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 22 – Are Made of This
Regina wrenches awake with a start. Panting heavily, she frantically surveys her surroundings, unsure of what has so rudely snatched her out of a blissfully dreamless slumber. Her fight or flight response has adrenaline coursing through her veins and magic tingling her fingertips. She lays there for a long space, listening and waiting to the haunting backdrop of the wind whipping against the window. With an aggrieved sigh, she closes her eyes and flops back down onto the mattress to try and get back to sleep.
In an incidental moment of perfect timing, the second her head hits the pillow, she finally hears the noise that roused her. A groan from across the room filters her direction, low but audible, and accompanied by a frenetic shifting of linens. The familiar sound is an echo from a distant past she would love nothing more than to forget. Snow is dreaming.
Another groan pierces through the silence, slightly louder this time, laced with an affliction that is sadly identifiable. Regina is often enough exposed to the tell-tale indicators to recognize someone caught in the throes of a nightmare. Red relives the night Peter was killed frequently enough that she has developed an eerie sensitivity to them that wakes her at the most minute signs.
The horrific memories from the wolf's perspective of events unexpectedly reemerged as she was training Red to fully master her alter ego. As a result of that unearthing, Red was plunged into a period of weeks where blood-curdling nightmares terrorized her nearly every other night. It was all Regina could do to maintain her composure through the sometimes oppressively bleak, sometimes deliriously histrionic, and always emotionally messy aftermath. Having to piece Red's fragmented confidence back together during the day was bad enough. Sleepless nights also became common once again during that period, which in combination with the stressful nights, pushed her to the outer limits of her psychological tolerance.
None of it was Red's fault, of course. Once she was snuggled, petted, kissed and vocally soothed back into a fitful slumber, Regina would just lay there, unable to lull herself back under. Not willing to risk moving and upsetting her re-traumatized lover, she would occupy herself by vacillating between staring at the ceiling to run through the latest civil or political problem at the fore of her mind and watching Red like a hawk. With greedy, fretting eyes, she would remap every available inch of porcelain flesh and every line of a face that epitomizes human aesthetic perfection, tracing them with feather-light touches meant to reassure the giver as much as comfort the recipient. Meanwhile she was also listening intently to Red's breathing and praying the little intermittent whines she heard and twitches she felt were not another episode building up. If she was lucky, she got two or three hours. If she was not, nary a wink was there to be had. Loving someone more than oneself, she realized, has its drawbacks.
Another thing she learned from that ordeal with Red is to never allow her to stay under and hope for the best. She was given explicit instruction to wake her if she thought a nightmare had its claws in her. And while Snow is not Red, and whatever is plaguing her right now is not nearly as traumatizing as watching herself turn into a mythical monster then devour the man she loves, it is undoubtedly something she would prefer to be awakened from. Knowing what she does from personal experience and from dealing with Red, it would be needlessly cruel to leave her at its mercy for the rest of the night.
Stifling a yawn, Regina swings her legs out of bed. Before standing, she brushes over her slightly mussed locks. Needing to relieve some of the building pressure behind her temples, she had elected to let her hair down for bed rather than tie it up as she normally would have without ready access to a bath. Once upright, she smooths down the wrinkles on the modest gown she had summoned for herself and Snow to wear and then pads over to the other bed occupying their tiny room.
The Queen of the White Kingdom is laying on her side, covers tucked under her armpits, a distressed frown souring her loveliest-of-them-all features. To Regina's surprise, it hurts to witness Snow in such torment. Not long ago she would have been more than happy to enjoy the girl's anguish instead of relieve it, and she marvels briefly at the change in attitude.
As she kneels down at the bedside, she feels very much like she has been displaced in time over a decade. No longer is she in Oz, having instead been transported back to the Dark Palace before it gained the sinister appellative that reflected its mistress. During those early days of her marriage to Leopold, her hatred of Snow had yet to root deeply enough into her heart that she was immune to her new step-daughter's occasional night terrors. A number of times she woke the young girl from the throes of dreams so vivid and terrible that Snow was sobbing in her sleep, crying out for her mother not to leave, that she was sorry for what she had done and would never do it again if she'd just stay for one more minute.
After waking Snow one particularly rough night, the child confessed she had been responsible for her mother, Eva, perishing prematurely. It was the closest Regina felt to sympathy for the girl since Daniel died, and it was the most she ever permitted thereafter. That was the last night she tended to Snow's distress personally. The task was thereafter delegated to the princess's handmaiden. Months of abuse in Leopold's bed eventually hardened her enough to quench any lingering guilt over Snow's continual nocturnal suffering.
