Author's Notes: I'm back for another chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story. It's always awesome when someone who loves something as much as you is willing to tell you what they think. So, thanks for all the feedback. You rock.
Alrighty, then! This chapter really kicks off Part One: The Enchanted Forest. Prepare for an adventure!
Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT. Seriously. How many times do I have to say it?
Chapter 2
Emma woke up in the woods.
Shock prevented even a gasp of surprise as she slowly sat up and stared upward, wide-eyed, at the trees that towered above her. It was night, one of the blackest nights she had ever known, yet that wasn't what disturbed her the most. She listened carefully but there was nothing. Nothing at all.
She'd lived in cities all her life. Even in the suburbs, she'd known noise. A car passing by. The neighbor's television blaring too loudly. A barking dog. It was a pleasant, reassuring hum that everyone ignored yet took comfort in because it meant they were not alone.
Emma listened.
She only heard her own heartbeat at first, loud and thick in her ears. An ominous da dum, da dum. Then a twig snapped. Leaves shuffled on the forest floor. Soft little paws scurried in a tree.
Her next breaths came easier. Her heart rate slowed so it wasn't quite so frantic. Noise. There it was. She wasn't deaf, but as she shakily stood, she knew that she was very much alone.
"Okay," she breathed. "Okay."
She patted herself down, as if making sure she was still whole. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Two eyes. A nose. Ears? Yes, two. Two arms, two legs. Yes, she was all there. She pinched herself, felt the pain, and nodded. Yes, she was real.
She pulled out her phone. The screen lit up brightly when she unlocked it and an excited, slightly hysterical yip escaped her. Light. She had light.
But no service.
"Oh, come on." She held the phone up and began to walk, waving her arm this way and that. "Come on, come on," she muttered.
When she wandered onto a road a few minutes later, she reluctantly slipped her phone back into her pocket. She only had half a charge, and who knew when she would be able to get her hands on a charger. Kneeling down, Emma ran a curious hand over the ground. Her fingers came away covered in mud. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out tracks.
The tracks were odd. Far too narrow for a vehicle. It almost looked like a bike track. Once again she felt the track. No treads. So not a bike. A wagon?
Who the hell had wagons anymore?
There were footprints as well, all heading east, and so Emma started to walk. The movement calmed her initially, having a direction, some sort of plan. A purpose. Yet the longer she walked, the more the movement became subconscious. It was as if her mind had been blissfully blank to keep her from panicking, to allow her the ability to think, to find the road.
But she'd found the road.
The road that was in the middle of a forest.
A forest she had never seen in her life.
Why the hell was she in a forest?
She couldn't remember. She searched and searched her mind for an explanation. She remembered Frank Jinks's empty apartment. She remembered the diner. She remembered ordering hot cocoa. She remembered sharing her drink with a boy. Henry. He had said some things that didn't make sense. An odd little town. No visitors. He was a writer. He'd been writing when she'd left.
She'd walked out of the diner, and then she'd turned around.
Then nothing.
Why had she turned around?
Had someone hit her over the head? She felt the back of her head. No bump. She didn't even have a headache. She felt fine. Drugged, maybe?
But in broad daylight? Someone would have seen, even in a sleepy town like . . . what was the name?
Emma stopped walking.
Where had she been? Outside a diner, yes, but where? Her heart began to echo in her ears again. Da dum, da dum, da dum . . .
What the hell had happened to her?
She pulled out her phone again and checked for a signal. No dice. With a groan that she refused to believe sounded as pitiful as it did, she shoved the device back into her pocket and looked around her. Trees. Nothing but trees and darkness.
Emma took a deep breath. "Get a grip, Swan," she told herself as she resumed walking.
She walked for miles before she heard voices. It was a low thrum of sound, like a buzz of conversation in a busy restaurant, and she immediately hurried her steps until she was nearly jogging. The darkness began to lessen. She could see spots of faint, glowing light through the trees, and she nearly laughed in relief.
All she needed was a convenience store. She'd even take another roadside diner.
What she got was neither.
As the trees thinned and the road expanded into a sprawl of flat dirt, Emma was greeted with a sight that belonged in a history book. The streets, if you could call them that, were filled with people dressed in their best Renaissance Fair costumes. Men wore loose pants and billowy shirts that had laces at the top instead of buttons. Women were squeezed into corsets, their hips and legs swallowed by layers of cloth and their breasts heaving above incredibly low necklines as they walked.
The air stank of unwashed bodies and filth. A pig trotted by her when she passed a closed clothing stall, and she dodged a charging goat as she passed by what smelled like a bakery. Horses were tied to hitching posts. A few riders passed her, sparing her an odd glance, and the farther into town that she walked, the more people began to stare at her as if she was the one who didn't make sense. Women looked her up and down and sniffed disdainfully. Men leered at her as if they'd found a new toy.
