AN: This chapter was a labor of love. Haha. Anyways, sorry for the delay. I hope that it was worth the wait. XOXO, Jess
Draught of Living Death and True Love's Kiss
A few weeks pass before their company arrives at the castle
Regina hesitates at first, placing one hand gently on the heavy door in front of her, breathing slowly. When she finally pushes it forward, it gives easily, swings wide, revealing her old chambers. Concrete beams and arches and floors, vaulted ceilings that only make her large room seem larger still, reminding her of how lonely she felt in here, in this place, in these walls when she first married Leopold.
It's cold, decorated by a four-poster bed, worn tapestries hanging on the walls, oak vanity, long standing candle sticks and dwindled down melted wax. There's light in this room, flickers of goodness, a collection of dust and rememberings, remnants of the young girl she used to be before an ancient, elvish book made its way into her hands and Rumplestiltskin's name escaped through her lips.
She hasn't been in here for years, not since she arranged for her husband to be assassinated, not since seduction and power let her out of this concrete prison, not since choice and want finally became hers to control.
Regina looks around, her eyes grazing over old relics of a life no longer familiar. She hadn't known then that she'd be exchanging one form of a cell for another, hadn't known that locking away this room, sealing it shut wouldn't bring her the happiness she desperately desired.
A room that contains memories that make the magic inside her spark at her fingertips, the first living quarters she ever resided in after moving into Leopold's palace, a place that only takes her back to the midnight she ran away from her second chance.
A part of Regina wishes she didn't understand why she never rid herself of this space completely, why she didn't torch it to the ground with everything else that reminded her of what it meant to be good and weak. Wishes she didn't understand why she chose to hold onto this corner of the castle.
But it doesn't matter now, because she feels something akin to gladness that this room still stands, that she didn't ruin this part of her life the way she ruined everything else, thankful she can find refuge here, because she truthfully can't stomach the thought of going back to the chambers she occupied after she fully embraced being the Evil Queen.
Love is weakness, Regina. Power is freedom. Cora's words echo in her head, and she sighs, closing the door behind her with her back pressed against it.
Regina knows that isn't true anymore, knows her mother was wrong. Henry taught her that love isn't weakness, it's strength, and Roland and Robin are slowly teaching her the same, trying to convince her it's not foolish to have hope or foolish to want love and light in her life.
No, she'll stay here, in this room, in this part of the castle, in a place that memorializes a time before she traded love, and obedience, and weakness, and goodness for power, and black, and evil, and harsh gems, and strength, and magic, and prices she'd been willing to pay at the time. She'll stay here, because that's why she kept this room, that's why she didn't strip it bare, so she'd always have a piece to hold onto of that young girl who started the beginning of her life with hope, and love, and faith in her heart.
She wants that again.
Regina walks over to the open balcony, looks down at the castle's courtyard, and peers out into the chilly evening air, thinking about a night that could have turned out so differently had she not been afraid.
Just months after marrying the king, Regina forcefully slams her hands against the parapet over, and over, and over, "I just need– " until it breaks, causing her to lose her balance. Screaming, she falls toward the ground. A cloud of green dust appears underneath her and her rapid descent comes to a halt. "Put me down. What are you doing? What are you doing?" She cries frantically.
"Giving you a second chance," the sweet-faced fairy replies with a wave of her wand.
"Who are you?" Regina asks, floating back up to stand safely on the balcony landing.
"Tinkerbell," the blonde says, smiling at her widely.
Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, Regina shakes her head. No, that wouldn't have worked out. Not then. What would she have done? Run away with the man with the lion tattoo? Run away with Robin and started a life as traitors? Because that's what would've happened had she walked into that tavern, that's what would've happened had she turned her back on the crown and the king. And she wouldn't have (had) Henry, and Robin wouldn't have Roland.
Choices have consequences – she knows that better than anyone – and the price would've been too steep.
The castle is indeed abandoned, no longer occupied by a green-faced witch within its cold, concrete and metal walls, but that doesn't mean its halls are vacant. In fact, they're haunted and filled with shadows of a villainous monster, marred by the actions of the woman Regina used to be, not the woman she is trying very hard to become.
This is what she's been dreading since returning to the Enchanted Forest, since coming home, since taking her first breath and filling her lungs with the scent of pine, and rich dirt, and the snowbells that remind her of days spent with Daniel on Firefly Hill. This is what she's been apprehensive about, stepping foot back into a place overflowing with memories that taste bitter on her tongue.
Regina closes her eyes and takes deep, broken breaths.
She can do this. It doesn't have to be hard.
Tears prick at her eyes, and she hears the door open behind her with a creak. She knows who it is, she left him out in the hall, asked for one moment alone before he came in. His footsteps are soft, almost silent, and it's not until she feels his arms come around her waist and carefully hug her to him that she turns to face him.
Robin reaches up and tucks Regina's hair behind her ear, pressing his forehead to hers, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. "How are you fairing, love?" He asks ever so gently.
"I'm fine," she responds, and their noses faintly touch.
He continues to run his fingers through her hair, calming and soothing and pulling away cobwebs in her chest. "Now, tell me how you're really fairing," he requests, and she smiles sadly at how well he knows her already, because she used to be very good at keeping people out, and she knows that if he ever hurt her, if he ever left like everyone else who has ever left her, she might not survive. And that terrifies her, but it doesn't stop her from answering his question honestly. She can count on one finger the number of people she's ever been that completely vulnerable with.
"It's strange. That's all. Being here," she starts, leaning further into his warm arms. "You know, I could point out a bad memory in every corner, in every nook and crevice of this castle. I don't remember any good ones. Just what I was before my mother sealed my fate by accepting the King's proposal."
Robin eases his hand to the back of her neck, massaging at the base of her skull. Regina sighs contentedly and shuts her eyes again.
"I suppose, I'll have to help you make new good ones," he proclaims in a whisper, his voice gruff and tender as it warms the cockles of her heart. It hurts Robin, seeing the pain in her eyes. He knows she's revisiting old wounds, the way he did not too long ago after he got lost in his grief and fury over Marian's death. But he has faith that Regina will find a way to heal, and he'll be right there with her to remind her of what she is truly capable. He gently brushes his thumb over her closed eyelids, kissing her sweetly. She moulds her mouth to his, pliant and soft and putty in his hands as he lightly traces his tongue over her bottom lip, and then pulls away. "And there's the first one," he grins, and she chuckles right back, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of forest, and sandalwood, and something else that she describes as being distinctly him. "Come on," he urges. "Roland can hardly contain his excitement. He wants to explore with his majesty."
"His majesty?" Regina questions, leaning her head away so she can look at him.