But now so many years on, she is feeling it again, and she is so disconcerted by the resurgence that she freezes up. For a moment, she procrastinates doing what she knows she should. Like a lump of useless clay fashioned into an immobile figurine, she merely neutrally observes while Snow's head thrashes from side to side and great beads of sweat roll down her clammy cheeks as she murmurs nonsensical phrases no highly educated linguist or philologist can translate. It is only when her fellow Queen's face begins to show signs of critically elevating distress that Regina snaps out of her inaction.
Reaching out a tentative hand, she shakes Snow by the shoulder. "Snow," she calls, but the whimpering woman does not respond. Regina shakes her more forcefully. "Snow, wake up." Twice more, she increases her efforts, her voice rising with each one. But Snow does not escape from the iron grip of the nightmare, and only grows increasingly agitated.
Concern begins to rise up in Regina so that she stands to her feet, leans over Snow, and begins shaking her violently with both hands. "Snow White! You wake up this very instant!" She whispers as forcefully as she feels she can without waking Dorothy and Ozma who are sleeping in the next room. And yet, Snow refuses to obey. On the verge of actual panic, and feeling like she is out of options, Regina resorts to drastic measures. She rears back her hand and delivers a firm slap to Snow's cheek. The sound of flesh meeting flesh rings through the room loud enough that she cringes. But the gambit works. With a hoarse shout, Snow bolts up nearly off the bed, panting like she has just run a marathon.
"Relax. It's just me," Regina poses, hands held out in a gesture meant to calm the disorientated, wild eyed woman. "It's Regina. We're in Oz to save Red's life. Remember?"
For just a second, Snow looks even more terrified as she rubs at her smarting cheek, and that wariness is wholly directed at Regina. In her discombobulated state, she has reverted to deeply ingrained instinct. Even after all these years of an undeclared peace, she is still afraid of her former step-mother.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Regina soothes, or at least does her best to. She has never had a gentle touch, still doesn't, even with Red sometimes. She gives it her best effort all the same. "It's alright now. You can relax. You were just having a nightmare."
The last sentence seems to the be the one that breaks through Snow's fog. Awareness returns to her eyes and after a few more soothing rubs to her cheek, she slumps back against her pillows with a sigh of relief. She then peers at Regina through slightly less wary eyes. "Regina?"
Regina relaxes her face into a more gentle expression. "Yes, dear. Did you hear any of what I just said?"
Snow nods. "I was having a nightmare. I remember it. I was back in the Burning Room."
The mention of the Burning Room causes Regina to flinch as if stricken, and for more than one reason. Obviously, the main one is that it is where Red's soul is currently trapped and being subjected to suffocating terror and unending isolation. The other reason, the one she's more hesitant to acknowledge, is that she is responsible for Snow's nocturnal visitations to that hellish place.
Unbidden, she flashes back to about three months after Red became her lover. Quite unexpectedly, Regina learned George had captured his dead son's wayward twin and was fixing to execute him. This presented an opportunity to finally get Snow that was so poetic she could not pass up. After arranging for Charming to be transferred into her custody, she sent word to Snow that if she did not meet Regina at Daniel's grave, Prince Charming would die. Much like her wicked half-sister, Regina poisoned an apple from her own tree with a sleeping curse, and then forced Snow to eat from it to save her dashing prince's life. Of course, Snow fell on her sword like any good little martyr would and thus was cursed. While her body was housed in a glass coffin in the woods by the outlaw's seven vertically challenged idiots, her soul was banished to the Burning Room just like Red's is right now.
Tragically, Snow was freed not long after by True Love's kiss, but that is not the point. Those who have been condemned for even an hour to that place can never fully escape its fiery grasp. From time to time, it will pull former residents back to it in their dreams so that they may relive their torment for a few hours. It really is the gift that keeps on giving, which was precisely why Regina chose to use it on her mortal nemesis.
Of course, when Red found out what she did, she confronted her with absolutely no regard for her own well-being. Heedless of the audience of nobles gathering to watch their confrontation, she metaphorically chewed Regina up one side and down the other. No one had ever dared to speak to the Queen that way without paying the price for their insolence, especially not in public. And while pride prevented Regina from apologizing, it was love for Red that stayed her hand from issuing a hasty, ill-conceived punishment that would have irreparably damaged their relationship.
When Red stormed out of the castle swearing that she never wanted to look upon her again, Regina let her go. She commanded her guards to allow Red safe passage out of the citadel, and to make no attempts whatsoever to detain her. As she watched her lover commandeer a horse and ride through the front gates, her cheeks wet with tears and crimson from anger and anguish, Regina felt something inside of her break.
