnaces heated to seven times capacity until the end of time.
Nothing will ever change the way she feels about Red. There is no erasing or interrupting or dimming a love so great there are moments she can hardly contain it within her body due to the intense pressure, as if her chest is so full of love that it is going to rupture at any moment and spill out of her along with the rest of her vital organs. Nor is there any force on earth capable of sundering them forever. They are of one heart and soul, geistgebunden, as the elders of Red's people say. Soul bound. Even death will be only a temporary parting for them. Eternity is where their love will live on when this mortal coil has faded from view, and there it shall thrive in youthful vitality forevermore.
Unwilling to move or let go of Red for even one second, Regina tightens her arms around her sleeping wife, readjusts her shoulders, and settles in. Soon, her eyes also begin to grow so heavy she can no longer hold them open, as if her lids have been touched by some mercury-infused Midas. Her last thought is that if the woman who mercilessly killed Robin had a Red in her life, perhaps none of this would be happening.
The sky above Misthaven is a startling blue on the day Robin of Locksley is buried. A week and two days have come and gone since his death and with it news of Tamerlon's destruction. The blanket of sadness that rolled over the citadel as news of these events circulated has yet to dissipate. To Regina the gorgeous weather seems especially cruel in light of the bleakness that has rested over those who knew and loved Robin like a misty cloud comprised of a sticky uncertainty and a guttural anguish. It feels almost purposeful, as if nature is conspiring with their enemy to mock the grief of so many.
A sizable crowd has gathered in the courtyard before the Dark Palace for the dolorous event. Robin was almost universally admired. He was a man's man who was not above being sensitive when called for, ruggedly handsome whose enormous smile matched his generosity and amiability with kind eyes and the ferocious heart of a lion. Children flocked to him for rides upon his broad shoulders. Women, and a number of men, married and single alike swooned when he passed by them. The soldiers he lead into battle nearly worshiped him as much for his fair and considerate treatment of them as for the unerring sense of discipline he instilled within each and every one of them, all of whom he knew by name as did he the names of their spouses and children.
As to be expected, the people closest to him were the hardest hit by his sudden passing. His Merry Men left all they had ever known to follow him with blind trust into Misthaven after the Sheriff of Nottingham finally rooted them out of Sherwood Forest. That they were offered sanctuary in Misthaven would not have mattered if Robin had been in the mood to decline; it was only because he accepted that so too did they. He was more than just a leader to them but a friend and a brother who was as happy to shed his blood for them as he was to make merry amongst them. Now what once was a rowdy bunch of hard-nosed fighters, passionate lovers, and shameless revelers have been reduced to a lethargic group of discordant, drifting compatriots at the brink of utter fragmentation. Whether they survive this tragedy intact or splinter to the four winds remains to be seen. Robin was the glue that held their disparate and often at-odds personalities together; without him Regina cannot image the band surviving in any recognizable form. That said, there is no doubt in her mind that Little John will stay close to Marian and Roland, which means he is unlikely to leave any time soon since Marian has already expressed to Regina and Red her intent to stay in Misthaven rather than return to Tamerlon where the made their home while Robin was in command of the garrison there – 'Roland was born here in the citadel,' she had told them, 'it is his home, so it is mine also, therefore we shall stay.' John was set to fetch the Locksley's belongings from Tamerlon a fortnight from now. Of all the Merry Men, it is Will Scarlett, Robin's half-sibling, who is least likely to remain, his heart already being split between family and love. He stayed only out of loyalty to and affection for his older brother, but now Regina wonders whether or not he will soon disappear in search of his beloved, the long lost Red Queen Anastasia.