"Yes, he's been calling himself your little knight. Says you're his majesty. No one else's. He rather disliked it when I asked if he'd share. Scrunched up his nose a bit."
Regina laughs, and it's full, and beautiful, and warm and airy. And Robin loves that he makes her laugh, loves that his son makes her laugh. He'll do it until she only has happy memories in this place, until the good far outweighs the bad.
The first week back at the castle is the hardest for Regina, but Robin and her little knight make it easier.
During the middle of the second week, Regina sits in the library one afternoon; using the raging storm outside as an excuse to hole away by candle light to find something, anything that might help her – them – in defeating her sister, in defeating Zelena. However, everything she reads, everything she thinks she's found that might lead to some hopeful solution turns out to be a dead end. Growing frustrated, she slams another book on top of another pile on a large, oak table and starts rummaging through the shelves once more.
Robin walks by the open door and then backtracks his steps, spotting her long, dark hair and simple, cobalt and lace gown from in the hall. Slowly and very softly, he makes his way to her, taking great care to tread as faintly as possible so she won't hear him. He is almost upon her, when she sighs gently.
"Robin," Regina greets.
His shoulders fall. "How did you hear me?" He inquires, feeling slightly deflated. "You know, once upon a time, I was a great thief who could steal from the pockets of lords and kings without them ever knowing I was there. And now, now, it seems I've lost my touch."
"Oh, I didn't hear you," she states, and he detects the amusement in her voice. She turns to look at him, and he groans internally at the way she's biting her lower lip.
"Well, then pray tell, love. What gave me away?" He questions, stepping in her direction, invading her personal space.
"The mirror," Regina nods to his reflection not a few feet from her along the wall.
"Oh."
They grin at each other for a moment before Regina asks, "What are you doing here?"
"I would think that's quite obvious. Looking for you," he confesses, taking one more step toward her, close enough that it builds a tangible heat in the space between them.
She smiles at him and fists her hand in the front of his shirt, pulling him to her, leaning so that their foreheads are almost touching, and it seems to Robin that this, this is so much more important than wicked witches, or flying winged beasts, or curses, and other problems that may or may not come their way.
"Mmm, and why were you looking for me?"
He breathes her in and says, "I just put Roland down for his nap, and–"
"Is he in the room next to ours?" She interrupts. "Or did he want to stay with the other children?"
"He's in the one near ours," he grins and cups her cheek, rubbing his thumb there. Her concern for his son is quite adorable.
"And he's adjusting well? He doesn't mind the castle versus the woods and the outdoors?"
"Regina, he's fine. We're all fine and safe here, that's all that matters."
"But–" she begins, and he steals the words from her lips with a chaste kiss, rubs his cheek against her cheek, the rasp of his stubble against her jaw.
"Love, it's been over a month. If anything was going to happen, if Zelena was going to attack, it would've transpired by now."
"No," Regina shakes her head back and forth. "She's waiting, biding her time while we sit here thinking we've nothing to worry about." She threads her fingers through his hair, the same way he does to her more and more frequently. "Robin, I'm not going to stand by and do nothing while she plots my undoing. She knew things about me, about us that she couldn't possibly have known without help or foresight. I told you what she wanted, and her price is too high. I won't give up you and Roland; I won't surrender what I'm trying to rebuild. You taught me that, to never give up, so I'm not going to, no matter how many days I have to spend in this library."
She shuts her eyes, unable to prevent the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, unable to stop feeling like something is bound to go wrong at any moment.
He doesn't speak, just lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses her fingers, rotating her palm so it points upwards, those same lips kiss their way to the inside of her wrist. Her heart rate jumps as his breath feathers warmly over her skin, and everything around them seems to fade into the gray of the background.
"You're not alone," he says between sweet kisses. "I will be by your side, no matter the outcome." His ministrations – so soft and gentle – cause her to hum in reply, her heartbeat jumping as he sucks at the pulse point there on her wrist, paying languid attention to the way she flushes in response. "I will stand with you, and we will find a way to defeat the Wicked Witch together."
Through Regina's inner mayhem, Robin's concentration remains focused on the delicate underside of her arm, his thumb rubbing soothingly over where her blood pumps with tangible rhythm. Inhaling a shaky breath, her entire body trembles with need. He's barely touching her, nowhere near close to her lips or breasts or the sex between her legs, and already she's achy and weak-in-the-knees.
His speech, his reassurance, his unrelenting faith in her, it brings tears to her eyes. He's so comforting and encouraging, and confident in their abilities together.
Robin lures her into a stupor of arousal, and Regina's body begins begging for more. He halts his movements, and she raises her head slowly. His eyes – dark and expressive – meet hers, and he eases his other hand up to brush along her cheek, fingers resting gently on her jawline, thumb caressing her bottom lip. For the longest moment, his deep blues hold her rich browns, and she thinks about the days, weeks, months and years wasted – thankfully behind them. Now, all they have is the next breath, the next moment. All they have is a future – his and hers and theirs.
Robin leans forward and claims her mouth, stealing air from her lungs in an electric rush – soft but firm, speaking of need and desire and love. His grip tightens ever so slightly on her neck, fingers tangling further in her hair. Robin pulls her nearer, guides them toward the table, it hits at the back of her legs, and she's practically sitting on it now, providing support for their feverish snogging as he deepens the kiss. The contours of her body fit him perfectly, and he rubs up against her, creating a friction between them that makes them both groan in approval. Regina parts her lips and his tongue collides tantalizingly with hers. She moves her hand instinctively to the side of his face, and Robin rotates his hips, she can feel him beneath his trousers, beneath two layers of her dress, but it's not enough, only provides a fraction of the pleasure she knows their bodies – bare and wrapped around each other – can bring.
He's about ready to lift her onto the table and take her right there, when they both hear a clear and perturbed "Ahem," causing them to jump away from each other.
Robin adjusts his trouser and runs his hand along the back of his neck. Regina tugs on her dress, smoothing out wrinkles and creases. They both turn around to an unreadable expression on Granny's face.
"This is a library," she chastises them in a frosty tone, palm on her hip, lantern hanging from her hand, foot tapping on the floor. "Last time I checked, neither of you are teenagers, if you cannot contain yourselves or at least lock the door…" She lets the threat go unspoken, grabs a book, turns, and strides back out into the corridor, her heavy boot heels clunking against flagstones, as they had not done during her approach.
Regina and Robin wait until the sounds of the old woman's footsteps fade away into the distance, nothing but a faint echo, then Regina whispers, "This is a library," in a tone meant to impersonate the old wolf.
"Blimey," Robin says, blinking. "That explains all these books."