As soon as Red was gone, she flew into a hideous rage. Uncaring who heard or questioned her sanity, she ransacked her chambers and after breaking every item made of glass in sight set about burning various items of Red's clothing left behind. For good measure, she then torched the bed sheets under which they made love the night before. When that was done, she retired to the dungeons to personally oversee a particularly obstinate prisoner's torture as a way of venting her rage. Sometimes when she closes her eyes, she can still hear that poor woman's screams...
As it goes with such fits of temper, though, it eventually faded. In it's wake, all that was left was an emptiness that seemed bottomless, like a hole drilled through the earth from one side to the other that hollow out its core, only the earth was her and the vacated core was her heart. Not even her supposed victory over Snow could spark any meaningful warmth or joy. It was as if when Red rode away from the Palace that day, she took something invaluable and precious with her that were never coming back.
Over the proceeding two weeks, Regina did little more than rule her kingdom in an utterly detached, completely perfunctory manner. When she was not numbly going through the motions of being Queen, she distracted her mind by reading, but never got very far before the words began to spill together into illegible scribble. The longer Red's absence drug on, the harder it got to maintain any form of professional detachment from her unanticipated reaction.
Through bloodshot eyes with dark bags beneath them, the truth was staring back at her every time she looked in the mirror. It was written upon skin so wan as to appear deathly ill, and was evident in hair that lost its luster and a posture that became criminally indifferent. It took a long time for her to recognize what she was seeing as what it was: she was in mourning. Without her even being aware, Red had burrowed so deeply in to her very essence that she had reached an area no one else had since Daniel. It was only then, in the face of her own destitution, that she realized she had fallen in love. Only it was too late to say the words. Red was gone, she was never coming back, and it was all her fault.
Regina will never forget the night that horrible reality at last sank in.
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Wracking sobs shook Regina's entire body as she struggled to hold the unglued fragments of her psyche from splintering apart. Once again, she was alone. And even though Snow remained blessedly cursed, she could not feel anything except the emptiness of a defeat from which she would probably never recover. Every breath she took was a war waged. Every beat of her heart bewailed her thoughtlessness. And her chest constantly ached as though there was a gigantic boulder resting on it. Every room she entered seemed to be shrouded in oppressively gloomy shadows without Red's innate incandescence and impossibly beautiful smile around to chase them away. Food lost it's taste, wine it's sublime texture, and sex it's primal appeal. Sleep was virtually impossible. Her bed was unbearably cold without her own personal furnace wrapped all around her from shoulder to calf. At night she was reduced to pacing her barren bedchambers – cleaned from her childish tantrum but left purposefully unadorned – until exhaustion claimed her and she passed out in one of her plush reading chairs or curled into a ball on the floor, trying to hold herself together for an hour or two of fitful rest. She was a once proud temple erected to proclaim the glory of love, left destitute and crumbling from the inside out with no reprieve in sight.
It wasn't supposed to be that way. Cursing Snow was to be her master stroke. Her checkmate move. Her ultimate triumph. What it ultimately accomplished was to uncover her greatest, formerly hidden, achievement. Miraculously, and quite unbidden, she had learned how to love again with the only person in all the world who possibly was capable of loving her in spite of knowing her. And she had pissed it all away on a revenge that suddenly meant nothing.
Just when she thought she was coming to terms with living her life devoid of emotion and was starting to contemplate ripping out her own heart to forever bury it just so she could move on, she heard a commotion in the courtyard below. When she glanced out the grand window of her bedchambers, she caught sight of a familiar red cloak. Heart hammering in her chest, she rushed out the door and ran down the hallway, heedless of propriety. Servants gasped at the sight of her shouting at them to move as she bowled over anyone who got in her way. She could not have cared less who was watching her embarrass herself when the impossible had happened. She moved so fast that she arrived in the courtyard before Red could finish her conversation with one of the many guards who harbored not-so-secretive crushes on her.
Panting, flushed from her exertion, and so full of emotion she could barely stand up straight, Regina stepped out into sunlight only to be met with green eyes so conflicted that shame crawled its way up her spine.
Red looked out over the handful of guards milling about the courtyard. "Could you guys give us a minute?" When they all nodded and dispersed, she approached Regina, face a mixture of so many emotions that Regina could not decipher them all. "I'm so mad at you that I can hardly see straight," she had said upon arriving before Regina, a step between their bodies that felt like an impassable mile.
"I know," Regina breathed, biting her lip, eyes blurring rapidly. She was trembling, but hiding it well enough that only Red could tell. And even though she wanted to smooth things over with her lover, she'd known that it was a time for honesty, a time to put all of her cards out on the table. It was time to stop being, as Red would say, chickenshit and woman the hell up.
