Well, this has been an unplanned and entirely too long break between updates, for a bunch of reasons I don't want to bore you with. Let's just skip right back into the story, shall we? But not before I thank you for hanging around and being so patient. Enjoy the antepenultimate chapter!
They'd been several days on the road and the ache was oh so familiar. She'd spent many a time cursing the blisters on her sore feet when their tiny rescue party, Robin and her, had trudged through the Enchanted Forest in search of Roland. It was them again - Robin, Regina, her sore feet and constant heartache because once again, someone she cared for had been ripped away from her.
But he was right there. Regina watched him, as she would every night, set a small fire amid the tiny clearing - just a largish patch of grass without substantial shrubbery, really. Robin, who was right there, so close she could touch him easily if she only reached out. Regina's insides squirmed - that was untrue. He was close enough to the touch of her fingers but she couldn't reach him, the man hiding in the shell of his body.
He didn't talk much, the Robin of this world. Sometimes he'd talk in his sleep, and it would be more than he'd spoken to Regina all day. Not that there was any hostility between them, nothing like the dark, sulky, scornful treatment he'd received from her at the rocky beginnings of their acquaintance. No, she'd concluded after a day or two, he wasn't cold - merely distant, even disconnected from the paths they trod or the streams they crossed. Yet he managed to retain the ready alertness so typical of him. He'd be the first to hear a twig snap under the feet of some animal, large or small; the one to spot mushrooms hidden at the feet of trees; the first to point out the ideal camping spot. Other than the practicalities, however, he simply didn't seek conversation.
Part of her was hurt. No, all of her - all of her was hurting. Not because he seemed to draw no pleasure whatsoever from her company, but because she knew it was better this way. His eyes not probing. Their fingers not brushing. Lips not meeting. That was how it was supposed to be in this universe.
In this universe, they didn't belong together.
Regina slipped through the bushes in search, she reasoned, of more firewood - and a quiet, private moment to set free the heavy sigh building in her chest and the lone tear rolling down her cheek. Having gathered some dead twigs and dry leaves and even a handful of nuts from a sturdy old bush, Regina tried to school her face into a calm expression that would betray none of her inner turmoil once she emerged back at camp. A shrill cry of some bird made her jump and drop her load, the panicked flutter of wings struggling towards the sky immediately sending her into a defensive stance.
Leaves rustled, branches cracked. Something was coming - no, bounding - towards her, and whatever it was, it didn't care the least bit to steer clear of stumps or shrubs or to keep the noise down. The creature was closing in on her, beating about the foliage wildly.
Regina's palm tingled as magic stirred before the thought of it even crossed her mind. But which direction was the attack coming from?
"Get down!"
Regina ducked just as an arrow swished past her ear.
A sharp cry of pain. A thud as the arrowhead pierced the bark of a tree. Footsteps approached her - Robin's footsteps, that trademark lightness of feet necessitated by his trade.
"Are you alright?" he offered his hand to help her rise.
Just like the first time.
Only this time he'd called her Dorothy. That was her own stupid fault for playing it safe, for giving him a false name lest invisible ears caught the real one and tipped Zelena off. Regina was paying heavily for her own cautiousness. Every time the false name passed his lips, tears welled up in her eyes. What a mean, mean world. Here he was, her soulmate, and not only did she have no claim to his kisses, caresses, much less his heart, but she didn't even have this much now, wouldn't even hear her name pass his lips.
"Thank you," she managed, quite unlike the first time, and her stomach flipped as he grasped her hand and pulled her up, keeping a hold on her just long enough to make sure she could stand on her own.
"Don't move," he growled, and Regina was staggered at the harshness of his tone.
His eyes skimmed over her to the forest floor behind, a low grunt meeting his words, the grunt of a man Robin had actually addressed the words to.
The man was crouching beneath a gnarly tree, nursing a bloodied shoulder Robin's arrow had skimmed on its path. The sheepskin had slid off his torso and pooled around his knees in the dirt. A shepherd's crook lay at his feet. There was a familiar air about him, but it took a while before she saw beyond the shades obscuring his face, beyond the shaggy hair and shabby garments. He touched the scratch on his shoulder and a soft curse escaped him.
"David?" Regina gasped. Fortunately, neither man heard her.
Robin grabbed the man by the injured shoulder and pulled him up unceremoniously, indifferent to his agonised groan. It was indeed David, though much skinnier and shabbier than the one Regina knew. A shepherd, not a prince. David yelped as Robin spun him to look him in the face.
"Don't kill me, please," he let out.
Regina stared. This wasn't one bit like the David she knew.
David's eyes dropped to his feet, possibly out of shame or regret at the ugly display, but Robin forced him to look him in the face again.
"Why did you attack the lady?" Robin stormed.
"Didn't mean to. I didn't even know anyone was here."
"That's because we know how to be quiet. What was all the racket for?"
"Chasing away wild beasts."
"Or summoning the Green Knights!"
David shrunk at Robin's words.
"Robin," Regina stepped up, unable to watch the sorry scene any longer. "I think he's telling the truth."
Robin glanced back at her, his eyes cold and steely - a look of utter disdain reserved for the wretched shepherd cowering before him.
"We'll see about that," he grumbled, but she caught the tiny nod in her direction, and turned toward camp.
Robin half-dragged, half-prodded David, who seemed petrified from the encounter still, through the bushes to the smoldering fire. Regina threw on some leaves and twigs. David stared into the flames, fright slowly replaced by quiet reprieve.
"I could treat that shoulder for you."
Her voice seemed to vibrate in the tense air. Robin was still glowering at David even as he cleaned the shaft of the retrieved arrow of his blood.
"It's fine. You're not the Wretched Queen's spies, then?"
Even the thought seemed to frighten him, but could anyone blame the people of this land? The very fact that he'd dared to voice the question made him swallow hard. But he'd asked. That had required some courage, too.
"No, we're her enemies."
Robin's eyes flashed in her direction. Regina bit her lip. He was right, it had been reckless of her. Charming could have been trusted, but this was David the craven shepherd. Who could tell how deep his fear went, what it might drive him to do?
But she knew these men. Their real selves.
"That sort of makes us allies," David finally looked up from his feet.
Robin scoffed. This kind of display, this cold contempt, was so uncharacteristic of him it threw Regina completely off-balance, made her stomach sink.
"I know what you hold me for," David sighed. "A coward." His features froze set in a mask of quiet disdain. "Well, you're right. Which is why I'm here."
"Care to elaborate on that?" Robin snarled, his tone milder by far. Clearly, admitting to a flaw merited some respect.
"Nightroot."
Two pairs of eyes settled on Regina as she spoke, both equally perplexed. Of course. It made sense, didn't it? Certain things had a way of repeating themselves, she'd noticed more than once, though always with a twist. Nightroot coming into the picture was hardly the most shocking thing since Oz. David was a coward on a quest for courage. The irony might have been appreciated once, but now it was merely saddening.