Laughter bubbles up again, but instead of letting it out, Robin puts his hands on either side of Regina's face and kisses her lips. They make out for a few more moments, and then he slides his hands down until they stop at her waist. He guides them over to the cushion-covered window ledge, sits them down, settles her between his legs. Regina magics a book into her grasp. She'd been reading it before he so rudely interrupted her research. Robin eases her silky locks away from one side of her neck and places a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat.
"You're terrible, you know that?" She sighs, her head falling back against his shoulder.
"Absolutely," Robin agrees.
She slips her hand back, her fingers find their way to the back of his head, tangling in his hair. She lightly scratches her nails against his scalp, and it sends tingles down his spine. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get anything done with you in here," Regina says with an exaggerated huff.
Robin closes his eyes, enjoying the night's silence and her fingers gently stroking his hair. He could fall asleep, he thinks, with her resting against his chest and his arms hugged to her middle.
How much more bloody reading does she really need to do?
She smells nice – his mind wonders sleepily – like sun-warmed wood and lavender.
"You're awfully quiet," Regina murmurs after a while.
"Mmm," Robin replies.
"Don't fall asleep."
"I'm not asleep."
"Please, don't drool on my dress," she requests, angling her head to look up at him. His head is drifting downward.
God, he's cute and ruggedly handsome.
She reaches up again and twirls a lock of his hair around one of her fingers and gives it a tiny tug.
"All right, oww!" He opens his eyes and rubs at the offending spot. "Was that to keep me awake?"
She smiles and shakes her head. "That was for fun."
He bites his lip to keep from swearing and scowls playfully.
"I'm sorry," she offers him with a chuckle, and it warms his spirit. Even if he was annoyed, he could never stay that way for long, not with Roland and not with her.
"It's all right," he says. And it is. They smile at each other, and it seems to Robin that they're in their very own corner of the world – a spot made just for them. He hugs his arms more tightly around her and places his chin on the crown of her head.
"What?" Regina whispers. "What are you thinking?" She rubs up and down his arm, the book long forgotten in her lap.
"I was just thinking how much I love you and how much I really wish you were done reading for the night."
"Oh?" Regina questions, leaning closer to him. Their noses nudge. "So, tell me what would we do if I were to say 'I was all done' for the evening?"
"Well," Robin begins warmly. He tilts her head up and kisses her lips. "It's not really the sort of thing I can tell you." His blue eyes gleam with mischief. "But I can show you, if her majesty wishes."
They don't stay in the library for much longer after that, both push themselves off the window seat and walk hand-in-hand to their room.
At the end of the third week and into the fourth, Regina starts having consistent nightmares, each the same as the one before.
She wanders through the winter palace, passing by locked room after locked room. Familiar columns and metal architecture cold and foreboding as she walks toward a light emanating from a door at the end of the hall. Cobwebs stick to her arms and legs, and she brushes them off. A cackling echoes and resounds off brick and steel, and she whirls around when she feels something touch the back of her neck. There's nothing there, but she knows what comes next. This dream, this nightmare, this place she keeps coming back to in her sleep, it never changes. She looks down at the red, eye-lit dress she's clothed in, down at the black stilettos on her feet. The castle and her modern attire don't fit, they don't belong together, but she can't figure out what it means.
A baby – the baby cries; she spins around on her heels, urgently stalks toward the noise. The wailing increases, and she picks up her pace, the shrill cackling is back, reverberates in her ears, pounds in her skull, and the walls start closing in on her with each stride she takes. She gets to her bedroom door, throws it open, and … she's not expecting the view in front of her. It's different this time.
A cradle rocks in the center of the room, a mobile with dangling glass lions above it. Regina cautiously approaches it, peeks over the side, and gasps.
A tiny bundled infant wiggles her arms and legs, soft downy, brown hair on her head, sweet, rosy baby cheeks, and piercing blue eyes. The little girl looks up at her and gives her a precious dimpled smile. She bends over and picks her up, cradling her in her arms, tracing her finger over the baby's tummy.
"Hello, little one," Regina whispers, and the infant grips tightly to her thumb. "And who do you belong to, hmm?"
It's a sweet moment, where both of their eyes meet, and a love and fierce protectiveness that she hasn't experienced since holding Henry for the first time seeps through every ventricle of her heart. And then the crying starts again, wind beats granules of sand against her flesh, she cover the baby with her body, and a stabbing pain rips through Regina's shoulder. She screams and stares down, blood seeps out of a wound tarnishing her skin. A cackle sounds from behind her, and she whirls around.
The white witch glares at her menacingly. "You can't save them all, dearie. Rivers will run red, graves will mount high, tears will fall for the dead, and your love will be for nigh."
"No," Regina shouts. "You're wrong!"
"You can't even save that little brat," the crone points. "She'll be ours before the leaves begin to fall again. Flowers will sprout and die, and the Weeping will rise up and take what's rightfully ours."
Regina steps back away from the woman, tripping over something solid. The baby vanishes from her arms. She hits the unforgiving concrete with a thud, and when her eyes drift up, her rich browns connect with Robin's cold, dead blues, an arrow piercing through his heart. A high-pitched ringing drills into her eardrums.
Regina jolts up in bed, the fabric of her nightdress clings to her sweat drenched skin. She pants and tries to catch her breath, one hand at her stomach, the other covering her mouth as she tries to stifle her sobs. Her eyes frantically take in Robin's sleeping form next to her.
He is safe. Roland is safe. They are safe. She eases herself off the bed, the pads of her feet touch the cool floor, and she slips out of their room and goes to her old vault.
She knows the nightmare isn't just her subconscious bringing her fears to the forefront, it's not just vapors and nothing. It foretells a future she's not ready to accept.
She won't lose him, not again, won't lose the love she's found. She'll fight for it, in whatever way she can. She'll figure out what the dreams mean, who this witch is, and the role this baby has to play. Regina needs answers.
In the morning, Robin wakes to her missing, and he sighs, knowing exactly where to find her.
Four days later, Regina and Roland play mindlessly in the gardens. Robin and Much patrol the grounds outside the castle walls with David and Leroy. They planned to head into town for a few supplies, and she offered to watch the young lad. She doesn't mind spending time with him, in fact, she quite loves it.
"Roland, wait," Regina calls after him as he runs around her apple tree. They've been engaging in a game of tag for quite awhile now, chasing and giggling. But she's tired, still hasn't been sleeping well, her head pounds, and she feels just slightly dizzy. She reaches up toward one of the low-hanging branches and grips it for support as the world spins. She closes her eyes and waits for it to right itself.
"Gina?" Roland asks, tugging of her skirt. "You okay, majesty?"