"I'm sorry you're angry with me," she continued, "but I'm not sorry about what I did." Red stiffened at the seemingly unrepentant statement, and would have fled right then had Regina not clutched at her hands to keep her from moving. "I could have done so much worse, Red. I could have crushed her heart as would have been just since she all but crushed mine. But I didn't. I only cursed her. For that, I cannot and will not apologize."
When Red started to say something, appearing almost as infuriated as the day she'd left and nearly destroyed Regina in the process, she had stopped any and all protestations with a finger firmly pressed to supple lips. Red glared daggers at her but said nothing as Regina continued to explain her actions as best she could.
"What Snow did to me is not something I can ever forget and am unlikely to ever forgive," she then said, evoking a past history that she knew Red was aware of. Her mention of it softened Red enough that Regina felt some of her panic ease that Red would decide her return was a bad idea. "Regardless, I have come to a very hard realization. When you left..." She paused, struggling to put express herself adequately. It was hard enough to live through Red walking away from her, to process the possibility she may never see her beloved werewolf again, but to put those feelings into words was neigh on impossible. But she'd owed Red her best attempt, so she'd drawn a shaky breath, and then bravely pressed forward. "When you left, I fell apart. I was miserable. More miserable than I've ever been before. You know I've never been particularly in touch with my emotions. It's no surprise really that it took me sinking into a depth of sorrow I didn't know I could reach to realize that...that..."
"That what Regina?" Red had gently prodded, relaxing her hand so that she could thread their fingers together. "Talk to me," she then implored, green eyes begging for honesty. "I came back for a reason, and it wasn't because I hate you. I love you! I love you so damn much that it scares the absolute holy hell out of me. Certainly too much to walk away forever, even after you did something so reprehensible that I can hardly fathom it. And yet I'm here. I'm listening. So for once, be honest with me and with yourself."
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And so Regina had done just that. She told Red the plain truth. That she loved her and thought she was ready to try moving past her unhealthy obsession with Snow White to build something positive. And that she wanted to do that together because Red meant more to her than anything and anyone else. While that was not enough to erase what she did, it was sufficient to begin the healing process.
But that wound has probably never healed for Snow. Regina has never apologized about what she did to her former foe, and she isn't about to do so now, even though she does feel guilty for Snow's suffering.
"Oh, Regina, I saw her," Snow then says, ignorant of Regina's internalizing. Rather than looking distraught as Regina expected, her expression turns hopeful. "When I was in the Burning Room, I saw Red."
"You did?" Regina asks, dropping to her knees once more and pressing in close. "How is she? How did she look? Did she say anything to you?"
"She was curled up in a corner, oblivious to the world," Snow tells her. "She looked exhausted, like she had been crying for hours and finally wore herself out. I tried and tried to get her to respond to me, but it's like she was comatose while still awake if that makes any sense. Her wrists and mouth were all bloody, too, but the good news is that she's still alive."
Regina gasps, clutching her chest as the desire to weep claws at her throat. Red's mouth and wrists were bloody? What the hell happened to her in there? She chokes down her sorrow, though, and focuses on to what Snow is really trying to tell her. Red is still alive!
"Then all isn't lost," she says, and smiles right along with Snow.
"I told you. There's always hope."
Snow's words ring in Regina's ears as she climbs back into her own bed minutes later and closes her eyes. She tries not to think of Red, bloody and incapacitated like a living ghost in that gods-forsaken room. Instead she clings with shameless desperation to the fact that Red is still alive, still holding on, just like Regina had begged her to. Red is doing her part, and tomorrow it will be time for Regina to do hers.
Determined more than ever to accomplish her mission of acquiring the ingredients that will cure Red, she drifts off into a light slumber, images of her reunion with a whole and happy Red dancing through her dreams.
The next time Regina wakes it is to a blue bird merrily chirping on the window sill located between the two beds Ozma had summoned for her and Snow the night before.
"Oh, for pity's sake," she grumbles upon seeing Snow already up, cooing at the colorful little thrush through the glass panes. "Can't you go anywhere without your fine feathered friends showing up?"
"Apparently not," Snow replies, smiling. "Did you sleep well?"
"I slept," Regina says, "which is a marked improvement of how things normally go when I'm away from home." She glances up at Snow who is looking at her knowingly. "Away from Red," she amends. Sitting up, she brushes a hand over her wild locks to smooth them down and then has to smother a yawn that works its way up her entire body from toe to mouth.
Snow nods sympathetically. "It's hard sleeping alone again after getting used to one person always being there next to you. Your body gets used to their presence. It's jarring when they're absent."
"I suppose it is," Regina says, still grumpy from having been awakened so rudely by such awfully chipper noises. She never has been a morning person, and is incredibly surprised to see Snow looking so happy after the nightmare she'd had.