The many other friends Robin made during his years in Misthaven, such as Red and Victor, are faring somewhat better, though all are visibly submersed within one of the various stages of grief. In all things, Red wears her emotions on her sleeve, and wraps her grief about her like a terribly depressing shawl. She cries often and otherwise constantly appears on the verge of weeping yet again, as if inside her lies an infinite sea of tears. Regina comforts her wife as best she can, though her efforts produce only meager results. Red's normally buoyant demeanor remains subdued and her rare, hesitant smiles never come close to reaching her eyes. Meanwhile Victor is typically stoic, though when Regina glances at him there is a glimmer in his eyes that suspiciously resembles tears, which is surprising – Victor is not one to let people close. It was no small feat that Robin managed to get past the iron door erected around Doctor Frankenstein's coldly rational heart. But that's just how Robin was, every bit as stealthy with his friendship as he was in the woods, able to sneak up on a person without them hearing a sound before springing the trap, and suddenly he was there inside the walls, close to the heart, a friend whose humor, loyalty, and affection can only truly appreciated now that he's gone. Regina knows this because he snuck up on her the exact same way. Red, however, was a different story. With Red, Robin was the one who got ambushed. Turns out he'd never been drunk under the table by a girl before, or beaten fair and square at an archery contest, or lost five times in a row at a high-stakes version of hide-and-go-seek in Sherwood Forest of all places. Most men would have hated Red for showing them up that way, but not Robin. To Robin, she was to be toasted and given a rousing welcome to his happy band of misfits, the first Merry Woman amongst the Merry Men. One other female would follow in Red's footsteps to join Robin's informal crew, which turns Regina's mind to those absent due to prior engagements or the inescapable call of duty.
As the final well wishers and payers of respect filter by the stately coffin she paid for out of the Crown's coffers, she wonders how Graham and Mulan will take the news. Other than Red they were the closest to Robin outside of his family and the founding members of his Merry Men.
Speaking of Robin's family, Marian is doing her best to stay strong for little Roland, who vacillates wildly between inconsolable confusion over his Papa's disappearance, awful realization that Papa will stay gone forever, and that enviable childlike tendency to let such burdensome emotional tolls slide off their shoulders as if the loss is a mere inconvenience. He is only six years old. Far too young to be burying a parent. It pains Regina more than she can express to see him struggling so tremendously. His dimpled smile is one of her very favorites, and few other children enjoy the rare privileges within the Citadel he does simply because both of his Queens are wrapped around his little pinky finger. She makes a mental note to keep a close eye on the lad for the foreseeable future, as well as on his brave-faced mother, who is barely holding on to her composure as the bald, pudgy, lush of a friar affectionately called Tuck begins to officiate the solemn ceremony.
Marian is, without a doubt, one of the strongest women Regina has ever met. There is nothing at all about the woman she does not like or at the very least respect. While she and Marian were never as close as she was with Robin, they have enough common interests to have formed a solid camaraderie, not the least of which was their shared love of spouses who would just as soon be traipsing through in the woods on a month long camping trip, and that for leisure, as to enjoy their evenings in a house with all the furnishings one could ever wish for. Even if Regina had hated Marian, she would not envy what the woman is going to have to endure over the next several days, weeks, and months. Being a young widow in a world like theirs is a precarious situation, even for those with support systems as wide and deep as Marian's. Many reprobates and schemers lacking even a modicum of compassion or a miniscule regard for social decorum will try to take advantage of her grief. No doubt a line of heartless scoundrels a mile long will be vying to replace her dead husband in her bed within the week's end. Marian's financial stability has been shaken to the core, for while she is an industrious woman who is now sole owner and operator of one of the three taverns within the citadel, an establishment Little John has been tending since the family moved to Tamerlon due to Robin's assignment, the loss of Robin's sizable income from the army will mean she will need to make some difficult decisions – and very soon if they were beholden to any debtors. There is every possibility that barring intervention she will have to move out of their modest home near the inner ring of the citadel and into one of the rooms above the tavern's beer hall, all of which are inadequate for the mother of a rambunctious, adventurous, and impressionable little boy. An establishment where people are routinely getting insensibly inebriated and randomly break out into fisticuffs is no place to be raising any child.
Perhaps she will accept some aid from Red and I, Regina thinks. That is, if she can stow her pride long enough to see the logic in accepting it. And there isn't much chance of that.
However much Regina wants to force Marian to take the help she and Red can more than afford to give, she knows better than to try. Especially since that would make her a hypocrite. If she were in Marian's shoes, there is no way she would accept a handout. She would rather scrape by, starving so long as her baby was fed and his needs met, than to extend her hand palm up to take the monetary pity being offered by some condescending aristocrat. Pride has ever been her crowning character deficit, and it is one she has in common with Marian. Nevertheless, she determines to find a way to help the family currently under so much undue duress, even if she has to resort to underhanded tricks to do so.
