Hello, everyone :)
Welcome to my first post for Sands of Time in 2015! Happy New Year to you all! *kisses and hugs*
This chapter isn't terribly action-filled, nor was it supposed to be this short-I had to split it up because it was getting far too long for one chapter, so the next part will be updated soon, and will contain more action and violence. Just a head's up on that :)
Maybe some of you need a tissue warning for this chapter, but I don't think it's that bad.
Oh, right, some of you remarked on the fact that Leia is the next heir to the throne, not little Graham (because I refuse to call him Neal), but that's actually just because I'm not digging deeper on the whole thing with Royal succession lines. It's not about treating the kid like shit or not letting him have anything (he's still Prince and has a freaking castle, for God's sake), but because Emma was first in line to be heir to the throne.
Because of that (at least that's what I understood from the royal family here in Belgium), unless Emma's children were not of age, they are first in line for the throne, not little Graham. For instance, in 1993, our Belgian king died, but he had no children, so the throne went to his brother. Now that king retired and gave the throne to his eldest son, King Filip.
When King Filip passes on the crown, it'll be to his children, not his brothers or sisters, unless his children aren't of age yet.
That's the way royal succession lines work, as far as I know.
So, don't worry, it has nothing to do with Graham himself. He's just second in line for the throne, not first, like Leia and Henry.
Okay, well, don't have much more to say...
Enjoy!
Please leave a review, they make my day! (And you know, right now, they'd make my year ;p)
Love, Annaelle
PS Thanks to JustSmileBFF and DancingDoula for beta'ing!
Chapter Six—Across The Universe
All my little plans and schemes
Lost like some forgotten dreams
Seems that all I really was doing
Was waiting for you
Just like little girls and boys
Playing with their little toys
Seems like all they really were doing
Was waiting for love
—Real Love, The Beatles
Merry Men Encampment, The Enchanted Forest—20 years into the future
They are snuggled together underneath the warm blankets, on their warm, improvised bed of furs, her back pressed tightly against his chest as his arms encircle her waist. Roland sighs contently—he loves this; he loves simply enjoying holding Leia, without any reservation.
He loves that he opened his heart to the possibility of them, that he didn't refuse when Henry asked him to take Leia with him when he and his men traveled the country.
"I love you," he whispers against the back of her head, his fingers tracing her—as of yet—empty ring finger before pressing a kiss against her messy hair. He's been thinking about asking her to become his wife more and more often lately—he wishes to have the marriage he had once hoped to have; before his mother told him to marry Brianna.
He knows that he could have it with Leia.
He wants to have that with her.
"I love you too," she whispers in response. He startles—he hadn't realized she was still awake—and grumbles under his breath when she giggles as she turns in his embrace to face him.
"You were supposed to be asleep," he grumbles playfully, pushing a few stray locks of hair from her face, watching her smile widen—his heart skips a beat. He had feared, when they had just left the castle, that he would never see her smile again.
That he would never see that delightful twinkle in her eyes ever again.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she grins, raising an eyebrow at him as she slides her leg up over his to snuggle closer, "Would you like me to pretend to be asleep again so you can continue what would undoubtedly be a beautiful heartfelt speech?"
He snorts and pokes her, laughing as they wrestle playfully for a moment.
He manages to roll her onto her back and pin her, grinning down at her. She smiles back up at him and reaches up to tangle her fingers into his hair, pulling his lips down to hers—he has absolutely no objections and gives in happily, claiming her lips with his eagerly.
After a few slow, soft, languid kisses, he breaks the kiss—albeit very reluctantly—and rests his forehead against hers.
"Will you marry me?" He blurts, before really realizing what he's saying; judging by Leia's more than stunned expression, she hadn't been expecting the words any more than he had.
"Roland," she breathes, her eyes wide and filled with startling amounts of love, confusion, and hope.
"I mean it," he says quickly, leaning up on his elbows, "I am not saying this lightly—I want to marry you, but I… If you are not ready, then I—" He cuts off when Leia presses her fingers to his lips, shaking her head a little.
"Are you sure?" She whispers, tears shining in her eyes—God, he hates seeing her cry—, "Because I… I'm not pure. Or innocent. And you deserve better."
He barely refrains from rolling his eyes at her—he knows she is not a blushing virgin; after all, he'd been the one to take care of that; and he does not care.
He never did.
"I know that," he deadpans, eyeing their position pointedly, grinning when she slaps his arm.
"No," Leia shakes her head desperately and he hates that he can still see the hint of self-loathing in her eye, "No, I mean… It's not just you. I've been with other men. When I heard you married, I lashed out and I wanted to—" she looks away, unwilling to meet his eye, and it breaks his heart to know how much he had hurt her.
In hindsight, he does see that he had hurt Leia in ways she should never have been hurt—in ways he should never have hurt her, even if he had not meant to.
He knows that he was a fool back then, to simply adhere to his mother's insistence on marrying a perfect stranger, even though by then, he had already been halfway in love with Leia—unbeknownst to Leia's family, he had never really stopped talking to her or seeing her after she returned to the castle.
He'd simply snuck in, or she snuck out, and though it felt foolish to be so wrapped around a sixteen-year-old girl's finger (he still feels like a fool, even four years later; all of his men know that Leia's really the one in charge, and he still can't bring himself to care even one little bit), he had never stopped sneaking in.
He'd enjoyed their conversations—because that was all their relationship had entailed back then.
Talking.
About everything and nothing (especially not about that one passionate kiss they had shared before Leia's Aunt Ruby tracked them down and nearly dragged Leia back to the castle).
And he had loved it.
Right up until the point that it abruptly ended, two years after they first met—shortly after Leia's seventeenth birthday.