"That's right. Needless to say, I haven't had any luck yet."
"You're in the woods at night, alone. You already possess more courage than you give yourself credit for." Here she was, giving Charming a pep talk. Her. Regina. Giving a pep talk. To a Charming. She could almost have laughed.
"Either that, or you're just a sorry fool." This sounded more like her. Except it had been Robin delivering the tease this time.
The world was upside down, and frankly, the more Regina was seeing, the less she liked it.
Regina stirred the contents of the pot one last time, glancing at David's back some distance away. Robin and he hadn't exactly hit it off - which was strange considering the easy camaraderie they'd struck back in the Enchanted Forest. Not quite the same people, she reminded herself.
Balancing a bowl of broth in each hand, she joined David.
"Dinner," she handed him his share and sank to a nearby stump with her own.
David accepted, but rather than settling down to eat, he looked around with a frown. "Your friend?"
"Scouting."
Robin did that every night, disappearing for any length of time from a mere hour up to half the night. Regina suspected these outings were much like her going off to collect firewood that afternoon - a time for quiet, undisturbed contemplation as much as a practicality.
"We should talk." That came out a little blunt, a little too forward, but she wasn't exactly one for heart to hearts and now wasn't the time to figure it out either. So she just went straight to the point. "What are you really looking for?"
David looked up from his bowl, his hand continuing its motions as he prodded the contents listlessly with his spoon.
"Already told you. Nightroot."
"No," Regina shook her head, "that's just a means. To what end, though?"
A swirl of dust went up as he shuffled his feet. The flash of fear didn't go unnoticed in the brief moment it took him to avert his eyes.
"My life is simply unbearable without a bit of courage," he muttered.
Perhaps Regina could have found some sort of sympathy for him, for he was in fact in company of self-professed traitors to the crown and braver men would be on their guard, but she needed answers and she wanted them immediately.
"I told you about our plans," she reminded him in a low voice - reminiscent of early Evil Queen, only not quite threating so much as reproachful. Wasn't reciprocation the expectation in heart to hearts? She had told him what she and Robin were doing. Not in detail, but she'd volunteered the gist - that the two of them were up against Zelena - and that was plenty to get them in serious trouble should David turn out to be a sneak. If she wanted to pry a little about his life, surely a little more cooperation wasn't too much to ask in return?
David raised his eyes to her face and stared with an intent that made her want to end it right there, to hide or to lash out. She forced herself to stay calm - look calm, at least - because he was weighing his chances, making up his mind whether she could be trusted. She could, but she wasn't exactly sure how to project that at him. Giving it her best, she stared back at him unflinching, unblinking even, arranging her features in what she hoped was a serene and friendly expression. The things she had to resort to, when a simple spell could have him spilling his guts to her - but that wasn't her way now.
"Have you ever been in love, Dorothy?"
The question landed like a punch to her gut. Regina blinked rapidly, fighting back tears, and clenched her fists to quench the stirrings of anger. The name grated, even from David it rubbed her the wrong way, and what business did he have asking such things anyway? Hitting so close to home?
Reciprocation. Was this him seeking to connect before he confided in her?
"Yes," she stuttered through gritted teeth. That was all she was giving him, and it would have to be enough.
He regarded her some more, the silence stretching longer.
"Fine," David conceded eventually, and Regina let out a sigh of relief. "Who knows, might even turn out a good idea." He seemed to seriously doubt it but went on nonetheless. "There's this woman I love. She's promised to another, and our only chance is to run away." He paused, pulling himself together.
Regina didn't mind; she suddenly had plenty to deal with herself. A couple in love and an arranged marriage standing in their way with plans to elope - if David was seeking for a connection here, he'd found one, and he had no idea, couldn't possibly know just what an effect his words were having on her. Regina struggled to keep her emotions in check - this wasn't, after all, about her and Daniel. It was about David and - who? Was his chosen one Snow White? Regina could hardly imagine anything else, yet in this realm anything was possible.
"So-" she cleared her throat, "you're plucking up courage to elope?"
"I don't know if it's even possible. We might not stand a chance - even with me not being the coward I am. Powerful forces at play. Powerful people."
"Does this have anything to do with the Wre-" Regina found she didn't have it in her to use the moniker and went quickly on, "the queen?"
David's eyes widened, then narrowed at her. He still didn't trust Regina. What an unfortunate sentiment to carry with him from "their" world - although to be fair, they had spent most of their lives being enemies before they'd recently become allies and…family?
The word did something to her, stirred something in her chest, and her gut came ready with the answer David still hesitated to give.
"It's Snow White, isn't it?"
The way his jaw dropped in shock and his eyes softened at the sound of the name was answer enough. Regina bit her lip and smiled a crooked smile. They'd found each other. Even in this accursed universe, the two idiots had found each other.
"So it seems we have a- a common enemy. Maybe we could join forces once I find the nightroot and - I'm actually some use."
"You won't find any." Regina had given it some thought and she was sure of it. If Lake Nostos had been rendered useless, so would other magical substances. Zelena seemed to have taken precautions against anyone willing to wield magic and possibly use it against her. Or perhaps she was just that greedy. "She'll have claimed it all for her private use."
"Then I'm doomed." He stared at his hands for a good while, then squared his shoulders. "I cannot just give up. If there's a single leaf out there, I will find it."
"It's the root you need."
David's shoulders slumped again and he shook his head listlessly. Regina cursed inwardly. Yes, well, that hadn't been the most considerate thing to say, this little factual correction, but part of her insisted even now that she'd been right to point this out to him, to warn him that his endeavour was misinformed and as such, futile.
David seemed utterly off-kilter. If Regina were to guess, she'd say up until now he'd at least had a plan, no matter how fearful, to stick to, but now he'd been robbed of even that. There was something utterly miserable about an out-of-hope Charming. Heavens knew how the bottomless optimism they'd usually been overflowing with had grated on Regina's nerves; but this was even worse.
"We're going to destroy her," she found herself saying, leaning forward to get his attention. "With Zelena gone, you and Snow will be free to live your happy ending."
Great. Now she sounded like a Charming. Regina could almost kick herself.
David seemed doubtful, but at least he'd meet her eyes again, and with a spark of determination in his own, even. "I need to keep her safe. Get her out of the dungeons before the fighting."
What fighting? Did he imagine Zelena would be brought down with rusty blades and pointy sticks? A shepherd's crook?
"I thought Snow had been banished from the palace, on the run and hiding in the woods?"
"Recaptured and imprisoned until the wedding." David gathered a fistful of dirt and ground his fist, letting the fine dust fall through his fingers. Now, this David, with his mouth set and brow knitted, was closer to finding the courage he sought than ever. "Damn Prince James."