Maybe a convenient tax refund? Or a heretofore undiscovered relative dying who bequeathed her a sizable inheritance? Regina shakes her head, clearing away her potential machinations as Tuck delves into what a good father and husband Robin was. The impassioned speech evokes the first visible cracks in Marian's previously resilient composure. There will be time to scheme later when a heartbroken wife isn't saying goodbye to her beloved husband. So for now, Regina focuses all of her attention upon paying respects as much to her fallen friend as to the family he left behind.
When the service is over and Robin's coffin is being carted away to his final resting place within the military sector of the Royal cemetery, Regina joins Red, both clad in black as the rest of the mourners, in escorting Marian and Roland along behind the ornate horse-drawn bier. At Regina and Red's insistence, the grief-stricken family are allowed for this somber affair the distinction, though they probably do not see it as such, of walking between the royal couple. The wide cobbled road exiting the courtyard cuts a lazily curved path through the rest of the citadel, the side streets and pavements are all lined with citizens standing outside their shopfronts or observing the passage of the procession with friends and family, all with straight backs and dour faces. Robin was not just a husband, father, friend, and beloved commander, but a hero to the people. His reputation cultivated during his days as an outlaw elevated him to somewhat mythical stature amongst Misthaven's common folk. Robin Hood, as they call him even here, will be sorely missed as one of the most outspoken champions of the disenfranchised.
Holding Roland's hand, who clings to his mother's, who is in turn clutching Red's with a white-knuckled grip, Regina strolls with a dignified pace several yards abaft of the honor carriage bearing Robin's body beneath the colors of his house. The golden lion atop an olive green background was restored to him along with his title by edict of the Queens, an order no one, however adamantly opposed, was prepared to rebel against. Behind them an impressive stream of mourners stretches beyond the curve of the main thoroughfare, a sea of people whose hearts have been stirred and whose wrath has been kindled against the enemy who so callously deprived the nation of one her very best. The witch has made more than one enemy by this deplorable act, and scores more by the destruction of the garrison at Tamerlon. There will be a reckoning, only the when, the where, and the how have yet to be decided.
At the thought of the heartless wench that has been wreaking havoc upon two realms, Regina's heart swells with defiant, acridly bitter loathing. The more she dwells on what has happened, the loftier her hatred grows until she is gritting her teeth against the urge to kill something or someone, anyone really, who has committed an evil worthy of death. How easy it would be, and how fun, to visit the dungeons afterward and carve out her acrimony upon some wretchedly filthy criminal, preferably a rapist or a murderer, to flay them head to toe and bathe in the glorious noises of flesh being shaved away from muscle and the screams of agony erupting from her hapless victims. Perhaps after she has accrued a pungent coating of blood she will feel more composed and less likely to allow the inner beast, now ranting and raving from the dark fringes of her psyche, to slip her suddenly rusty leash.
The dark turn of mood only breaks when Roland fortuitously peers up at her and sniffles loudly. His precious little face is streaked with tears, eyes enormous pools of despair, chin quivering, lips trembling, clearly on the verge of a hysterical, infantile fit of misery. With great effort, she stamps down violently upon her clamoring rage, cowing it and stuffing it back into the warped black box whose surface weeps liquid animus, the malevolent throne room wherein the Evil Queen rules upon a dais of wicked thorns and gaudy spikes of bloody iron. The door barring entrance to that place devoid of all warmth and light and goodness can never be opened again.
Taking a deep breath to master herself, she meets the young boy's eyes straight on. "Courage, Roland," she says, commending herself internally for this latest victory against her murderous, tyrannical, megalomaniac of an alter ego. Roland holds her gaze with a maturity that inconsistent with his age. "We must give your father the honor he has earned," she goes on, "and show him the respect he deserves. He was a hero and must be treated as such if we are to remain a civilized people. Later, there will be plenty of time to scream out our anguish and frustration to the seemingly disinterested heavens. Later, we can stop pretending we're not about to crumble into a million pieces. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes, ma – ma'am. I t-think so," he says, hiccuping around the words.
Not wanting to be overly harsh, she gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Good boy. When you are a man in your own right, you will look back on this day and be proud of how you conducted yourself in honoring your father. But for now, I can promise you that it won't hurt like this forever."
His eyes widen as if he has heard something astonishing. "You lost your Papa, t-too?"