"Mmhm, I'm okay, sweetheart," she replies, not quite sure if she really is. She must be coming down with the same cold some of the other children have. Michael recently came to Doc asking him for a tonic for Hansel and Gretel. That must be it. "How about we go inside for awhile? Your papa should be back soon. We could wait for him in the Great Hall. How does that sound?"
"Okay," he responds, taking the hand at her side.
The two of them spend the rest of the day together. They eat lunch in the kitchen with Granny, read a few books curled up in Regina's bed. She even finds the energy to explore with him, but by evening, she's really not feeling well, and three more people are sick, including Roland. By the time Robin returns, she and his boy are snuggled in bed next to each other. He lifts his lad and changes him into his night tunic, giving him a cup of water before his tiny eyes close again, lulled back into slumberland. Robin lays him down on the lounge in their room and covers him with a thin sheet.
"You don't have to do that," Regina says, still unappreciative of her current vertigo. "He can sleep up here with us."
"Trust me," Robin tells her. "He may look small, but he's a bear while sleeping. It might start off sweet and cuddly, but sooner or later, you'll end up with a foot in your face or an elbow to the ribs."
She grins weakly, and he scoots under the comforter beside her and pulls her into his arms.
"How are you feeling?" He asks.
"Terrible."
"I'm sorry, love," he replies, kissing her on her temple. "Anything I can do to help?"
"Mmhm," she hums as he runs his fingers through her hair. "That's a start."
He smiles and continues to gently stroke and comb and massage the tension out of her shoulders, until she joins Roland in sleep, exhausted and weary.
In the morning, Robin stirs as Regina presses herself up against him, clinging to his shirt with all her strength. Her breathing is deep and even, and yet too fast. Her eyelids flutter and her brow line contorts alternatively between fear and confusion. She is obviously dreaming again. He comfortingly strokes her forehead and then pulls her more tightly into his embrace. He continues to soothingly caress her, running his fingers through her silky, dark hair, until she relaxes and her breathing slows.
Suddenly, a rush of emotion ripples through Robin, and he's overwhelmed by how much he loves Regina. More so than he ever believed possible. He shuts his eyes and prays that she rest well, that these nightmares stop tormenting and leave her once and for all.
A rustling of blankets sounds to his right, and he turns his gaze to look at Roland. His tiny toddler stirs as the dawn splits across the sky. The little boy sits up, his forehead creases, and he frantically looks around him, seeking something or someone more familiar. He spies his father in the big bed and begins to cry softly, "Papa," and then more loudly, "Papa, I want you."
Robin gently disentangles himself from Regina's embrace and gets up to lift his tearful son into his arms. Roland is crying more fitfully now. "Shh," he soothes. "We're here with you. Nothing to be afraid of."
Roland nods tearfully and wraps his arms around Robin's neck. His son's hair is wet from sweat. Robin sighs. He hates that his son and Regina have succumbed to the same illness spreading throughout the castle.
He returns to the bed and climbs back in, setting Roland down in the middle next to Regina. He whispers, "You can sleep with your majesty and me." With his fingertips, he gently wipes at the tears, drying on his face, and the hair matting across his brow.
The little boy turns to peer at his Gina. One tiny hand reaches out to softly stroke her face, and then he settles down to sleep between the two of them, his papa's thumb grasped securely in his hand.
"Don't wake Regina," he says to him in a hushed tone. "It's really early. Do you think you could maybe go back to sleep for a little while, too?"
The little boy looks at his father in disbelief, shakes his head and buries his face against his shoulder. "I don't feel good, Papa."
Realizing that he is getting nowhere, Robin concedes, "I know, my boy. Come on, let's be real quiet and rest with Regina a while then, okay?"
The little boy nods and gives his papa a half smile.
"Now, shh," he whispers again. "Regina needs to sleep, too."
Roland turns to peer at her peaceful features. He looks back at his papa, and imitating him, he whispers, "Is Gina still sick, too?"
"I'm afraid so. So you both need a lot of rest."
The tiny tot slides down under the covers facing Regina and carefully reaches out to place his hand against her cheek. Much to Robin's amazement, the boy begins to hum what he supposes is meant to be a lullaby, though there is little of the tune he actually recognizes. Gradually his humming becomes softer and wearier until he also is fast asleep.
An hour later, Regina awakes as the fingers of a tiny hand gently trace the shape of her eyes and then move slowly down to feather across her cheekbones. She opens one eye to see Roland watching her from only inches away. She can't help but smile as the little boy beams when he realizes his majesty is at last awake.
"Morning, sweetheart," Regina greets.
Roland's arms suddenly fling around her neck, and he settles in for a cuddle.
At some point, Robin must have fallen asleep, too, because he jerks his head up in response as his son's backside and legs abruptly push into his chest. Robin rubs his eyes and then chuckles at Regina's predicament. "Ah, Roland let's let Regina breathe, yeah?" He sits up and grabs his son by the waist, pulling him into his lap.
Roland sighs as Regina scoots herself up into a sitting position. She moans softly.
"I really wish this sickness would just go away," she remarks grumpily and reaches across to take an impatient Roland from Robin.
Turning and straddling Regina's legs so that he faces her, Roland begins to play with the her long, silky braid. She notices his tired eyes, slightly off colored cheeks, and leans forward, resting the back of her hand against his brow, looking up into Roland's face questioningly and then across to Robin.
"He's still sick."
Robin nods, "I'm afraid so."
Roland leans against Regina and coughs. "Gina, I'm tired."
Her arms wrap around him. "I know, I'm sorry," she kisses his forehead and pulls back to look into those dark, sleepy eyes. "You can stay in bed with me today, okay?"
The little boy agrees and snuggles into her chest, closing his eyes.
Regina turns her attention to Robin. "Are you okay?"
Robin shakes his head. "I'm fine, love."
"Can you do me a favor and ask Granny to make us some willow bark tea? It'll help bring his fever down." She tells him as she adjusts Roland to lie down beside her.
"And what may I get for you, M'lady?" He asks her gently, running a hand across her forehead.
Regina waves him off. "Just water, please."
Robin nods and kisses her lips. He pulls a shirt over his head and heads for the door.
A few days later, Roland feels much better and Regina appears to be on the mend. The four-year-old skips through the hall, followed closely by his majesty. After making the apple turnovers all those weeks ago in the heart of Sherwood Forest, Roland can't stop thinking about cinnamon and pastry dough and the way the yummy treat slid down his throat and warmed his belly. So when Gina asked him this morning if he'd like to help her bake a pie – a special treat for him now that he's finally healthy again – he gleefully accepted and shouted a yes, please.
This time differs from the turnovers in the quiet of his and his papa's tent. This time his majesty uses magic for almost everything, entertaining him and pulling laughter and squeals up and out of his mouth.