Loud, raucous laughter and shouting echoed from the largest building she could see just at the end of the street. Smoke billowed up from multiple chimneys and dirty windows glowed with warm yellow light. She started toward it. Someone in there could have answers.
A strong hand wrapped around her wrist as she walked by an alley. Emma stumbled only for a second before she planted her feet and yanked her wrist back. "What the hell?"
"You look lost."
The child should have been beautiful. Her hair glowed faintly red in the dim light, and her skin was clear and pale as alabaster. Even her voice was sweet, soft and lulling. But where her eyes were meant to be, there were horrible scars, as if someone had carved out her eyes and then sloppily sewn the lids shut with thick, black twine.
"Don't be frightened, Emma," the girl said.
Emma took a step back. "How do you know my name?"
"I see things."
"How?" The question slipped past her lips bluntly, without thought.
The girl's lips curled and she held up her hands. Emma stumbled back. In the palms of the the girl's hands were eyes. "Magic," the girl said, "but you won't believe it for a long time. You don't believe in much at all, do you, Emma?"
"Listen, kid," Emma's voice shook, "I don't know what game you're playing, but it's not funny. Let's just get you home, okay?"
"Home," the girl repeated. "You've never had a home, have you, Emma?"
Emma swallowed. "Okay, let's—"
"But you've always wanted one," the girl continued. "You'll keep looking even after you've found it." She sighed. "People rarely accept what they deserve, especially when they believe they deserve nothing at all."
"Kid, that's enough."
"You'll believe one day."
"Yeah, in what?"
The girl smiled then, but Emma took no comfort in it. "Everything," the girl said. "You're destined for a great adventure, Emma Swan."
"Look, I don't know what you're talking about." Emma couldn't stop staring at the girl's sewn eyelids. Her stomach churned. She refused to even look at the girl's hands. "I just want to get home."
"You're in the right place."
"I doubt it."
"Perhaps not the right time, but yes, you're in the right place. He's waiting for you."
"What?" Despite all logic—after all, this whole situation was entirely wrong—Emma found herself wanting answers. "He? Who's he?"
"He's been waiting for you," the girl explained. "Even if he does not know it . . . and you him." She suddenly stood straighter and exhaled softly, almost as if relieved, as if her job was complete. "I must go now."
She turned and walked into the shadow of the alley without another word. It took Emma a few long seconds before her feet moved. She stepped deeper into the alley. "Hey, kid! Wait!" She jogged further, but the girl was nowhere to be found.
Emma turned in a slow circle, her breath coming in gasps as she placed her hands on her head. Her fingers curled tightly into her hair to the point of pain. "What the hell is going on?" she whispered.
The tavern. She needed to go get help.
And maybe a drink. A lot of drinks.
The tavern was exactly what she would expect for the movie she was somehow living. Bare but sturdy. Entirely wooden with a thatched roof. The door swung on thick black hinges and the noise that erupted from within hit her with a force that nearly bowled her over. There was music, a man in the back with a fiddle playing what sounded to her like the makings of an Irish drinking song. Half of the tavern began to sing, while the other half were happily immersed in their own loud conversations. Everyone was either shouting, singing, or laughing. There was a long, thick wooden bar in the center of the chaos, manned by a single barkeep who looked like a biker-version of Santa with steel eyes and meaty arms.
Emma marched toward him anyway.
"I need some help," she said, resting her hands on the bar.
The barkeep barely looked up at first. He glanced up and then back to the ale he was pouring before once again looking at her. His gaze stayed fixed then. She waited as he studied her like she was some strange creature he'd never seen, pretending that she didn't have the urge to shrink back and make herself appear smaller.
She straightened her back and glared until he said, "How can I be of service, lass?"
"You can start by telling me where I am."
He cocked an eyebrow. "You're in the Queen's Port." He eyed her red leather jacket, white sweater, and jeans. "I gather you're not from this realm. Can't for the life of me figure out which one, though. Lot of travelers come through, but none lookin' like you, lass."
Emma only latched onto one particular word. "Realm?" she repeated.
"Aye. Which one are ya, from?"
"I-I'm not from a realm," she said. "I'm from Tallahassee."
The barkeep blinked. "Well then, sounds like you're a long way from home."
He had no idea what she was talking about. Emma knew it. She could see it in his eyes, the blank look of complete stupor as she continued to attempt to explain her situation. He looked at her as though she was alien and frowned at every other word out of her mouth, as if he didn't know what a phone was or a car or what cell reception meant.
She saw the moment when he withdrew, when he began to label her less as lost and more insane. It was similar to the look she'd received from countless foster parents who slowly began to realize that she just wasn't right for them. She didn't fit. She was different.