"No. My mother," she says with practiced patience. Roland knows very well that her father is alive, having just went fishing with him little more than a moon ago. The poor thing is simply too discombobulated by emotional turmoil to recall that right now. Their arms swinging lightly between them, Regina offers him a soft smile meant to encourage rather than belittle. "Though she was not half so good a parent as your Papa, I loved her." She pauses then, brows furrowing before she continues, "My heart was sad for a very long time after she died. I missed her every single day. I wished I could talk to her again, tell her I loved her one more time, but I couldn't. All I could do was remember the good times," and there were good times, just not very many, though she does not mention that to Roland, "and try to remind myself that she did the best she could." Glancing down at the precocious little boy, she tries to impart any measure of comfort she can to him, even if it proves insignificant in the grand scheme of things. "You must do the same whenever possible. Try as best you can to remember the good times when the pain gets so bad you can't stand it anymore. Try to focus on how much your Papa loved you – and he did so very much, so more than you will ever know! Don't ever forget the things your Papa taught you. Hold on to them like they're gold. No, like they're more than gold, because there is no value that can be put on those things. And promise me that if you need me, at any time day or night, you will come to me. My door will always be open for you, Lord Roland of Locksley, and not only for your father's sake. I care deeply about you and that will not change just because this bad thing happened."
For a moment, Roland just stares up at her in awe, his tears ceased, now merely dried tracks on ruddy cheeks. There is a rapidly renewing strength in his eyes, an unquenchable fire of hope that reminds Regina so much of his father that she wants to cry, partially for sorrow but mostly for joy. Robin has not been wholly taken from them after all. Some portion of him remains in the person of his son, who Regina can already tell will grow up to be a young man of such indomitable character as to make his father beam with a pride that cannot be put into words.
"I promise. Thank you, my Queen," Roland says after a bit, blushing at having broken etiquette so badly. It is unbecoming for anyone to stare so long at a Queen without expressed invitation.
"You are most welcome, my sweet boy," Regina replies, giving his hand another squeeze as they share a smile that bodes well for the future.
Somehow, that impromptu little speech breaks the pall hanging over the day. When she looks up, Red and Marian are staring at her much like Roland was, though for differing reasons – Marian out of gratitude and Red out of that infinite fountain of love that flows from deep within her soul. The rest of the journey to the cemetery is accomplished in silence, though there is no more sniffling to be heard amongst the crowd. Marian and Roland's spirits unfurl like a banner held up into a brisk breeze, and the effect is contagious, passing from row to row, column to column, until the entire procession is a line of valiant faces are ready to pay tribute to the man whose acts of kindness and compassion have unified them all toward that one noble purpose.
The remaining portion of the ceremony at the graveside, while melancholy, is underpinned by that same surge of positive energy. In unison, they bask in the remembrance of man who would want his life to be celebrated with foaming ale and boisterous laughter, not mourned with endless tears. A man who would wish those he loved to testify to the indelible impact his life made by doing as he did: living life to the fullest, not taking a moment for granted, smiling and laughing whenever possible, and by surrounding themselves with family and friends and love – whose combined warmth can ward off the most unforgiving winter chill. So that is what they do. By unspoken agreement, not a single tear is shed save for the joyous ones that spring up while sharing stories about Robin and his many amazing adventures.
When all is said and done and Robin has at last been laid to rest, Regina and Red stay with Marian and Roland until they retire to their home with the Merry Men to feast and get rip roaring drunk in Robin's memory. Sadly, with many duties ahead on the morrow, Regina and Red must return to the palace, but not before wresting an oath from a reluctant Marian to come at once if she has any need of them whatsoever.
The next several hours are spent attending to duties that were neglected in lieu of the funeral. Regina spends several interminable hours nose deep in a quarterly report regarding the citadel's emergency supplies and once finished with that breaks open the seal of Mulan's first report from the border with Drakkenhall. The General's succinct information does nothing to improve her mood, which has waned precipitously since parting from Marian and Roland, and Red, who had kissed her farewell upon arriving at the palace so she could oversee repairs to a breach in the western wall incurred by runoff water erosion of the foundations. According to Mulan, the situation in Drakkenhall is more dire than previously suggested. Two more villages have been torched right on the other side of the border, making it clear to Regina that the witch is moving freely between the realms with zero regard for the danger such bold maneuvering poses. Only a deranged individual would do such a thing, or one absolutely confident they will not be stopped, even by force. Neither option is agreeable to Regina.