Something the Queen calls nutmeg, and sugar, and salt and a few other things he doesn't recognize come together. Flour sifts itself in the air, while Regina quarters apples from her tree and then dices them, mixing the juicy fruit with the other ingredients obeying her .
This time differs in the making, but it's the same in the joy and wonder and excitement he feels just by being close to his majesty, to his Gina.
He pinches a bit of sugar in between his fingers, inspecting the course, opaque stuff. It's not often (hardly ever) that he gets such extravagant, scrumptious treats. Days and months and years on the road, tucked away in the forest, sleeping in tents, hunting, foraging and living amongst brandished outlaws and common thieves doesn't lend one much time to indulge in costly ingredients or desserts that aren't a necessity.
"What's all this?" Robin asks, stepping into the kitchen. The wood fire oven is blazing and heating the room. He walks up behind Regina, easing his arms around her. He gives her a caring squeeze and his hands find purchase on her hips. She rests her head against his shoulder and turns her face toward him, fluttering her eyes closed and nuzzling the crook of his neck.
"Papa! Gina and I are making a pie!" Roland shouts, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Want ta help?"
"Mmm," his papa muses, maneuvering himself and Regina out of the way of two eggs dancing through the air toward a ceramic bowl. The motion jars Regina's eyes open. She stands up taller and waves her hand to wrangle remaining ingredients. "It looks like the two of you have it all under control," Robin says, grinning at his tiny lad with smudges of flour all over his face.
It pleases him that Regina has been using magic more frequently as of late. It's a part of her, like a third arm in the same way that he feels about his bow – an extension of himself, of herself, integral pieces of their being.
"What do we do next, Gina?" Roland asks, munching on a slice of apple.
"Here, I'll show you, sweetheart," she tells him, stepping out of Robin's comforting hold. He lets her go, albeit a tad reluctantly and watches as she rolls out a ball of dough onto the flour dusted tabletop.
Roland ducks under Regina's outstretched arms and situates himself between her and the table, putting his little fingers on the edge to see what she's doing better. She smiles and heaves a light weight sigh. He's so inquisitive and precious and wonderful, it makes her heart swell up and an ache form in her stomach, thinking about this amazing little toddler who, without much effort, chased away her darkness. She bends down and places a kiss to the crown of his head; he angles his neck to look up at her and grins, reaching up to touch her face. Roland's little thumb brushes over her cheek and then he's back to bouncing on the balls of his feet, excitement and anticipation getting the best of him.
"How much longer, Gina?" He asks, staring at the unbaked dessert. She chuckles and waves her hand again, the pie nearly complete with a lattice top neatly covering the apple filling within.
"Patience, my boy," Robin instructs with a dimpled grin, leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed. "I'm sure it won't be much longer now. It appears your majesty is already using quite a many shortcuts to satisfy your sweet tooth."
"He's alright, I don't mind," Regina assures.
The pie doesn't take long to bake after that, bubbling and steaming hot from fire and burning coals. Once it cools to a manageable level for their tastebuds, Regina cuts the pie into eighths and dishes them each a slice.
Sugar and cinnamon coat each bite of flaky crust and fruit that Roland puts into his mouth. He tries ever so hard to chew slowly, to savor each morsel – happy and content to be with his papa and his majesty.
Regina wakes from her sound nap, aware that something feels a bit different, but in her drowsy state she is unable to put her finger on the reason why. She stretches lazily and opens her eyes, peering at the open balcony of the bedroom. She sets her feet on the ground and walks out into the fresh air. A loud, booming thunder and a flash seconds later allude to the storm that's on the horizon.
She sighs contentedly and then feels Robin's strong arms pull her to him. He's warm against her back and it sends delightful shiver to the tips of her toes as she momentarily relives their lovemaking from late last night. She instinctively reaches behind her, feeling his bare hip and muscled thigh beneath her fingertips. Robin smiles, placing his lips against the nape of her neck to her shoulder.
"Hey," he greets her softly; his lips and hands caress her bare back. "You're finally awake. You've been asleep a long time."
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, loving his gentle hands on her body.
"Are you feeling okay?" He asks, leaning across to kiss her lightly.
"Mmmm, I'm fine. Just another dream," she replies sleepily, returning his kiss.
"The same dream?"
"It's just a dream, Robin," she says.
Robin slides his hand in under her nightdress and gently caresses her soft curves. "Hmm, alright, if you insist, then. Do you feel like going and getting some breakfast? Roland already went down with John not too long ago. If we get dressed this minute, we might be able to have breakfast together."
With one hand, she covers his on her stomach, interlocking their fingers and holding them still against herself. With the other, she reaches out to draw his head down to hers for a long, leisurely kiss.
As their lips part, Robin smiles and whispers, "Or perhaps we can just stay in bed a while longer?"
She gently cups his face and runs her thumb across his jawline, her eyes filling with tears.
"Regina, what is it?" he asks, guiding her back to bed. He lifts the covers, and she follows without hesitation.
"It's nothing. I just … I just love you," she whispers almost shyly, covering his hand lightly with her own. "Do you want to go–" Regina sits up abruptly and closes her eyes. A wave of dizziness washes over her, and she brings her hand instinctively to her mouth, feeling like she might need to throw up.
She feels Robin's hand on her back. "Regina, love. Are you alright?"
She nods, not sure if she can do much more than that. She takes deep breaths and waits for whatever this is to pass.
But it doesn't.
Robin follows her and watches intently as Regina swings her legs over the side of the bed, tentatively standing up. She shivers as the cool morning air hits her warm, bare skin. Robin reaches for her robe, helping her slip into it. She holds her breath, slowly begins to move around, then pales as her stomach momentarily lurches sickeningly as it had moments ago, quickly subsiding once again. She smiles reassuringly at Robin. His brow creases in concern, and he notices her change of color.
"I might still be sick. My stomach is disagreeing with me again. Better be careful about what I eat for breakfast," she says with a soft sigh.
"Well, surely there will be something light downstairs for you. Perhaps some bread and tea to start?"
She nods and heads away to find something to wear for the day.
In the Great Hall, a pair of anxious eyes watches her as she slowly eats her way through a piece of bread. Roland, oblivious to Robin's concern for Regina, sits beside her, commanding her attention by chattering exuberantly in his own unique way. Robin, slowly relaxes as the wholesome food seems to have no ill-effects on Regina, and gradually they start to talk about their day and things they might do.
The Weeping Woods
"I told you not to touch anything."