The only bright spot in the morning is that Snow seems to not want to talk about it as much as Regina does. Drawing hope from Snow's vision of Red in the Burning Room is a good thing, but not a subject she wants to dwell on lest her thoughts turn sour. She is keeping herself on task by ignoring Red's current whereabouts and her sorry state as much as humanly possible. It is perhaps a heartless way of dealing with reality, but it is the only way she knows how to cope without going stark raving mad.
A sharp rap of knuckles on the door rescues her from those troubling thoughts. When Snow glances over, she nods her assent at accepting company. Although rumpled and unfit for entertaining a foreign queen so early, Regina is not about to be rude to her most gracious and hospitable host. And besides, she is a queen herself, and what is the good in being Queen if one cannot receive visitors even when they are disheveled?
After Snow calls for Ozma – Regina assumes it is Ozma because she doubts the willful woman will have let Dorothy out of bed just yet – the door opens, and Ozma comes through as Regina had expected.
"Ah, I see our guests are awake already. Good morning to you both!"
The perfectly put together and always radiant woman greets them with such enthusiasm that Regina nearly gags. It is almost sickening how much buoyant energy currently inhabits the room in the form of Snow and Ozma. In the midst of it, she feels like an island of grouchiness surrounded by a sea of unrelenting positivity.
Even so, she manages to grouse out a fairly distinguishable if not half-hearted, "Good morning," in Ozma's direction.
The blonde tilts her head. "I see someone is a bit surly this morning," she comments. "Did you not sleep well?"
"I slept fine," Regina answers, not at all in the mood for this discussion, any discussion really, so early in the morning. Mostly, she just wants to be left alone.
"She's not a morning person," Snow supplies with remarkable diplomacy that Regina is grateful for, and then moves over to join Ozma by the door. "Give her a few minutes to collect her wits and she'll be back to her sassy self."
Ozma gives a curt nod. "Ah. Well, whenever her Majesty is suitably composed, I have prepared breakfast for us."
"I won't be long," Regina says, and then watches the two leave, Snow casting an understanding smile back to Regina before she shuts the door behind her.
In the welcome silence, Regina takes a long breath and slides her legs out from underneath the covers and then hangs them over the side of the bed. Toes pressing onto the rough-hewn wooden floors, she props herself up with locked elbows, hands pressing into the mattress, fingers facing behind her.
Her latest and mercifully brief conversation with Snow this morning reverberates in her mind, and she is suddenly thrown back into that loneliness derived from being so far away from home. All she wants is to be back in her own bedchambers, to be greeted by Iris' kind smile and polite silence as the handmaid prepares Regina for another stressful day of ruling a kingdom that stretches for a hundred miles in every direction. She wants to eat breakfast with her wife and her father, to start her day with the two most important people in the world to her, and to face the world knowing that she has their unconditional love.
But for now, she will have to suffer the distance, much as she often has had to as a ruler required to pay periodic visits to villages and garrisons along the length and breadth of her realm. For now, she will have to take her morning meal with two people she barely knows – not that she isn't fond of Ozma and Dorothy because she already is – and another that she once fantasized about murdering on an hourly basis. The situation is far from ideal, but it is what it is. To save Red's life, enduring a bit of socializing is not so bad. Besides, it is really not a distasteful thought to be sharing her morning with the same people who had entertained her so thoroughly the night before.
In all, Regina spends another five minutes alone in the impromptu bedroom before emerging, looking put together and regal as always, although still in her leathers, which are now clean thanks to her magic.
"Feeling better?" Ozma asks from her position at the head of the little table she, Snow, and Dorothy are seated around. Toto is two feet away from the table, eagerly scarfing down his own breakfast. Regina does not ask what substance the brown, mushy looking stuff is, and she does not want to know.
Arrayed in a pale green off-the-shoulder blouse and gray woolen breeches, Ozma's blonde curls are left down to spill across ivory skin and drape down nearly a quarter of her back. She is notably absent her crown of woven gold, though she is every bit as resplendent in majesty as if she were arrayed for a formal banquet. Dorothy, on the other hand, is still dressed in her blue garb sans her cloak, weapons and belt. Divested of her utilities, she looks very ordinary while seated next to the extraordinary Ozma, and the contrast between them is stark. Regina imagines that her wonderment at it is similar to what people experience when they consider her own relationship with Red.
Plain of dress and speech though she is, Dorothy is beautiful and seems much better in terms of her health, which Regina is pleased to see. Her skin has regained its lightly bronzed tone and her pretty blue eyes are bright with life. She smiles at Regina as she enters, and despite being unapproachable moments before, Regina finds herself smiling back.