Only long after the sun has dipped down below the rim of the world is she finally free to retire from her duties. Expecting to be greeted by Red, she instead finds their chambers unoccupied. Worry niggles at the back of her brain for a while, though she dismisses it knowing Red's attention is probably still being hogged by a very serious issue. The western wall is the one most vulnerable to siege and therefore repairs must be completely not only swiftly but precisely and utilizing only the best materials and workers available. Work is ongoing around the clock, and up til now neither of them have had time to make a personal inspection. Red is no structural engineer, but she has a keener eye for detail than any human and has an eerie knack for spotting weaknesses in defenses, an ability that served her – and Snow – well while she was not in Regina's good graces. Which is why she was sent in Regina's place.
Surely, Regina reasons with herself, she is simply caught up in ensuring the work is being done correctly. That or she's pitched in herself, which isn't out of the question. It is the strangest thing how Red sometimes bemoans the lack of manual labor she gets to do since being crowned, as if she almost longs for days of an endless string of backbreaking tasks her grandmother used to assign her.
Knowing Red is likely to be late if that is the case, Regina changes into a light satin dress, ties a warm robe around it, and then settles beneath the bay window to read the book Red lent her a couple days before. She picks up where she left off in the oddly rousing and romantic tale of a snooty noblewoman who was abducted on her wedding day by a roguish do-gooder who plans to ransom her back to her husband-to-be for enough coin to feed the small community inhabited by fellow outcasts and tenderhearted miscreants. Lo and behold, the woman finds out her captor is not a man but a woman who was orphaned young, grew up poor and fell in love only to lose her lover to the violent tendencies of the husband-to-be, who it is revealed is the evil minion of an oppressive ruler whose excesses have nearly bankrupt the realm. The tale is rather trite and full of mawkish sentimentality, but there are elements that ring true and are familiar enough to make the yarn mostly enjoyable. Especially how the obtuse noblewoman slowly becomes aware of the suffering of the common people around her as she falls in love with a woman who is as afraid of loving the noblewoman back as she is angry at the world for the innumerable tragedies that have befallen her.
She is just about to the part she has been anticipating for several chapters now, where the hopelessly in love women in pointless denial are about to kiss for the first time, when Red finally slogs through the door. Coated from head to toe in a thick layer of sweat and grime, her wife is the picture of happy bone-deep fatigue. Regina sighs affectionately at Red, who shrugs and gives her a sheepish smile.
"I couldn't just stand there and watch them work," she says, and wisely does not protest when Regina promptly orders her to the shower posthaste, her nose wrinkling at the smells wafting from Red's direction.
About half an hour later, Red pads back out of the bathroom wrapped in a downy robe with her hair tied up in a fluffy towel. She ambles straight over to the bay window and sits down next to Regina, then wordlessly takes her left hand between both of her own. Idly, deep in thought, she rubs at Regina's wedding band, eyes cast down toward her lap. When she lifts them a minute or so later, there is more than just exhaustion there.
"I can't believe he's actually gone," she says, eyelids lined with the shimmering silver of tears she refuses to let fall.
"Me either," Regina says after a deep exhale. It seems surreal that one week and three days ago Robin was laughing with them about Roland's latest stunt climbing trees while chasing after the elusive – and hideously ugly – black cat the Merry Men dubbed Prince John. Now he's nothing but a cold husk, his soul having departed for lands unknown, rotting beneath six feet of earth that now seals him away from the open skies and thick grass and tall trees he so loved. "It's going to take time to get over it. For all of us. He left a gaping hole behind."
"Yeah." Red glances up at her, pensive. "I'm worried about Marian, too. Roland is tough and young, so he'll adapt. But she's just so, so sad. And vulnerable."
Regina nods in agreement. "I know. I've already had a talk with Little John. He's going to keep an eye on her. Chase off any potential unwanted suitors. Protect her interests at the tavern. Babysit whenever he can. I told him we would help however we could."
"Thanks." Red squeezes Regina's hand between her long, elegant fingers. "That was nice."
Regina shrugs as if the praise was unwarranted, which it is. Common decency needs no reward in her estimation.
"She would do the same for me were our roles reversed."
"Still," Red says, cracking a soft smile, "you didn't have to offer. I'm sure if the nobles found out they would criticize you for making yourself accessible to those, and I quote, beneath the charity of the Crown."