"What are yew brewing?" An eighteen-year-old boy watches as Mortianna crushes a Sopophorous bean with the flat side of her silver dagger, releasing juices efficiently. She ignores his question, continues pouring water into a small cauldron. He leans forward and almost nudges the table, but she grabs his wrist, stilling him instantly.
"Do not shake or move or even breathe until I am finished," she bites, her nails digging into his skin. He winces when the jagged edge of her thumbnail cuts into his palm. "This is Draught of Living Death, my boy. And it is a fickle, fickle curse, requiring caution."
Mortianna releases him, and he grimaces, rubbing the red mark on his arm. She pushes up her sleeves again and procures the essence of wormwood from a jar behind her on the mantle. With her left hand, she holds the cauldron and adds in ten drops of the putrid looking liquid. She chops three Valerian roots into small squared pieces and places them each in the slowly boiling water. As the mixture begins to roll, it transforms into a smooth blackcurrant-colored liquid. She stirs it nine times clockwise, the color shifts again into a light shade of lilac, and then she stirs in the opposite direction until the potion turns clear as the a mountain stream.
"Hand me the powdered root of asphodel. It's behind you on that shelf there," she commands, pointing without looking. When she doesn't hear creaking floorboards or footfalls, she glances up at the scrawny brat who hasn't moved an inch. She points again and clenches her jaw.
"Now, yew wan' me ter move?" He sneers, and then does as she instructs after she threateningly glares at him. He hands her the vial. She uncorks it and dumps the contents into her brew. The potion flashes pink, settles, and Mortianna smiles.
"It's finished," she cackles, bottling the mini curse.
"So that's it. You poison Robin Hood's camp an' da Evil Queen, just wiv that little bit?"
"I never said anything about poisoning them. This is for someone else. I have a bone to pick with a gray-bearded wizard."
"What? All that, an' it's not even fer da Evil Queen?!"
"You know what the Wicked Witch said. She needs her alive."
"But yew know what she did! Yew know wot she took from me!"
"What she took from both of us! You may be my brother's son, Jakan, but do not forget to whom it is you speak," Mortianna seeths, her eyes wild and bloodshot. "Now, you had your part to play. I told you to blend in, to get to know the archer and his men better, to discover their weaknesses so that we could infiltrate their camp when the time was right, but you showed your hand too soon. Robin Hood's trust will not be gained back, not after he exiled you. We need to wait. We need to follow the Wicked Witch's orders, strengthen our forces with Nottingham, and only then will we be able to exact our revenge. He wants her dead and the archer, too, if not more than we do. I will not let the Evil Queen get away with murdering your parents. I will avenge your father's death, and we will make her pay. But it's a matter of timing, and right now we have to wait."
Mortianna finished bottling two more vials of the draught and then left her nephew to stew in his rage.
"Foolish crone. I'll show 'er, I'll show all ov 'em," he spits, stalking over to the stagnant concoction. He grabs a jar, much bigger than the one his aunt picked up, and spoons the liquid into it, observing as it coats the inside of the glass and pools at the bottom.
He travels out of the woods and meets up with his buddy Alec at their normal hideout, a good few miles away from the castle. He's been getting all his information from him since Robin Hood banished him. They form a plan together on how they're gonna cripple the castle.
"All yey 'ave ter do is plop dis in'er a stew awer pawridge awer what 'ave you. And da hex'll do da rest."
"But, Jakan… what about Nottingham's orders? He told us to wait," Alec says, taking the elixir out of his hand.
"I don't give a flyin' fuck about 'is orders. We're doin' dis now. I'm tired ov waiting. I've waited fer fr'y years because ov 'er curse. No more. Her 'ead should ov been on a spike a long time ago."
"Fine. What is this?" He asks, swirling the liquid around.
He knows the plan, understands what Jakan wants him to do, he has no qualms with it. They need to get rid of the Evil Queen, and anyone who supports her is a threat.
"Draught ov Livin' Death."
Regina groans, rubbing her temples, trying to soothe the migraine that's building at the base of her skull. She's pale, has dark, ugly circles under her eyes, and she knows she's moving slower than usual, dragging her feet along cold, hard floors. She walks past a window and the streaming light invading the hallway makes her wince. She recoils into the shadows and continues trudging back to her room.
She hasn't felt well for weeks, dizzy and nauseous and fatigued and knows she's running hot. Curse those children for giving her their damn colds. She doesn't have time for influenza.
"Regina," Snow shouts her name, running down the castle corridor toward her. She is panting and her cheeks are flushed. "There's something wrong. Doc needs you."
"What do you mean the dwarf needs me? What could've possibly happened in the last thirty minutes since we all saw each other at breakfast?"
"Please, he said it's urgent. I wouldn't have come to find you if it wasn't," Snow replies, looking her up and down. "I know you haven't been feeling well lately, and I just wanted to–"
"I'm feeling just fine, and I'd prefer it if you didn't make assumptions."
Regina follows the usually cheerful Princess to the healing wing, and once she steps over the threshold, she stops in her tracks. "Snow? What happened after I left breakfast early?"
At least fifteen people lay on the ground, in beds, and on cots, shivering and twitching.
"David is talking to a young girl now. Her name is Laura. She came forward just after people started eating the porridge Granny made. She said she saw someone pour something into it when they thought nobody was looking. We stopped everyone from eating as soon as we could, but–"
"And the girl didn't think to warn everyone before they started eating?" Regina groans, she's surrounded by idiots.
Snow frowns. "No, she was threatened. He told her he'd gut her if she said anything. But when one of the children went to get a bowl, she couldn't stay silent."
"Where's this person now? The one who threatened her?"
"We don't know. But, Regina, I think … we think that whatever he added was poison."
"Obviously," Regina retorts, staring at the ten victims moaning and seizing in their catatonic states.
"Doesn't make sense," Doc says, coming over to the Queen and the Princess. "I've tried everything." He stares at his table cluttered with muddled herbs, tonics and balms. "Nothing seems to be working," he exclaims exasperated. "And unless we can find out what was in that bottle, I can't give any of these people a remedy. Their bodies are starting to shut down."
"Is this it?" Regina asks. "Is this everyone who ate the porridge?"
"Yes," Snow confirms. "Laura came forward pretty quickly, and we stopped the line after that. This is it. No one else ate anything."
"There's something else," Doc mentions, gesturing for the two women to follow him. He takes them to a man unconscious on a cot and lifts up his tunic slightly, revealing black veins making their way to his heart. "I don't know what that is, but I know it can't be good."
Regina takes a step back and realization dawns on her, her eyes scan the pop up beds around them.
"It's a curse. A lot like the one I gave you Snow," she says. "Only this one, it's more complicated and difficult to procure."
"You've seen this before?"