George's son. A heartless bastard just like the father who'd raised him. Zelena was out to destroy Snow's life, and more brutally so than Regina had ever thought to. With all the horrors the Evil Queen had once considered unleashing on her step-daughter, a loveless marriage had never crossed her mind, the thought of it too vile even with her thirst for vengeance, even though she would never have admitted then to any kind of fate being too vile for the hated girl.
"I'm coming with you," David cut through her thoughts. Before Regina could in any way react, he held up his hands in defense. "I know I'm a burden. But hear me out. You said all the nightroot will be in the palace. Maybe I can get my hands on some. I can swing a staff pretty well. I can actually be of use."
Teaming up with the Charmings? It was becoming something of a pattern. Even as she fought the impending eyeroll, she felt the corners of her mouth tug upwards. This was familiar, a remnant of real in this upside-down parallel universe, a reminder of what she was fighting to regain.
"You're in."
David's mouth formed a surprised O, then a small laugh broke out of him.
"Under one condition," she added. "I get to tell Robin." What she didn't say was the reason - Robin wouldn't like this. It went without saying, though, she could see David understood as he looked over his shoulder to the empty place by the fire.
Robin still wasn't back, and it'd been a good while since he'd left. Regina knew it well, had felt it in Neverland, that horrible crowded sense, the need to escape into solitude. Tonight, Robin seemed to need an extra dose of escape. It was unreasonable of her to feel dejected for it, utterly uncalled for, perfectly unjustified, and incredibly selfish. She understood, she really did. But it still pained her to no longer be a comfort to him, to be, apparently, a burden instead. It hurt all the more because it was one of the things she'd dreaded while they'd been together in Storybrooke - that he'd get tired of her, that the charm would wear off and he'd see all her bruises in a new light. And flee. And now he was avoiding her-
David was saying something, and Regina forced herself to listen because something dark and cold was creeping up on her and perhaps conversation would help scatter it.
"…a fork in the road this afternoon and wanted to take the other way, but then I saw a snowdrop peeking out from the grass. So I followed that path, and in the end stumbled upon you - probably the only two people in the kingdom bold enough to rise against the queen. Snowdrops aren't even in season now. It's almost like the universe wanted me to find you."
Regina shivered - she'd heard almost the exact same words from an amnesiac David before, in the kitchen of 108 Mifflin Street after a dinner of lasagna and wine.
A second later, a load of firewood clattered to the ground and the flames roared higher as Robin, just returned, had fed it a log. Regina caught his eyes for a moment, noticed the frown and the tension in his face, the glare he sent in David's direction, before he turned his back on the two of them.
"Can we trust him?"
Robin wouldn't look at her as he spoke, fiddling with some small object hidden in his hands. Regina took her time, a spark of irritation creasing her forehead as she sat. She glanced at David curled up in his sheepskin.
"Yes," she said and left it at that.
The silence lingered on, and where it had once been easy and comfortable, now it weighed down on them. There was no tension, or not the kind she'd feared there'd be. Robin seemed to have no desire to know her, learn to read her, talk to her, or even be near her. He didn't seem attracted to her at all. And this was good, she had to remind herself. Because it was. It was good. It meant he wasn't suffering from it, the guilt he'd surely face if he discovered even a shred of inappropriate stirring for a woman other than his wife. Regina should be relieved, and for Robin's sake, she was. But it wounded her. The absence of everything she'd known to have existed between them was almost causing her physical pain. Something should have lingered, shouldn't it? They were soulmates after all.
But maybe not here. In this world, they were nothing.
And for him, it was for the best. But pain was selfish. It didn't care, it wouldn't go, it clung to her every step she travelled alongside this lover turned stranger.
Robin repeated the question more insistently, and even though the actual words eluded her again, she guessed the intent.
"He's in love with Snow White." Yes, Snow and Charming at least had found each other even in this world. Good for them. "He'd never betray anyone to the person hunting her down. Plus, Zelena intends to marry her off to someone else."
"So that's why he's so hellbent on changing. He wants to fight for her."
This time, Robin's voice didn't drip sarcasm. The hard stance he'd taken with David might just be eased by this one fact. Robin knew how it was to fight for love, after all. Unlike David's, Robin's foe couldn't be defeated, but perhaps the common denominator would be enough to make the men civil, if not friendly.
"What else?" Robin asked, cutting into her thoughts once again.
"Nothing, that's it." They had talked more extensively, but she'd given Robin the gist. Why all the interest anyway, in a man Robin had already seemed to condemn the moment he'd seen him cowering at his feet? (Robin, who never condemned anyone, not even the infamous Evil Queen.) Why did he suddenly want to chat?
"You talked a while." His tone made no sense. Why would it come across so brusque, almost accusatory?
And just like that, her anger flared, stifling out every other contending emotion, like she'd welcomed for it to do on so many occasions.
"Well I've had a bit of a dry spell in the conversation department," she huffed, "so you'll excuse me if I take to the idea when there's someone interested."
"I didn't mean to shut you out."
It was the way he said it - repentant. And the way he rubbed the back of is neck - abashed. All the anger she'd been flooded with evaporated in a blink.
"I think you did," she sighed. "It's alright." I used to do that, too. In a way, one could almost say it was his turn to build walls. "I've no right to berate you for keeping private."
Regina waited. For what? For Robin to speak? To bare his soul to her because they had a connection he couldn't understand but couldn't deny either? Well, she might as well forget that, because he remained still.
Her eyes burnt from the smoke.
Maybe it wasn't the smoke.
"Robin, you're free to go," she choked out, and no, it definitely wasn't the smoke. "Your debt to me is paid."
Robin glanced at her briefly, then at the dark outline of David's body under the skeepskin.
"He wouldn't have hurt you, so I never saved your life. Even if I had, it'd make no difference." A tiny crack later, he added: "I'm doing this." Gentle. Almost like a caress.
Her heart was torn between soaring and sinking. I'm doing this. What did that mean, exactly? Regina chanced a look at him. Not his face, that felt too overwhelming somehow, but his feet, the tips of his boots. She followed his shins, up and up, but not too high up before her eyes stopped at the hands resting on his knees, still fiddling with that small object. Flames reflected off of the small glass vial. A crack ran so long and deep across the container it was a miracle it hadn't quite snapped in two yet. It looked empty. Then it clicked. The water. Lake Nostos.
"What did you want it for?"
She'd spoken quietly, so quietly he could choose to ignore her if he so preferred.
For a good while, it seemed he might, then the words passed his lips on a sigh.
"My wife."
So he did indeed have a wife. And was about to lose her, like he had before.
"She took ill a few months ago. There's no helping her." He rubbed at his cheek - a slow, weary gesture lacking in urgency. He didn't bother to hide the tears, and she wished, more than anything, to never have asked the wretched question, or even started up a conversation at all. Regina hurt for him so much even his next words, tricky as they would prove for her to respond to, were embraced without hesitation.