Finally, she simply said, "Is there anyone here who can help me?"
The barkeep stared at her warily before tossing his head toward the back corner of the tavern. She followed his gaze and immediately found herself staring into piercing blue eyes. "Cap'n Jones," the barkeep said. Emma did not immediately turn back to him to listen. She kept staring at the man in the corner until a thick dark eyebrow cocked arrogantly and a teasing yet unquestionably salacious smirk twisted his lips. Heat flared in her cheeks as she abruptly turned back to the barkeep, who had failed to notice her preoccupation. She just caught the tail end of his words, ". . . most well-traveled man here. I'd be careful, askin' for his help. Never can trust a pirate."
Emma looked back. The sharp blue eyes of Captain Jones met hers instantly. She squared her shoulders even as her stomach flipped. "I'll take my chances," she said.
The moment Emma had walked into the tavern, she had unknowingly been under the strict attention of a particular pirate. Captain Killian Jones of the Jolly Roger had just docked in port only hours ago after a long three-month sail that had left him aching for a stiff drink and the attentions of a beautiful woman. His crew had already taken over the tavern. Williams was playing his fiddle while Smee tried to lead the rest in song, standing on a table and waving his hands about as if he could possibly direct them.
Killian preferred to sit in the back where it was just a bit quieter, where he had a woman on either side of him, one with her hand on his arm and the other with her hand steadily moving up his thigh. He could whisper in their ears promises to come, smell the perfume they'd dabbed behind their ears, all while they each tried their best to claim his attention.
The moment Emma had walked in, he'd forgotten about them.
She was strangely dressed. He'd seen women in trousers before but never had they been so tight. The blue material clung to her like a second skin, giving him an eyeful that bordered on scandalous. Her coat seemed to be made of leather much like his own, but it was bright red and short, the hem just brushing her hips instead of sweeping low to her knees. He watched as she talked with Tom behind the bar, smiling with growing amusement as she steadily began to shake in frustration.
She was lost, that was certain, and so he wasn't surprised when Tom directed her toward him. He was surprised, however, when she met his eyes. A strange yet not unwelcome feeling came over him as her eyes met his. His chest suddenly felt tight and he wanted nothing more in that moment than to have her completely. He'd never felt anything like it. It was more than desire, deeper somehow.
He hated that he couldn't tell the color of her eyes from across the room.
She kept staring at him even as Tom talked, and he couldn't help but arch his brow and smirk playfully. Her answering blush made him chuckle lowly in his throat, and he was so absorbed in her that he didn't notice when both the wenches on his arm left. He sat up straighter when Emma squared her shoulders and began to walk towards him. Well, more of a march, really. It reminded him of his days in the Navy, and he almost gave into the temptation of giving her a salute.
She stopped in front of him and folded her arms over her chest. "You're Captain Jones?"
Her eyes were green, like the sea after a storm. "Aye," he said. "How can I help you, love?"
"I need to get home."
"And where's home?"
She sighed. "Tallahassee."
"Never heard of it. What realm are you from, lass?"
"Realm?" she repeated. "Why do you people keep saying that? There aren't . . . realms."
"I'm sorry to break it to you, love, but you're wrong. There are, in fact, many different realms."
"Oh, and I suppose you've been to them all?"
Killian smiled. "I've seen my fair share. I'd love to show you." She scoffed but it only made him like her more. He patted the bench next to him. "No need to stand on ceremony, love," he said. "Sit."
"Funny," she said but she sat nonetheless.
Killian arched an eyebrow in amusement when she straddled the bench and faced him. He took the bottle of rum next to him and poured her a drink. "Have a drink with me," he said. "What's your name, darling?"
"Emma Swan. And you can keep your drink."
"Afraid you won't be able to resist me after a few libations?"
She smirked. "That'll never be a problem."
"You wound me, Swan."
"Something tells me you'll get over it."
Killian grinned. "You're a tough lass, aren't you?" He offered his hand. "Killian Jones, at your service."
Emma took his hand, meaning to shake it and get the pleasantries out of the way, but Killian turned her hand over, stroked his thumb over her knuckles, and then placed a soft kiss on her hand. He relished the blush that she tried to fight but let her yank her hand away and hold it in her lap. He smiled and took another drink. "Tell me, Swan," he said. "How did you come to be in the Enchanted Forest? Did you fall through a portal?"
Emma's stomach sank like an anchor. "Enchanted Forest?" she repeated. "Portal? And you people think I'm insane."
For the first time since meeting her, Killian felt a twinge of annoyance. He had very little tolerance for those who denied what was right in front of them. "Yet here you are," he said. "Listen, love, the only chance you stand of possibly getting back to your realm is with my help. So, I'll ask you again, how did you come to be here?"