"Living Death. It's fueled by malice," Regina whispers. She tilts her head sideways and feels it easily now that she knows what she's looking for; the air is dense with it. It settles over the castle like a fog. "Dark magic."
It sends chills up her spine. This potion doesn't discriminate or take into account the lives it touches. It mercilessly fells men, women and children.
"Regina?" Snow's voice calls from behind her. "What do you mean malice and dark magic?" She pleads with her, her hands rest on her hips, concern on her face for the people who are sick.
"I mean malice. When making this potion you literally breath malice into every step. It's not like baking a cake, Snow. You have to stir things in a specific direction, clockwise and then counter clockwise, and if the recipe requires you to add malice, you have to think of every horrible thing you've ever wanted to do or have done while mixing the ingredients together. It literally binds your intent into the very fabric of the draught." Regina sighs with frustration, clenching and unclenching her fists. "There isn't much I can do. Make sure no one else so much as touches breakfast from this morning. It needs to be burned. I can take care of that."
"But, how do we help them? Fifteen people have this, this curse."
Regina smiles sadly. "That's the thing about the Living Death curse. It's just that. A curse. There isn't an antidote."
"But what about True Love's kiss? David and I, and Emma, we–"
"If you're suggesting that each one of these people has found their True Love, Snow, please. Don't be naïve. I know you're better than that. Some of these peasants don't even have family members here, True Love is sacrificial and the most powerful and pure of all magics. I know that, and you know that. It requires you to give a part of yourself up for the other person. If it was so easily replicated do you really think that Emma would be the only Savior?"
"So, you're saying these people are going to die?" Snow asks, and Doc looks just as equally upset.
"I'm sorry. Really, I am, but these people," Regina motions toward them. "The only thing I can do is help reduce some of their pain, but I can't stop it. If they have family, yes, by all means, bring them in here and let them try. But this curse, it will drag the infected into a deep sleep, and once those black veins reach their hearts, well, there's no waking up from that."
Snow's bottom lip trembles, and she nods her head, looking around. Some of these people she recognizes from Storybrooke. Sebastian, the Baker's daughter, Tom Thumb, and a few Merry Men. And then a few others she doesn't know, and her heart breaks for them.
Regina crouches on her knees over a woman whose name she doesn't remember. She can't heal her, but she can use a spell to numb her pain before Grim claims her as one of his victims. She rests her hands on her brow and above her chest, chanting elvish. Sweat begins to drip down the sides of Regina's face. The humidity in this room is unforgiving, and she struggles to push herself up and off the ground as she senses wisps of her magic licking the air.
That's one. Fourteen more to go.
She tirelessly works to place her hands on people, recalling the tattered edge of a particular page in Rumple's spell book that taught her the tools for this spell. She moves from one person to the next and files their relief and gratitude away to a place separate from all her bad memories. Away from the morning after she watched as her mother crushed Daniel's heart. Separate from her first night with Leopold as tears streamed down her cheeks and her heart begged to be snuffed out. She hoards them away from the night she killed her father, away from all the bad. And she wishes, she wishes she could save them all. But it's simply beyond her control.
One of the Merry Men, Troy is next. Snow sits beside him, tears sting at the edges of her eyes as she looks from Troy to Regina, and it's not lost on Regina how much has changed.
It pains her to think about the baby-faced little girl she quickly fell in love with on that hill long ago, and then just as quickly hated with misplaced anger and blame. She hates her still, only now she has begun to realize she also hates and blames herself.
"Thank you," Snow says before grabbing hold of Regina's wrist, which prevents her from moving onto the last two people still afflicted by dark magic. "I know you didn't have to help them or give them peace in a moment otherwise marred by death. And I just, I'm really grateful."
Regina smiles weakly and wavers on her feet, closing her eyes for a moment as Snow steadies her, one hand underneath her elbow.
"Regina, you look tired. You need to rest."
Regina places her hand on Snow's and gently moves it away, shaking her head.
"I'm not finished," she says and stands, her legs a little shaky, and it's then the ache makes itself known. Her head rages inside her skull and everything hurts. She's exhausted and it shows, but she'll rest after she's given them all a magical sedative. Pressing her fingers to her right temple, she massages briefly and keeps going.
Ten minutes later, she makes her way back to the room she shares with her new family, expecting to collapse into bed and snuggle close to Robin. She's a few steps away when she hears Roland's whimpering cries and rushes forward, throwing the door open with a wave of her hand, the scene she imagined coming back to is drastically different. She wastes no time in throwing herself on the ground next to the sobbing five-year-old, sitting on the floor in a heap with his head on his papa's chest.
"Roland, honey," Regina calmly starts, rubbing his face and leaning forward so she can look at Robin and make sure he's still breathing. She presses two fingers to the side of his neck and feels a reassuring but weak rhythm there.
Roland meets her eyes and mimics her distraught gaze. "He just fell, Gina. Just fell," his lower lip trembles. "I'm scared," he says, hiccupping. "He's hot. Papa's hot. And I can't waked him up."
Her eyes well up with tears and one lone drop slips down her cheek. "It's okay, sweetheart. Your papa is going to be just fine," she says with a broken smile on her face. It turns into a grimace when her cool fingertips come in contact with Robin's face. He's burning up. She carefully moves him so his head rests in her lap and reaches out to pull up the end of his tunic. Her hands shakes, because she's afraid to look, afraid that she sees those horrifying black veins inching their way up his chest. She swallows the saliva pooling in her mouth and reveals what her heart and her gut already knew.
Tears flow freely now, and she looks up at Roland with pain in her eyes.
"Roland, I need you to go get Little John. Can you do that for me? I need him to help your papa."
"Gina, I don't wanna go," he says, looking at her with the most heart-wrenching expression for a five-year-old.
"I know, sweetheart. But I need you to be my brave, little knight. I need you're help."
He looks at her and then looks at his papa, still unconscious on the ground. He nods and gets up on his tiny legs, he stares at both of the adults on the floor, and then runs as fast his small feet will carry him.
Regina's eyes fall back on the face of her thief, she combs her fingers through his damp, sweaty hair.
"You can't go," she whispers, "You promised you wouldn't leave." She doesn't have control over her tears anymore, her walls and barriers are all broken and crumbled on the ground. He did this to her, he opened her up and showed her light and happiness; he's the reason she's sobbing and shaking. Regina heaves his heavyweight up a little higher, cradled him in her arms, and even though she knows he's not conscious, Robin naturally draws closer to her warmth and love and burrows into her embrace more deeply.
A strangled cry leaves her lips, and she refuses to lose him, wishing for more time, begging and pleading for more time, more of him, more of his love, more of his warm, kind eyes as he looks at her, sees her for who she really is, who she really wants to be. She wishes she could pull the sickness and black and mar from her precious thief and into herself.