Most of the nobles never accepted their decision to restore Robin's title and grant him an estate in addition to his holdings within the citadel. They still hold a grudge to this day for his activities in Sherwood, some of them having been his beleaguered victims. Marian originating from humble farming stock did not aid their opinion of the Locksley's, nor did her skin color. Racists and elitists, the lot of them.
"Fuck them," Regina growls, then winces when Red's brow arches. "Pardon my language, but I really don't care what those arrogant bigots think. Marian is a friend. I'll do what I can to help her. If they object, well, then they can kiss my royal ass."
Grinning, Red bumps her shoulder and gives her a wink. "They can kiss your ring maybe. Nobody gets to kiss your tushy but me."
Feeling grateful for the reprieve from the gloomy direction of the conversation, Regina chuckles and returns the shoulder bump with one of her own. "Touché. And you're so good at it. A professional ass kisser if ever there was one."
After a mock bow, which is awkward due to her sitting down, Red chirps, "Happy to be of service at any time, milady."
Eyes catching, they both allow a quiet moment of good humor and mutual adoration to descend over them, enveloping them with the familiar incandescent glow of their love. As with all good things, however, it comes to an end when Red clears her throat.
"So," she says, fiddling with Regina's wedding ring again, a sign of nervousness if ever there was one, "any ideas how to deal with the person responsible for all of this death and destruction? I'd like to be able to tell Marian and Roland and all of those poor families in Tamerlon that we got them some much deserved justice."
Eyes sliding shut, Regina shakes her head and breathes out through her nostrils. "Sadly there isn't much we can do. I have Mulan at the border. Chances are she'll encounter the witch before anyone else. If so, I've no doubt she'll put an end to this with her typical efficiency. That said, I have a feeling in my gut that things are going to get worse before they get better."
"What do you mean?" Red asks, not bothering to hide her rising fear.
"I can't explain it aside from saying that this woman, whoever she is, is not a threat to be taken lightly. She is smart, she is ruthless, and she is powerful. If it weren't for the fact I hate her, I'd admire her. In fact, her tactics remind me a great deal of how I used operate in the Dark Days."
A shiver works through Red's slim frame. "That bad, huh?"
"I'm afraid so." Drawing her strength, Regina pats Red's hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, though, mi luna y estrellas, mein Herz und meine Seele. No matter what happens, no matter what that egotistical, pompous, brain-addled bitch has planned, I will protect you. I swear it. If I have to stand between you and all of the legions of hell, I will protect you."
"Oh, Regina, you don't understand," Red whispers, a solitary tear finally breaking free. It tracks a sinuous path down her cheek only to drip mournfully upon their joined hands. "I heard what she said through Robin that day. I know what she wants. And I know who she's really after. I love you for wanting to keep me safe, but it's not me I'm afraid for. It's you."
If only Regina had known then what she would in the near future, she would refused to allow those words to dissuade her from enacting the outrageous security measures she had been planning to institute around Red twenty-four hours a day. If only she had listened to her gut and let her paranoia do the work it was designed for, namely to safeguard the most important thing in all the world to her. If only she had not let Red's sweet kisses and tender caresses distract her from her most important job as a wife. If only she hadn't been such a damned fool.
If only...
A/N: So, in case anyone wonders where the hell the German came from, a lot of the fairy tales are largely based on Grimm Brothers material. Of course there are other nationalities represented as well. So I visualize Snow White's realm, along with George and Stefan's, as being Germanic. There's an author I've read whose fantasy novels don't bother inventing new terms for modern ideas, as he says that's a waste of cognitive focus, so he just goes with what the reader is familiar with to describe stuff that would have some foreign designation if he were being literal in his descriptions. I dig that approach a lot. So why invent some language for the Enchanted Forest or have some magical explanation that they just all speak the same one or all speak English or whatever the hell explanation one wants to go with. Since I visualize the realm Regina now rules as Germanic, their native tongue sounds like German. Anyway, that's a long-winded explanation that might not have been necessary...
Also, the lullaby can be Youtubed, type in Der Mond ist aufgegangen, first link is the one I listened to.
Translations (Thank you Google Translate!)
Das Abendlied – the Evening Song
mi amada – my darling
mi luna y estrellas – My moon and stars
mein Herz und meine Seele – My heart and soul