Emma stared at him, trying to see a lie, and as if he somehow understood what she was after, Killian met her stare openly and waited. His eyes were even bluer up close, made brighter by his thick dark lashes and the black kohl around his eyes. He looked every inch a swashbuckling pirate in his leather pants and red vest with big brass buttons. His coat was long and black and just managed to hide the hilt of his cutlass that was tied to his waist. When he'd kissed her hand—who did that, anyway?—she'd noticed the heavy rings that adorned his right hand. He even had an earring, a single black bead that matched his raven-black hair.
He looked like a pirate, and she knew that he believed that he was a pirate, but that wasn't what he was asking of her. He was asking much more of her. He was asking that she trust him.
She narrowed her eyes. "Why would you want to help me?" she asked.
"Because while I may be a pirate, I believe in good form. I will do all in my power to return you to your land, Emma."
It was the first time he'd used her name. Not love or darling or Swan, but Emma. She wondered if he thought it would soften her, if he thought the intimacy of a first-name basis would inspire the trust that he asked of her. She met his eyes, searched for the lie, any sort of falsehood, but she found none. Instead of being relieved, she felt the beginnings of panic.
A familiar itch began to crawl over her skin. The urge to run.
Killian grabbed her hand before she could stand. He held her fingers in a gentle but firm grip. She knew that if she tugged, he'd let go. "Try something new for a change, darling," he said. "It's called trust." Her fingers tightened around his, not to hold on but to pull away. "Look at me, Emma," he said softly. "Have I told you a lie?"
Emma didn't want to trust him. The last time she had trusted a man, she had wound up spending eleven months in jail and giving birth to a child that she hadn't allowed herself the blessing to hold. She had sent the child away, hoping to give him or her it's best chance, and praying that she wasn't condemning him to the very same life she'd lived and hated.
And now she was in an entirely different world, a world that she still wasn't sure was real, and she had to decide whether or not to trust a stranger with nothing but his word.
She knew she didn't have a choice.
"I don't know how I got here," she began. "One second I was in my . . . realm," the word hung awkwardly in the air, "and then the next thing I know, I'm waking up in the woods a few miles from here."
Killian wanted to smile at the revelation. He sensed that Emma Swan was not one to trust lightly, and to know that she had decided to place what little faith she had in him made him feel a kind of pride he had not felt in years. It was the pride of doing the right thing for the right reasons. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.
"That is unusual," he said. "Are you sure you didn't fall through a portal? It's a hell of a ride, one you wouldn't likely forget."
Emma huffed. "Even if I knew what that really meant, I know I didn't get here through a . . . a portal. There was this boy—" Killian immediately raised his eyebrows and she scowled, "not like that. He was just a kid. But he had this pen with him. Really old-fashioned. And he said some . . . things."
Killian frowned. "What kind of things?" he asked, smiling in bemusement when Emma unexpectedly blushed and looked down at her hands.
"You're not going to believe me," she said. "It's stupid."
"I highly doubt I would ever find anything about you stupid, love."
Emma bit her cheek to keep from smiling. "He said . . . well, he said that I was a hero, that I . . . was destined for a great adventure . . . and he, he wished me luck."
"That is a curious tale." Killian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And you believe that this boy could be responsible for your plight? What of his pen?"
"He was writing. He said he was a writer." Emma frowned. "I left the diner. I remember looking back at him through the window. He smiled at me and then . . . nothing. I woke up here."
"I daresay the boy is your culprit, Swan. This pen . . . it must wield great magic."
"Have you ever heard of anything like it?"
"I'm afraid not, but don't despair yet, Swan. I still have some tricks up my sleeve." He leaned toward her, and it took all of Emma's self-control not to lean away. "There is rumor of a powerful sorcerer who lives not terribly far from here. A week's ride, at most. I would be willing to accompany you on this journey."
Emma's eyes narrowed even as her lips twitched. "In exchange for what, pirate?"
Killian grinned. "A pirate does love his treasure." He tossed his head toward the other end of the tavern where a group of men were gambling at cards. "You help me swindle the lot of them, and you have yourself a deal."
"What makes you think I'd be any good?"
"If there's one thing I gather about you, Swan, it's that I'd be remiss to ever bet against you."
Despite her best efforts, Emma smiled.
Well, there you go. They're off to see a sorcerer. Any guess who that might be? :)
Okay, okay . . . preview, preview . . . who's it gonna be? Hmm . . . how about Emma?
"Oh, so now you're going to be a gentleman?"
Yes, that probably sounds familiar. Since our lovely couple is meeting earlier than canon, I've got to work in those beautiful lines of theirs somehow, don't I? :)
Lots of love,
AC