Her soulmate.
The epiphany shocks and soothes her at the same time, but she doesn't have the luxury to think on it any further.
Instead, Regina thinks of Robin, she thinks of Henry, she thinks of Roland. She thinks of their belief in her. She thinks of their love, uses it as fuel, and remembers the night she decided to keep her Little Prince.
They cuddle up in the middle of her big bed. He cooes and grips tightly on her pointer finger. Regina's eyes are glassy. She smiles down at the tiny baby next to her, as a few tears glisten and threaten to pour out, overwhelmed by how much she loves him. A sudden sob escapes her mouth, and she is terrified of what ifs and maybes, but, more than anything, she is terrified of what she could lose. It has been years since anything or anyone has been able to find their way into her black heart, years since she's cared or selflessly loved someone, and, in a matter of seconds, Henry has become her everything.
Regina thinks of the first time Henry called her mama, riding bareback on Rocinante, falling in love for the first time, making love to Robin under the branches of a Willow tree, and bedtime stories with Roland. She thinks of her love for them and focuses on drawing out the darkness.
Regina leans down, kisses Robin on his forehead, and a wave of light steals her breath just as Granny and Little John come running into the room. Roland in Little John's arms. She's focusing so intently on Robin that she doesn't notice them, but she does feel it when the pounding in her head becomes excruciating, when her muscles tense and dizziness starts to sink in, and she feels quite close to vomiting.
A small trickle of red that eases its way out her nose, and Granny's eyes go wide in shock.
"Girl!" she shouts in alarm and moves to wipe the blood away, but the magic coming off Regina repels her backward. It's thick and rolling in purple clouds around her and Robin, easing out between the cracks in her fingers. If Granny wasn't so terrified, it'd be a sight to behold, but she's torn as it is between forcing Regina to stop and letting her magic do what it wants.
Regina's arms feel weighed down now, and she adjusts them so Robin is tucked into her as close as possible. She brushes her lips over his fevered, clammy forehead, her eyes rapidly move behind her eyelids, and she trembles slightly, but she refuses to let go. She feels her magic rolling within her, around her and over Robin. She feels electricity wherever her skin touches his skin, and she keeps drawing the darkness away from him, doesn't know how or why this is possible, but she doesn't care.
She feels Robin on the edge, Death wraps its spindly fingers around him, and she angrily pushes back, and, just as she thinks her body can take no more, just as she thinks she's going to collapse, Death recedes and Robin takes in a deep, clear breath and jolts with a start.
He'd been so close to being lost, but she'd anchored him back into the light. Her eyes fly open and it takes everything in her not to put as much distance between herself and her family as possible, the darkness now fighting within her. She blinks a few times and a harsher wave of dizziness sweeps over her. Little John notices kneels down to lift his leader away from her.
"Papa!" Roland shouts, both his hands on his father's face. "Papa, wake up!" His expression animated. "Gina made you all better. Wake up."
Robin blinks tiredly and tries to focus on his son's voice.
"What happened?" He groans and John helps him sit up.
Regina moves to stand. She needs air. She needs light and sunshine and room to breathe.
"Granny, I have to …" She stops and tries to find her balance as she missteps to the right, leaning on the back of her lounge chair.
"Regina?" Granny frowns and steps toward her.
Regina waves her hand at the old woman. "I need…" She turns on shaky legs, stumbles toward where she knows she'll be able to breath again, and strains to push the door open and out into the hallway. She needs to get outside, needs to make it to the courtyard.
Granny follows her outside.
She stumbles down the corridor and weakly pushes the main door open so she can get out of the claustrophobic castle and into the fresh air. Regina takes a labored breath. She sees black spots dance across her vision. Her heart races, and she holds one hand over her stomach, muscles spasming while touching the back of her other hand over her mouth. She feels sick. Regina blinks a few more times and looks up into the dark clouds, into the sun, before the world spins, her body follows and everything goes to black as she falls into a heap on cobble-stoned walkway.
If her eyes had stayed open, Regina would've seen the silver light rippling off her in waves.
Regina wakes to Granny dabbing her clammy brow with a cool cloth. She's back in their room, buried beneath furs and blankets. Robin slouches over the edge, snoring and breathing heavily, brow creased with worry.
"He's been like that for the last half an hour," Granny says, dipping the cloth in the bowl beside her and wringing it out. "Refused to leave your side unless he was checking on Roland."
Regina moves to sit, but Granny's quicker. She leaves the cloth in the bowl and pushes Regina back into the warmth of the bed.
"Roland's fine. Robin's fine. Resting. Just like you were doing. Now stay down, girl." Granny picks the cloth up again, wrings it out and wipes soothing water and the scent of lavender over Regina's brow and into her hairline. "Or I'll give you the same thing I gave him."
Regina looks back at Robin and lightly runs her fingers through his hair.
"He refused to leave you." Granny shakes her head, her voice stern now. It angers her to think the girl has no sense of self worth or preservation.
"You shouldn't have tried to heal him. That was foolish, trying to break the Living Death curse. Took too much from you." Then Granny narrows her eyes and tilts her head down so her glasses slide to the brim of her nose. "Especially because of the baby."
Regina's eyes widen, and she shakes her head in confusion. "No, I'm not–"
"You are," Granny states, tapping her nose. "Trust me, a wolf knows."
"But I … but we …" Regina looks down at her flat stomach and gently, cautiously places a hand there. "Granny, I can't have children. I … Leopold wanted them, but I cast a spell. It couldn't be undone. There's no way I could be … pregnant."
"Hmm, well, it seems to me that you also shouldn't have been able to break that curse on Robin, but you did. So I'd say that whatever the two of you have is much more powerful than some little curse or spell. Are you the one who told Snow that True Love is the most powerful magic of all."
Regina contemplates the old wolf's words and subconsciously rubs her thumb over the fabric of her dress below her belly button. She glances at Robin again.
"He won't wake," Granny says with a gruff, taking the cloth and dropping it back into the bowl. She proceeds to fill a wooden cup with water and brings it to Regina's lips. "He refused to leave you. Would only step out to check on Roland. You're both so foolishly stubborn. Not bothering to take care of yourselves even though your bodies are shouting at you to slow down." Granny shakes her head again, places the cup on the table beside her, and stares hard into Regina's eyes.
"How long have I been out?" Regina asks.
"Three days. He wouldn't go to sleep." Granny stands and pulls a small bundle of herbs out of her apron pocket, thumbing the corner of the paper packet. Regina recognizes it as milk of the poppy. "So I drugged him."
Disclaimer: not mine