"What did you need it for?" he asked, and as he hadn't tried to hide his misery from her, so she, too, gave an honest reply.
"Too use against Zelena."
"Is that what I'm helping you steal?" He'd already informed her, early on, that she was dealing with a thief wanted by the queen, had confessed to having stolen from Zelena once, and as such to being in a unique position to help Regina break into the castle and into the vault. "Is it a piece of magic? Something to defeat her with?"
"Sort of." This felt all wrong, though, she wasn't telling him enough. But how much was too much? "Not quite. And we're not stealing. We're…retrieving."
Robin's eyes narrowed. His searching gaze lacked the usual subtlety but not genuine interest.
"I understand if you don't want to divulge the details. But your secrets would be safe with me."
It was out before she could help it, the words tumbling out so fast there was a good chance he might not catch them at all.
"It's a heart."
Robin sat back slowly with a frown creasing his brow.
"This- is no metaphor. Not a heart-shaped gem," he said. "An actual heart."
Regina nodded. The thought was disturbing of course, she could see that, but something about the way he was staring at her made her wonder if that really was all there was to it. He seemed to be waiting for something, for her to elaborate. And could she blame him? Could she blame herself if she yearned to tell him everything?
"Mine," she breathed.
His jaw dropped. His hand went up and his fingers flexed, making a fist against his chest. Only then did he seem to become aware of his hand opening and closing, brought it to his eyes and stared at it for a moment before he looked back at her.
"Yours?" he repeated in a voice thick and strained to the point of breaking.
Instead of the relief she'd been hoping for, Regina tensed even more. He was taking this much worse than she'd anticipated. She couldn't quite wrap her head around the impulsive gesture of his fist a moment before. It was almost as if he were scared. Defensive? Was he wondering if his own heart was at risk, too? Robin's eyes were on her, boring into hers with so many questions that didn't pass his lips. She let them. Let them watch, let them read. He'd once been able to read so much there, perhaps now it'd help him understand what even words couldn't accomplish.
"You don't have a-?" he swallowed, sounding slightly more collected at last.
"No. I don't."
He bit his lip - not the coy, maddening way that would send little shocks through her belly, but like one weighing his thoughts.
"How does that work? Can you-?"
"Feel? Yes, I can." Only not fully. It's difficult to explain. It could go just the way it had, couldn't it? Use mine for the both of us. No, it couldn't. It wouldn't. So she changed it up, only a little, only to make this glaring difference a tad less painful. "Only it's- different." A deep breath. In, and out again. Move to safer ground. "She doesn't go around ripping hearts out, then?"
"There have been rumours," he conceded. "I know for a fact she doesn't have mine, though."
Regina waited for an explanation, though in fact she didn't need one. It hurt too much to be missing, he was saying. But he didn't voice that sentiment. What he said instead shouldn't have been a shock to her, but it was still an unpleasant surprise.
"I've made a deal."
"With Rumplestiltskin?"
"I se the Dark One's reputation transcends realms."
"I've- heard of him. And the price of magic."
"It's not too bad, actually."
That worried her more than anything. It was always bad, and all the worse if that wasn't obvious from the start.
"Sometimes you don't see it until it's claimed more than you'd expected it to."
"That might be. Rumplestiltskin asked my help for a person unknown, and I searched for them ever since, anxious to have it over. Yet at the same time I was dreading the encounter because I was sure they'd be someone horrible, up to commit some atrocious act in which I'd have to partake. Instead, they're the one to find me in the end, saving my life, and it turns out their purpose is one I'd always striven for but was too little to reach. In this respect, the price of this magic seems like no price at all."
"Why would he send you to me?" How did Rumple even know? Well, he had always known more than was desirable for the rest of the world. Perhaps he'd managed to retain a shred of self-awareness in yet another curse-like situation - he'd certainly secured himself an advantage or two during Regina's curse. Perhaps Rumple wanted this to be undone, too - he'd have to. An ally like him would be of much help, but there was no use getting her hopes up. Zelena had the dagger. They were fortunate to have had Rumple slip from her reins enough to set Robin in Regina's direction.
"He doesn't seem too fond of the queen, even though they're allies." He leaned forward. "This queen is a formidable foe, milady. You've seen the state of the land to give you an idea what it is like to live - and, far too often, die - under her rule. But know this: there's more, and there's worse. Horrors you cannot possibly imagine."
Regina bowed her head. That was just it - she could imagine. It would be so much easier to say nothing, yet even the thought filled her with guilt. She'd wanted him to see her for who she was after all, not who she'd like him to believe her to be.
"I know all too well about unimaginable horrors one embittered, darkened soul is capable of. The lengths to which they'll go, depths to which they'll sink… I know only too well."
"This is personal, isn't it? Yet I hear no hatred in your words. Sadness, yes, but not hatred."
"We have too much in common."
"I can't imagine you having anything in common with a woman like her."
"What if I told you I used to be much like her once, in a different world?"
"I wouldn't believe it."
"You don't believe such a change is possible?" He didn't know, couldn't know, how much depended on his answer. Suddenly, his next words meant everything to her. It felt so easy, so tempting to overlook the flaws of the ones you loved. Here, now, he wasn't in love with her, wasn't attracted to her in any way that could distort his perception. Would he condemn her now?
"I know change is possible." A smile, nay, a laugh was ready on her lips, barely contained as he spoke on. "I like to believe I have changed for the better. But it's impossible for me to think of the queen in those terms. This is personal for me as well."
The smile faded before it could curve her lips, the laugh dying in her chest.
"Well, it's a good thing you don't believe me then."
Robin tossed and turned for a good while before falling into a restless sleep rent with dreams of the mystery woman screaming in agony as skeletal fingers ripped the warm, beating heart from her chest while Robin looked on, unable to move or call out for help. He would jerk awake and wait for long stretches of time to fall asleep again, only to return to the wretched dream, only this time the mystery woman would be replaced by the one huddled under a blanket a short distance away. Dawn found him staring into the smoldering remnants of the fire, too distraught by such visions to have the slightest desire to go back to sleep again.
His recurring dream appeared to have been nothing short of prophetic. If had meant something to the Dark One, clearly. Had Rumplestiltskin been searching for the right person, the right dream, all along? Was Robin meant to do this - to retrieve her heart, to return it to her?
He still felt unease creeping onto him, spreading from his stomach and through his chest at the thought of her heartless. Images from the dream had swum to the surface of his mind as she'd told him, and he'd found himself gripping thin air where the leather satchel would hang from his neck in the dream every night. Was she the one haunting his dreams all this while? He'd only ever really seen the eyes of the ethereal woman, and they did look remarkably like hers - at least that was what he'd established when he'd allowed himself to stare the previous night. And she'd let him.