"I am," she says. "I apologize if I seemed ungrateful or rude. I am long accustomed to rising quite early, but as Snow said, I am not a morning person. I'd prefer to sleep in most days. Unfortunately, being a Queen means that isn't an option."
"That," Snow chirps from her seat to Ozma's right, "and you are married to a woman who is up with the sun, sometimes before that even, and yet always has a smile on her face."
Regina chuckles. "Indeed. My wife's good mood of a morning can be irritating, but that smile of hers always makes the coming tedium of rule tolerable."
"Poor substitutes we may be," Ozma then says, "but perhaps our company might suffice to at least marginally brighten your day." She gestures to the seat opposite her at the other end of the table. "Won't you sit and breakfast with us, Queen Regina?"
Regina nods. "Certainly, Your Majesty," she returns with a polite dip of the head, and then moves over to the table and slides into her seat.
She looks out over the table, surveying the delectable bounty that has been prepared by Ozma for them. Eggs, sunny-side up of course, are upon each plate, accompanied by strips of bacon, hashed potatoes topped with a creamy cheese, and golden biscuits of such prodigious fluffiness that they seem to be made of cloud-stuff rather than flour, sugar, salt, yeast, butter and milk.
"It looks delicious," Regina comments. "Thank you for preparing it for us."
Ozma preens under the praise. "Why, you are most welcome, my fellow potentate. I only hope it tastes according to your liking."
"I'm certain it will," Regina smiles politely.
Dorothy scoffs lightly in her direction. "Don't lay it on too thick or she'll get a big head."
"Oh, quiet you," Ozma shoots back, sticking her tongue out playfully as she swats Dorothy's hand. "Don't listen to her," she then adds. "She's only bitter because the only thing she can make without burning it is toasted marshmallows, and those are supposed to be burned. My Dorothy has many admirable and praiseworthy talents. Cooking is not one of them."
"Wow," Dorothy grumps, crossing her arms over her chest. "I think that arrow you dug out of my shoulder hurt less."
"Oh, I'm only teasing," says Ozma, who reaches out to take Dorothy's hand. "I love you just as you are, and you know that."
Regina hisses under her breath at the phrase, I love you just as you are. It is something she has heard from Red so often that it has started to lose some of its efficacy. Recently, it had even started to sound like a confession of Red's longsuffering with her less than admirable character traits that was more irritating than reassuring. But hearing spoken by Ozma to Dorothy, and with Regina being aware of their differences and of the societal disapproval they will likely face once they are able to be together in the public eye, she is struck once again by its significance.
Every time it is repeated is a declaration of unconditional love that Regina has sadly taken for granted for too long. Hearing them so often had the unintended consequence of dampening their impact until she had lost perspective as to their true significance. Now that she is on the outside looking in, though, she can see it afresh. The impact of them on Dorothy is visible by the way the brunette's face softens and her eyes begin to gleam with a gratitude and adoration that are so earnest as to feel tangible.
How could I have let this happen? Regina asks herself, swallowing thickly against the emotion clogging her throat. How could I have let myself grow cold to words with such profound meaning? It is unforgivable honestly. The more she became convinced she and Red shared True Love, the more she started to assume Red would always love her because fate had decreed it. Instead, she should have been appreciating the miracle that Red had chosen to love her on a daily basis when she had ever conceivable excuse not to. Like Ozma is doing right now for Dorothy.
Leaning forward a smidgen, Dorothy nibbles at her lip and then crinkles her eyes at the corners. "Even when I burn the toast?"
As Ozma reciprocates Dorothy's approaching proximity, she gives her a smile that plumbs depths of affection that reside far beyond the surface. "Even then," she says, and her own deep well of love for Dorothy causes the unnaturally beautiful woman to appear as if she is glowing. But then just as it appears the two are about to get so lost in one another they have forgotten their guests, Ozma clears her throat and returns her hand to her lap before sheepishly glancing between Regina and Snow. "But before we get carried away, I must digress. Let us eat before our esteemed guests think us to be impolite hosts."
"You have been nothing but courteous and gracious thus far," Regina offers, and is pleased when Ozma accepts the compliment with a tilt of her head and a slight flush to her cheeks.
"I agree," says Snow, whose stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble loudly. She blushes profusely then chuckles at her own embarrassment. "And I may also be starving."
Ozma gestures toward their dishes laying upon the table top with a flourish. "Then by all means, let us eat."
Regina does not immediately indulge herself, choosing instead to wait for Ozma to take the first bite. It is proper etiquette on her part for the head of the household to be afforded that respect. Although she is used to being the one who is deferred to, she finds she doesn't quite mind the reversal of situation at all. If she is to willfully oblige anyone, Ozma is perhaps the most palatable potentate she has yet to encounter.