This was remarkable, for she'd been so very reluctant to even look at him that time she'd dragged him out of the lake and revived him. Yet last night she'd let him look as much as he wanted. There'd been a strange intimacy to it, and he winced inwardly as he thought back on it now - his actions seemed so much more invasive somehow, so brash and inconsiderate. He had a faint memory of emotions flashing through those eyes, a play of shadows and light, an occasional glimmer that he hadn't paid attention to because all he'd been trying to do was look if the two pairs of eyes - the one from his dreams and the one he knew in flesh - could possibly be a match. It felt foolish now, a waste, and Robin tried to track that faint guilt he was experiencing to its source. He'd found those eyes so very eloquent from almost the moment they'd met, and yet now that he'd been given the chance to look, to study, to read, well, he'd wasted it on a dream.
A remarkable dream, though, persistent and intriguing. Meaningful somehow, though despite the obvious parallels with reality, he felt its true meaning was still eluding him.
Robin lifted himself from the ground with a sigh, rekindled the fire and threw on the last remaining logs. The shepherd was snoring away under the sheepskin; Robin didn't give him more than a glance. His gaze lingered on her instead, just two steps away now, the blanket rising and falling with her breath. The woman he'd been tasked to find, the one who'd saved him from the siren's clutches, the one with her heart missing. The one with the mesmerising eyes-
Robin hissed and snatched his hand from the flames, cursing under his breath at the sight of singed skin. It was a harmless but painful burn he was nursing now as a price for his distraction. All the more reason fro him to truly wake up and occupy himself with something more useful than idle speculation. Water would be needed for the fire as well as to replenish their drinking supplies, so Robin moved to retrieve the water skins.
As he busied himself with the bags, a twig broke somewhere in the ticket. He held his breath for a moment but continued to fiddle with the skins, giving away nothing. The sun was coming up slowly, rising above the horizon and scattering soft light through the leaves, but the bush the sound had come from was still cast in shadow. He rose and set off in the direction of a small stream he'd come across the night before, never looking around as he disappeared in the trees.
He walked for a while, his footsteps louder than necessary, then took a wide berth and returned to the edge of the clearing without so much as a rustle, sneaking with speed and skill until he reached the shade of the large bush. It only took a moment and a trill of a thrush for him to understand the lurker had moved on. He crept closer and peered through the foliage.
Just as he thought, he was on to an adversary. It was impossible to make out more than tangled, matted hair and shabby clothes verging on rags really, but sure enough, the lurker had approached Robin's bedroll and was going through his meagre possessions even as he watched. This could be a common thief, a villager or a straggler desperate for food but otherwise harmless. But it could also be a threat; starvation made people desperate.
The hunched figure finished with Robin's bag and began to crawl over towards his still sleeping companion, who didn't as much as stir.
Robin stepped out of the thicket.
"You're not a very skillful thief," he stated dryly, his hand on the knife behind his belt, his eyes trained on the intruder. One false move and he'd throw. His skills with the knife didn't match up to the bow and arrow, but he'd do well enough at such short range.
The thief jumped up and scuttled away from him, away from them and towards David, who'd apparently gone unnoticed so far. After two hasty steps, however, he stopped in his tracks and turned to face Robin with an almost defiant expression.
She. She'd turned to face him.
"I learn by doing," she said. A flash of fear crossed her features as her eyes dropped to the knife he was still clutching, but her voice didn't waver. "Not much guidance to be found when people would rather starve than risk the Wretched Queen's wrath."
Robin's hold on the hilt slackened a notch, though he didn't remove his hand. The resentment in the girl's voice was unmistakable. Despite her forlorn looks and shabby garments, her speech was that of a noble rather than a peasant. A vague suspicion sunk in but before it could take proper shape, the girl's eyes flitted around the clearing and, seeing she was at a disadvantage now and potentially outnumbered, she moved like a flash, grabbed the satchel she'd dropped and made for the trees.
"Stop!" Robin drew the knife. They couldn't afford any risks, not so close to their destination. "Or I'll make you!"
The girl ran on. Robin aimed and threw. There was a shout, nooooo, and a blur of sheepskin throwing itself into the knife's path but missing, falling to the ground in time with the unfortunate thief who'd almost reached the coveted shelter of the forest. Almost.
"Snow!" David cried, the implication just about freezing Robin's blood, and scrambled to his feet.
Then everything seemed to stop as all eyes rested upon the knife - Robin's knife - frozen in midair inches from where Snow's heart had been a moment ago.
Dorothy's arm was outstretched, her palm tingling with the same shimmery substance holding up the knife.
"You saved my life," the thief - none other than Snow White, apparently - turned to her with wide eyes, still on the ground for some inexplicable reason, seeing as the knife meant for her was still hanging in midair.
Dorothy swallowed and let her hand fall to her stomach. Her eyes were no less wide than Snow White's, and misty for some reason. Granted, the banished princess was a sore sight - the rumours of the Wretched Queen dressing her in rags proven to be true - and the girl had seen more hunger than royal feasts recently, and hardly any sleep. Yet the sheer profoundness of Dorothy's shock seemed to unsettle even Snow White, who was finally helped to her feet by a fussing David.
"Are you alright?" David and Dorothy managed in unison, and Robin couldn't shake the feeling that something bizarre was in the works here.
For a moment, a good long one, Snow was lost in a fierce embrace, all sheepskin and rags.
Robin moved to Dorothy's side and, musing at her laboured breathing, a lone tear despite the soft smile as she watched the couple's reunion, he placed a hand on her lower back without a second thought.
The knife clattered to the ground. Her glance went to him for a split second, all fear and hope and so much else he didn't catch before she stepped away from him.
Snow White approached her. "Thank you-"
"D-Dorothy," she supplied, and Robin thought it sounded about as shaky as the time she'd volunteered the name to him.
"There's a guard positioned here," Snow jabbed the stick in between criss-crossing lines drawn in the dirt, "here, and here. Impossible to sneak this many people in unnoticed."
Breakfast hadn't even commenced yet and it had already been agreed that they were now a team of four, joining forces to try and throw off the Wretched Queen's yoke. Dorothy seemed to have an uncanny sense of affiliation to Snow White, which Robin thought even the girl had noticed and failed to understand. Any qualms Robin might have had about being so quick to welcome another stranger to their circle had been, if not vanquished, lessened at least. If you cannot trust me, who can you trust? Snow had pointed out, quite correctly, between two mouthfuls of the bread and cheese she'd been wolfing down. Robin had eyed her with worry, for a sudden abundance of food could do a shrunken stomach more bad than good, while David had gazed on fondly and kept feeding her choice bites of his own helping. It had been Dorothy who'd eventually pried the large chunk of cheese from Snow White's grip with the promise of more later - and, to everyone's surprise, the girl had offered no resistance. She'd seized a stick and began sketching a plan of the castle for them, pointing out entrances, obstacles and traps - the ones she knew about, at least.
"But could you sneak two in?" Dorothy asked.