Once Ozma has begun to eat, delicately and deliberately as would be expected of her high station and unique breeding, Regina does the same. Snow as well takes her food with poise befitting a girl raised from youth to follow proper etiquette at all times. Dorothy, however, consumes her food much like Red – that is, with the bare minimum of restraint. All three royals stare at her as she stuffs a huge forkful of potatoes into her mouth and groans with pleasure. When she catches them all watching her, her eyes widen.
"Wha-? Wha's-a-matter?" she mumbles around her food, her fork still hover between her mouth and the plate.
Regina half expects Ozma to chastise Dorothy for her poor manners, but at the same time, knowing what she knows about their relationship, she is not at all surprised that the fairy queen is oddly fond of her lover's enthusiasm. Regina sympathizes completely and is struck by a sudden sense of kinship with her ethereal host. They have even more in common than she had imagined, for both have chosen to give their hearts to people considered below their station, people whose simplistic outlooks on life and sometimes uncouth behavior might seem obnoxious to those raised in the lap of luxury. To them, such displays have become endearing because love is blind in that way.
"Nothing, my little whirlwind," Ozma says, smiling brightly.
"I'm being a pig again, aren't I?" Dorothy asks after she swallows her food, wincing as she realizes she is sitting at table with three Queens. "I'm famished after yesterday but that's no excuse. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, dear," Regina answers in place of Ozma, knowing her reassurance will be more believable. Ozma is certainly accustomed to the relative lack of table manners, so her graceful reaction will have been more expected. Regina's, on the other hand, will be taken more for the truth it is rather than biased indulgence. "I'm used to such gastronomic gusto from my own wife. Eat up. You've earned that right, and I feel confident in asserting that you are among friends who will not judge you."
"Very true," Snow confirms. "I couldn't even if I wanted to after living in the wild with Red for so long. Once I saw her eat half of the meat we collected off of a deer in one sitting. That was after Wolf's Time, of course, so she was ravenous with the need to replenish her energy. I was still shocked. I'd never seen anyone eat so much so fast, especially someone of Red's build. She's tall but very thin."
Regina finishes chewing her bite of eggs, and then replies, "Thankfully her metabolism is as excellent as her ability to fit vast amounts of food in her stomach, or else she would only be one of those."
"Yeah," sighs Dorothy, "I'm pretty much the same. Uncle Henry liked to say I had a bottomless pit in my belly instead of a stomach. Which would explain why I always out-ate the boys I grew up around."
"Don't feel bad about it. Red did, too," Snow says, and then takes a fork full of the cheese-infused potatoes, moaning appreciably at the taste.
Regina cannot help but agree with the assessment as she tries some as well. Ozma really is a fantastic cook. "It's not a bad thing though," she tells Dorothy after swallowing her potatoes and primly placing her fork down on the appropriate side of the plate. "You're going to need your strength if we have to face my sister."
"Before we get into that," Snow speaks up, sounding a bit hesitant, "why don't we just finish eating. I really don't want to ruin our meal, or the good mood, with talk about...about her."
Regina nods in agreement. "Agreed. Zelena does have the ability to sour even the strongest stomach." Picking up her fork, Regina heaps up another healthy portion of potatoes upon her fork and then glances at Ozma. "In the interest of changing the subject, my compliments to the cook. These potatoes are most excellent. Perhaps I might bother you for the recipe some time? I'm a hobbyist in the kitchen myself."
"Is that so?" Ozma chirps with delight, and with that they settle into a conversation about their favorite foods, which they prefer to eat, which they enjoy most to prepare, and their thoughts about exotic ingredients they have been dying to experiment with in their recipes.
Breakfast after that settles into a comfortable affair with little silence. As the conversation flows easily, Regina finds herself captivated by Ozma once again. The woman's grasp of disparate subjects is extensive. It is evident by her encyclopedic knowledge that she is an intellectual giant Regina would love to spend more time around. Red says she has an insatiable appetite for learning and that's why she is constantly looking for excuses to speak with experts in the various fields of study she is interested in. She thinks, in that way, she and Ozma are very much alike.
She also savors every interaction she has with Dorothy, and again finds herself comparing the broad-shouldered warrior to Red. Dorothy has a simplicity to her worldview that belies a razor-sharp wit. She is very austere at times and carries a sadness beneath her impenetrable exterior that hints at some grievous wounds in her past. But at the same time also has a unique way of seeing things and understated delivery of amusing anecdotes that buoys the good humor of everyone around her. Regina wonders if Dorothy's uniqueness is due to her origin on this strange world without magic from whence she originated. It is an interesting concept to think about, growing up without the benefit of magic permeating every little nook and cranny of the world. Magic is a way of life to Regina, and she cannot imagine living without it. Yet at the same time, doing just that had forged Dorothy Gale into an endlessly fascinating person whose capacity for kindness was matched only by that of her impressive bravery.
The most surprising part of breakfast is how much Regina enjoys Snow's presence. She can't remember the last time they shared a peaceful meal together. When Leopold was still alive, their interactions were far from cordial, at least they were from Regina's perspective. What they felt more like were dry, boring, mandatory social functions and less like boisterous family gatherings – not that she had any reliable yardstick by which to measure what a homely family meal should feel like. And even though Snow being oblivious to the living hell that was her married life may have meant she enjoyed their private lunches and dinners, to Regina they were nothing but stabbing reminders of what she could never have. When Leopold exited the picture, the paradigm flipped. Regina could finally eat without constantly battling to keep her portions down while Snow was often morose and withdrawn. Between then and Snow's eighteenth birthday, Regina can't recall them ever having shared a pleasant meal, though she's sure it was bound to have happened once or twice.
Now, though, she is operating with a fresh perspective that affords her the opportunity to observe and maybe even appreciate some of Snow's many fine qualities. For instance, while Snow is kind to a fault, she has shown courtesy to their hosts in a way that makes Regina proud to have been the one to train the ten-year-old Snow that there are expectations in polite society even for children. There is also a sharp edge that she keeps carefully sheathed away until times of need, such as when she'd turned the guard in the village between their arrival point and the Emerald City into a pincushion just as he was about to make an attempt on Regina's life. Not only that, Snow has become a diplomat and a true monarch in every sense of the word without losing her core virtues in the process. She is mature, responsible, and well-mannered, but still so very Snow White. Many times during breakfast, Regina questions how it is possible the woman has retained her goodness after becoming a Queen in her own right. But then again, she already knows the answer. It is because Snow is Snow: always optimistic, slow to anger, quick to forgive, with disgustingly good with a moral compass that rarely if ever deviates and a heart so full of love that it spills out onto everyone she comes into contact.
As always, of course, it also seems that Snow can befriend just about anyone who is not allergic to those with perpetually cheery outlooks and endless supplies of hope upon which to draw a smile and a heartfelt greeting. Regina can remember how the people of Misthaven flocked to the young princess who seemed oblivious to an attractive nature that goes so far beyond her prettiness. People have always adored Snow because she innately inspires adoration, and that used to drive Regina absolutely batty. It only after living so long with Red that she finally learned some people are naturally magnetic and therefore able to reel people in with their gargantuan personalities and their inherent goodness.
Their current hosts are a case in point to Snow's charm. While Dorothy and Ozma are certainly respectful and friendly toward Regina, they treat Snow like they have known her for all their lives and have just recently been reunited from a long absence through circumstance. The chattering between the three sometimes leaves Regina feeling strangely left out, though that never lasts because Snow always picks up on the subtle cues indicating she is feeling isolated and soon involves her in the conversation in an organic way that doesn't offend her immense pride.
There was a time Snow was not that perceptive. As a child, she had failed to pick up on her too-young step-mother's crushing sadness, and often exacerbated that bleak existence by apologizing to Regina over Daniel's supposed abandonment. And when Regina was experiencing a flare up of the pervasive anger that was perpetually flowing beneath the shallow surface of her politeness, Snow seemed to make herself as obtrusive as possible. It was hard during those first few years not to gouge the girl's eyes out with a dull, rusty spoon.
But since they have been in Oz, it seems that Snow is always watching her in some way or another. That she has learned to interpret body language signals that tell her what Regina is feeling. That ability has served her well on their unlikely adventure, for Snow has – for the most part – managed to not be completely irritating, infuriating, obnoxious, or ignorant at any given moment. She has pushed Regina at times and occasionally prodded her out of the shell she had erected about herself to hold in her grief over Red, only never to the point that Regina felt under assault or was legitimately tempted to toss fireballs in her direction.
In other words, progress has been made. And that is more than a little disconcerting considering Regina had sworn before they left she could never forget or forgive Snow for her role in Daniel's death and Regina's subsequent wholesale decline.
By the time they finish eating, everyone is in fine spirits. Regina is especially feeling energized and ready to face whatever lies ahead. Whether that involves a deadly confrontation with Zelena or not, she is more than ready to travel to their final destination. The Sacred Grove of Ozma awaits, and the faster she and Snow get there, the faster they will retrieve the necessary ingredients to cure Red. Which means they can go home. And once they are home, she can make the potion to counter Zelena's curse and then administer it to her afflicted wife.
Red being returned to the land of the living is closer than it is has ever been, and Regina is practically vibrating with her eagerness to achieve that ultimate goal. So long as she accomplishes it, everything that has happened will have been worth it.