"Not this way. But," the point of the stick hovered above the plan, then made a mark at the foot of one of the castle walls. "I could here. I know a woman in the kitchens. She'll let us in."
"You and David," Dorothy nodded. "Robin and I will take a different route." So their part of the plan was unchanged, then. Did they even need to bring Snow and David into this? It would be highly impractical to rejoin within the castle walls and guide not only Regina but two other people through the traps and into the vault. No, that was a risk Robin wasn't willing to take.
"I might have missed something," David spoke up for the first time in a while, "but what exactly are we supposed to do once we're in."
Dorothy licked her lip. She had the habit of doing that in awkward situations, it seemed. Perhaps she didn't trust them so readily after all. Then again, she more than likely was keeping plenty of information from him as well. Which was perfectly understandable and even reasonable, unlike the pang of disappointment the thought called forth.
"There's a sword somewhere," she began. "Steel with a black hilt inlaid with gold, a curved guard and golden pommel."
"There are hundreds of swords in the armoury."
"This one would be kept separately, perhaps even mounted in a place of honour. A boast, so to speak. A token of power."
Snow White's eyes widened.
"In the audience chamber. The whole idea of one is absurd of course, no one's foolish enough to ever ask for that witch's help. But there's a sword just like the one you describe. She tried to use it at a beheading once, but its blade turned into water in her hands." A curious gleam appeared in her eyes that rendered Snow White's face malicious rather than pitiful. "Later it was discovered high on a wall, guarded by some mysterious, invisible shield even Zelena's powers are useless against. Word has it no one can retrieve it."
"Good. You'll need to get that sword."
A heart - Robbin shivered at the thought and his eyes dropped to Regina's chest before he realised what he was doing and looked up at he face again - and a mysterious sword that wouldn't do the Wretched Queen's bidding. This would no doubt be a remarkable mission.
"I've already tried," Snow White admitted, "and failed." Her voice dripped bitterness, and it wasn't hard to guess the rest: she'd hoped to find an ally in the sword, a weapon against the queen, one of the few things animate or inanimate that would resist the queen's power. It must have been a bitter disappointment indeed.
Dorothy reached out and touched the girl's arm, but her eyes rested on David.
"It must be you," she said.
Well, if there was one thing as unifying as their dislike of the queen, it was their utter bafflement at Dorothy's statement. Yet it was David who seemed most shocked.
"Me? Of all people, I doubt I'll be wor-"
"Of course you're worthy!" Snow White exclaimed and rested an affectionate palm on David's cheek.
"I don't think it's a good idea, I wouldn't want to ruin this - or put you in danger." He wound his arms tighter around the princess, and perhaps she was about to protest, but instead she ended up melting under his touch.
Envy bubbled up in Robin, black and sticky, because he had this and was about to lose it. The envy brought shame with it, shame that he should begrudge them what anyone could see was true and deep. Dorothy could see it, too, a shaky smile on her lips. When their eyes met she rolled hers, such a display, but the watery smile stayed on. She certainly felt things deeply, even without her heart. He wondered if that was the usual way of things or if she was special in that way.
She is special.
"Sorry," David looked up eventually, "surely you understand that for a coward like m-"
"You're doing this," Dorothy cut in, and there was no trace of gentleness now in her features or her voice, both of them sharp and authoritative. "It's the price of nightroot."
By the looks of it, the queen had scoured the land and confiscated just about every item of magical properties for her exclusive use. If they were right, she'd be the sole possessor of a stock of the healing waters of Lake Nostos and the courage-invoking night root. The sword in exchange for the courage David so desperately sought. It was a clever move, and it worked.
"I'll do it," David said through gritted teeth, his voice unwavering and his eyes trained on Snow.
"That's settled then."
Armed with everyone's water skins now, Robin made his way to the stream. He wasn't exactly comfortable leaving them behind like that - leaving Dorothy with two strangers, practically, whom he still couldn't find it in himself to fully trust. Trust didn't come easily to him anymore, not after he'd lost the friends he'd cared about, and not in this wreck of a kingdom where it was a fight for the common man just to survive. But Dorothy had sent him off with a reassuring nod, and so he went.
His head throbbed as he began filling the skins, the cool water pleasant against his skin. No matter how hard he tried to sort out his thoughts, there only seemed to be more and more questions springing up by the minute. Dorothy, his peculiar dream, the Dark One's price and how they tied together. David the cowardly shepherd and exiled princess Snow White the unskilled bandit in rags, their motives, their reliability, their connection to Dorothy. They didn't seem to be aware of a connection, but she did.
With the skins full and his fingers numb with cold, Robin made his way back to camp. He saw the smoke rising above the treetops from a long way away - too far away, in fact. Did neither of them realise too big a fire might alert someone of their presence? He moved faster, long strides crushing twigs without any care for noise or no noise, apprehension driving him forward.
There were voices shouting, male voices that certainly didn't belong to David.
Robin broke into a run, dashed through the overgrowth and was about to burst into the clearing when Dorothy's voice made him stop in his tracks.
"There's no one here but my husband and I, sirs, and the sheep. Poor soul."
Robin sought shelter in a leafy bush and inched closer until he finally came within sight of the clearing.
Two soldiers stood with their feet planted in the ground, swords drawn, the steel tinted green just like their armour. Robin's fists clenched at the sight. He'd faced many a Green Knight in the past, most of them no more than a common cutthroat.
David was barely standing, supporting himself against a tree trunk, as blood trickled down his swollen lip. Dorothy, however, stood unflinching, not proud exactly, not provoking, just the right amount of humility to pass for innocence. Snow White was nowhere to be seen.
"You lost a sheep in the forest, huh?" the tall, lean one scoffed.
"We did," Dorothy nodded, "and must find her if we're not to starve."
"Funny. Betchoo were poaching. Or 'arbouring a criminal."
"We wouldn't dare," Dorothy smiled sweetly. "Who'd defy the queen?"
"That brat Snow White."
Leaves rustled and Robin looked up. There she was, perched in the top of a tree, perfectly visible and yet hidden from the soldier's eyes. Climbing trees at least seemed to be a skill she'd mastered.
"You'd think she'd be 'appy to marry up but nope, ungrateful li'l-"
"Enough," the squat, broad one boomed and brandished his sword. "Give her up. We've been following her for days, this is the only suitable campsite around, she'd have passed and you'd have seen her. Where is she?"
"We saw no one," David spoke with such resolution as Robin hadn't yet heard from him.
"Your husband is a liar and a scum," Pumpkin spat and made a step towards Dorothy. "You could do better, you know."
Beanstalk laughed and licked his lips, ogling her.
Robin dropped the skins and fumbled at his belt. Damn! The knife wasn't with him - it was still lying where it had dropped, he'd never collected it. He had no bow, no arrows, no knife - no weapons on him whatsoever.
The man took another step towards Dorothy. David moved away from the tree but he wasn't swift enough. Pumpkin swung a mighty left hook at him and sent him stumbling to the ground. Beanstalk groped after Dorothy, crude obscenities raining from his mouth. Robin's blood boiled, bile rose in his throat. He grabbed the water skins, two and two tied together for easier grip, dashed into the clearing and, for lack of a better weapon, hurled the first pair at the son of a bitch. Beanstalk roared at the impact but the skins were a mere distraction, couldn't harm him, and rather than lashing out at Robin as he'd hoped he would, the soldier went after Dorothy again. Magic gleamed in her palm but before she could dispatch it, the man had thrown herself at her, pinning her to the ground.
Somewhere to the side David was being beaten to pulp by Pumpkin, but Robin couldn't find it in himself to care right now, not when she was in danger. He charged and toppled on top of Beanstalk, wrestling him off of Dorothy. The man was strong as an ox, though, he was putting up a fight, and the combined weight of the two of them was crushing her for sure. Robin twisted the man's arm, sustained a kick in the crotch - whether from the ruffian or the writhing Dorothy he couldn't tell - groaned and twisted harder, seeing stars from the pain.
Beanstalk shifted at last, trying to slip from Robin's grasp, and as he did, Robin's eyes locked with Dorothy's. The fear he saw there, the silent plea, awoke a beast in him even the sight of a Green Knight or the thought of the Wretched Queen couldn't. It was the same beast he'd become after the death of each of his friends - John and Tuck and Alan, Much and Will - and the same one that'd been lying dormant while Marian lay ill because there was no enemy to unleash it on. But the beast was very much awake now, and its claws sunk into the soldier's muscles where no armour guarded them, ripping out flesh and veins. Finally, amid agonised screams, Beanstalk began to scramble away, and Robin let him, but only until he was sure Dorothy was no longer in danger, and then he went after him anew.
They rolled on the ground together, kicking and punching and even biting wherever they reached, then came to a halt as they hit another squirming couple - David was still holding his own against Pumpkin after all. But not for long - as Robin fought on, he'd only just caught David being knocked unconscious from the corner of his eye. Pumpkin rose, and there was a double cry of "David!" and "Robin!" as both Snow White and Dorothy- What? Cried out in fear? Issued a warning?
Robin rolled them over, giving up his hard-earned spot on top, and saw Pumpkin towering over them with his sword pointing downward. A jet of bright light hit him square in the chest. Pumpkin staggered and dropped the sword. A moment later, Snow fell from the sky, landed just behind Pumpkin, and cut the man's throat in one swift motion.
A punch to the stomach knocked the air out of Robin - his attention had slipped for a moment too long, and now he was paying in pain. Once Robin's grip on him had slackened, Beanstalk used the chance to run for it. He crawled away, then rose to his feet and stumbled towards Dorothy. A fireball sat on her palm, a protective shield rather than a threat of attack, and even though her face was set, the line of her mouth seemed too thin and her face too pale for it to be just defiance - she was scared. Robin spat out the blood from his split lip while he notched and arrow.
But Beanstalk seemed to have no fight left in him. He swerved past Dorothy and made for the forest. Her shoulders relaxed visibly as he did, but Robin was still seeing red: he still had her frightened eyes before him and the brutish man upon her, the smell of his long gone friends' funeral pyres was upon him, and his Marian's untimely but nearing end. Beanstalk, still running for the trees, wasn't a common mercenary now - he was all those things, all the things the monster lurking within Robin hungered to vanquish. No, he wasn't getting away.
Robin drew back as far as the bowstring would give and released.
Snow took the lead once the campfire had been extinguished and their possessions gathered. The road curved and wound around rocks and across dried-up riverbeds. David was chatting away beside Regina, but thankfully didn't seem to require conversation. He made do with the occasional noncommittal sound she'd make in response, and chatter on. Slightly annoying, but at least he was managing to cope with the stress. Robin would sometimes part from the group to scout ahead or double back, making sure there would be no more unpleasant surprises. Regina hadn't spoken to him that day, at least not beyond plans and strategies and the frantic exchange of his are you quite alright? and her own reassuring yes, even though it wasn't entirely true.
Snow cast her a furtive over-the-shoulder look, and Regina fixed hers on Robin's back. His boots were kicking up a curious yellowish dust the road had taken on as they were nearing their destination. Then he disappeared behind a bend in the road, as did Snow and David. Once Regina turned the corner, she found Snow waiting for her. She fell into step with Regina without an explanation, and Regina braced herself for whatever interrogation she might be subjected to. But Snow remained quiet, so much so that Regina began to relax and even steal glances at her profile. This Snow's features seemed sharper somehow and more defined, almost gaunt. Her complexion was nowhere near as white as snow but had a greyish - greenish? - tinge. She didn't look healthy. Regina's fist curled into her pocket and she bit the inside of her cheek. She mustn't let her distress show, or it would arouse even more suspicion.
"Maybe you're not Zelena's spy after all."
It came as a surprise and at the same time it didn't. Regina'd noticed Robin's questioning looks and Snow's bewilderment; even David had seemed to suspect something at one point. Regina'd been remarkably welcoming - what a strange thought - of these supposed strangers, too invested in Snow's fate especially. There would be questions on their minds, and as justified as their curiosity was, Regina wasn't prepared to answer them. The truth was too messy to explain, and anything less just felt wrong.
"I just don't understand," Snow shook her head, "why you'd risk so much for a stranger. Even with a common enemy."
"We need your help."
"You accepted it, but you didn't seem to require it before."
Of course Snow wouldn't be happy with Regina's elusive response, she'd always had to nag for answers, had wanted to know more, to be allowed closer.
"Fine. I didn't want you to be dragged back to the castle and-" Regina's nails dug into her palms, "forced to marry against your will."
Snow stopped and held out an arm before Regina.
"Why?" For the first time, her voice actually sounded like her own, free of the bitter undertones it carried in this world. "It's customary in this land."
"Just because it is doesn't mean it should be."
Snow regarded her for a long while. Then her face split into a smile, and - yes, this was Snow White as Regina knew her.
"Seems we have more than an enemy in common. You despise arranged marriages just as much as I do."
"I wouldn't wish one on my worst enemy." And she never had. Not even Snow, not even at the height of her hatred. There'd been precious little the Evil Queen'd had qualms about, but this had been one of them.
"They'd have killed David."
"Probably," Regina conceded.
"Maybe there really is such a thing as a genuine, selfless connection between people."
Before she knew how to respond, Regina found her fingers clutched in Snow's hand.
"Thank you."
Robin was turning the cracked vial in his hand like he'd gotten into the habit of doing. Everyone else had gone to sleep quite some time ago. Snow and David were curled up together a bit further away from the fire, yet Robin was positive they were much warmer than him, and not only because tonight's fire was especially tiny and inconspicuous - so close to the castle, even this was a risky business. He could have used his blanket this late in the night but with Dorothy curled up under it, that was out of the question.
It had thrown him, this unaccustomed sleeping position, even more than her customary one had taken getting used to. For nights he'd seen her ram rod straight on her back with her arms folded, as if she were hugging herself, yet projecting an inaccessible image towards the world. Tonight, he could only see her back. Robin scowled at the heels of her boots, then her shoulders, where locks of hair tumbled from under the blankets. Earlier, after everyone had settled to try and get some sleep, he'd thought he'd heard her sob once or twice, but it'd all been so quiet, and her shoulders hadn't been shaking. Apart from the rise and fall of each breath, he detected nothing.
Robin's gaze dropped to the vial again. The cracks were becoming more and more prominent, running like so many angry, protruding veins, as he clutched and squeezed at the thing night after night. Thinking. And occasionally - increasingly - despairing. Because as much as he'd gladly give his life if it meant overthrowing the Wretched Queen's rule, the idea was giving him much too little thrill these days. He'd be happy to give his life, but not Marian's. Robin's knuckles were white around the vial as he recalled the feel of the baby's first kicks under his palm. Their baby. The son who wouldn't know his mother. You'll be mother and father to him both. The words had filled him with pain when his wife had spoken them and filled him with dread even now.
He pulled the knife from his belt and reached into his bedroll for the piece of wood he'd come across in the forest. It was still blunt and clumsy but recognisable for what it was about to become: head, legs, tail, even the mane with two little stumps poking out for ears. Robin set to work, shavings flying and piling at his feet. When something else landed in the dust, too, something wet and shiny, he didn't stop or change the purposeful strokes of the blade on wood. He did try, however, to focus his thought elsewhere, somewhere immediate and practical, and settled on the morning's mission.
Breaking in. Stealing - no, retrieving - a heart. Returning her heart, like he'd never quite managed to do in those unfortunate dreams of his.
What must it be like to have one's heart missing? Did it stop the pain? If someone offered to rip it out for him now, he might be willing to try.
Right now, Robin knew he had a heart because it was breaking.
And perhaps it was the stubbornness with which he kept working the wood, or the blurriness of his vision, or maybe his own laboured breathing, but he never noticed her approach until she joined him by the fire.
"I- didn't mean to wake you."
"And I don't mean to intrude."
He hadn't meant for her to hear him - for anyone, really - hadn't really been aware of any need to share his plight. But now that she was here, he suddenly wanted her to stay.
"I don't mind," he managed, and it sounded colder than he'd meant it, so he looked up at her and chanced a smile. It didn't work out, was a grimace at best, but the message seemed to get across anyway.
"I'm listening," she offered softly.
Robin opened his mouth, then closed it. Where to start? How could he hope to make her understand?
"My father never cared for me. He was a lousy father." His tongue seemed to have a mind of its own, and it took his brain a while to catch up and his heart to admit to having this crippling fear he'd never voiced before. "The thing is…he's all I know."
"You don't want to be like him."
He looked up in astonishment. How could she have guessed what he had until then failed to acknowledge himself? She tilted her head at his likely wild look, her own slightly panicked for a split second. Then she indicated his hands. He was still holding the horse-to-be, the knife hanging slack and useless from his fingers.
Robin bowed his head. It was true - he'd been terrified at the prospect of raising the baby all on his own and unwittingly taking on his father's ways - cold and distant, if not outright cruel. He'd do his very best, of course, but that didn't mean his best would be enough.
"What if I'm not fit to be a parent? With Marian gone… I'll be the only one our son has."
He hadn't planned for it to come out so desolate, had surprised even himself, but she didn't seem fazed at all. She reached for his hand - at least that's what he thought she was doing - but instead of taking it in hers, she merely squeezed his wrist and immediately let go. It was strangely disappointing, and left him feeling hollow somehow.
"Where I come from," Regina began after a moment's silence, and how strange that she should have the same quirk he did, "there's an ancient saying that goes sursum corda."
"'Lift up your hearts'," Robin nodded. "It's of religious origin." Why was she bringing this up now? A curious feeling overcame him, and an impending shiver made Robin sit up straighter. He struggled for a while, trying to place it, then decided the deja vu was but an illusion brought about by the familiar turn of phrase. Unlikely, but not impossible.
He put the knife away at last and turned the horse over in his hands. "What if I mess up?"
"You will."
"What?"
He met her eyes, stunned rather than hurt by her response. There was nothing but kindness in her expression, or perhaps just the tiniest bit of amusement, a hint of a smile that was warm and not a bit mocking.
"You will mess up. Quite a bit, I imagine. But you'll get the most important thing right."
"That being?"
She hesitated a moment, her brow creased. Some shadow settled in her eyes, and she looked distant, as if she were someplace else in mind. Robin waited, having guessed her answer - it was rather obvious - but still there was this overwhelming need to hear it from her. He wanted assurance, she was giving him exactly that. Not by coddling him, feeding him empty words. No. Instead, she was confirming some of his fears freely. And at the same time, oddly, quenching them.
"Love," she breathed eventually, her voice suddenly strained and her smile watery. There was a small shrug and a breathless chuckle, as if this were too much, or too cliche, or both.
And Robin found himself chuckling as well.
And speaking without thought again, but with all the more sincerity.
"You're so easy to talk to. It's- unfathomable to me."
She pulled back a little, sat up straighter, and averted her eyes. Had he said anything wrong?
"Well, I'm- glad I helped."
That smile right there, that was genuine, if a little pained. Robin could almost smell the gloom around her now, the same unexplained but distinct melancholy he'd been noticing lingering around her. She had every reason to be tense. There was a lot at stake what with the planned assault of the Dark Palace, and even more at stake for her - her very own heart.
His own heart felt somehow lighter now than it had in a long time, and he wanted to do the same for her.
"Your heart will be where it belongs soon enough, milady. I promise you, I will get it back. The Wretched Queen- what is it?"
"It's nothing," she licked her lip. "Only…don't call her that."
"Zelena, then." She gave a tiny nod, flickered a small smile, and if she minded the moniker, even their enemy's, so much, it wasn't that big a deal for him to give it up if it made such a difference to her. "We'll deal with her. We're more than we'd imagined at first. United. That has to count for something."
"I hope you're right."
Perhaps it was how small her voice had been, or how the smile actually died away instead of broadening, but Robin found himself reaching out to her, taking her hand in the same gesture she'd abandoned halfway not so long before. She stiffened at the contact but didn't fight it, so he squeezed her fingers. She relaxed, closed her eyes briefly and let out a breath. Then she pulled her hand from his grasp and stood.
"Good night, Robin."
"Good night, Dorothy."
They were both settled in their bedrolls by the time her voice reached him again.
"Regina," she said over her shoulder. "My name is Regina."