At first, it really had been a night like all others—despite his knowledge of his impending marriage to King George's daughter, who he had never before laid eyes on, but who his mother insisted was the perfect woman for him.
Of course, he knew Brianna wasn't the perfect woman for him.
He already knew that title belonged only to Leia.
But he'd agreed to the union anyway, hoping that perhaps, it would sate his mother's need for vengeance—that it would stop her from looking for conspiracies everywhere.
And on his last night with Leia, he had intended to tell her of his impending betrothal—after all, though nothing had happened between them at that point (not since that kiss when she was fifteen), he had feelings for her and he was aware she was somewhat smitten with him.
Alas, he never got to the point where he had told her.
He is still not sure how they went from their usual storytelling and conversation to another passionate kiss—he'd been more aroused by one kiss from Leia than he had ever been from sleeping with his late wife, and he's spent a lot of time since cursing his own stupidity for not having kissed her again sooner.
One kiss had turned to many, and despite his best intentions, when Leia had told him she loved him and wanted him—asked him to be her first (her only, she had even said)—he had not been able to say no.
He'd been selfish and had taken something from her that night—something he could never give her back, even if he would want to. He'd intended to stay, after she first fell asleep—he'd intended to stay and wait for the morning and ask her mother and grandfather and brother and uncle for her hand—but after a while, doubt had started to creep into his mind, and he couldn't.
He had a responsibility to his family, and in trying to do right by his mother, he had broken Leia's heart in a way he never wanted to break it. If anyone else looked upon the situation now, without knowing his motives, they would see an older man taking advantage of an impressionable teenage girl.
Maybe, in a way, he did—but he never meant to.
He loves Leia, and he's almost sure he's loved her since he first met her in the woods, when she was fifteen and talking back against highly dangerous and trained guards that were there to capture her—or worse.
He leans down and kisses her forehead, wordlessly attempting to convey his apology for hurting her.
"—I wanted to erase you and your touch," she breathes shakily, "so I made mistakes. And Derek was just one of them." She's crying now, and he hates that she has such a skewed vision of herself that she believes he would not love her if he knew she had other lovers, and he once again wishes he could have gone back in time to smack himself in the face—to show his past self what was right in front of him.
"I care not, my love," he whispers, "I am not pure—does that mean you do not love me?"
"What?" Leia looks up at him, eyes wide and confused as she exclaims, "No, of course I love you! I wouldn't… I don't care."
He smiles brightly and leans down to press a kiss to her lips. "Then why would you presume I would feel any different about you? Your heart is pure, Leia—that is the only kind of purity I care about—and for you, I might even make an exception on that front."
She laughs weakly, pulling him down to kiss him, her tears tasting salty on his lips. "I will," she breathes when he pulls away, "I'll marry you."
His hands fist in her hair as he kisses her passionately, pouring every ounce of love he possesses for her into the kiss. His fingers curl themselves around her hips, pulling her towards him, inexplicably needing her to be closer to him.
She pulls away from him, though, kissing his cheek tenderly. "I love you," she whispers, "I'll always love you."
"And I you, my love," he replies when she wriggles around to get comfortable, "And I you."
He falls asleep with her in his arms and a smile on his face, but awakes mere hours later, alone in their tent, short one blanket. He stares up at the ceiling of the tent for a short while, trying to shake off all remnants of sleep before he moves to look for his future wife.
She is curled up in front of the campfire when he finds her, her hair tumbling down her back and their blanket wrapped around her shoulders loosely. He had woken to an empty tent, the wind howling outside and the familiar touch of Leia's magic lingering in the air before, so he was not all too surprised.
He supposes he should have expected this—it has been precisely seven months since they left the castle and what is left of Leia's family behind.
And though he knows she has regular contact with her brother, he does know she misses them.
His proposal must have brought up a lot of issues she had been avoiding—that they had been avoiding.
"Leia? Love?" He approaches her carefully, well aware that she is not always fully in control of her magic when she is this emotional—and he knows she would loathe herself if she were to hurt him accidentally. He touches her shoulder gently, sighing in relief when she leans back against his legs, raising her hand to touch his.
"I want to go back," she says softly after a short silence, "I should."
His heart constricts painfully as she utters the words, though he is not wholly surprised by them—not as surprised as he supposes he should be. It was, after all, only a matter of time before she would realize where her true place in this world is—and it is not with him.
He had known.
But he had not cared—he had not thought to protect his heart from her—he had asked her to be his wife, knowing that one day, she would have to return to the throne. "Are you certain?" He finally manages to ask, and even though his voice is barely louder than a whisper, he knows she has heard him.
She tugs on his hand gently until he sits down in front of the fire with her, curling himself around her as he sits—he does not wish to lose her, and it feels as though he is. She is slipping from him, their connection, though still palpable and strong, feeling fainter than before—perhaps that is why he proposed tonight.
Perhaps his subconscious mind is simply trying to provide her with more reasons to stay.
She rests her forehead against his shoulder before she nods, and he can feel the small tear that drips onto his shirt when she does.
"But I do not wish to lose you," she continues in a strong, yet soft tone, "I've lost so many already, I—" She looks up at him with beautiful, tear-filled blue eyes, "I cannot lose you too." Her fingers curl around his as she whispers, "I would not survive if I did. I need you."
He smiles sadly and presses a kiss to her hair, squeezing her hand tightly. "I do not wish to lose you either, my love—I would think my proposal demonstrated that quite clearly—but a thief is hardly a worthy consort to the future Queen."
Leia snorts—he chuckles a little—and punches his arm softly. "My grandfather was a shepherd before he married my grandmother—who was a thief, at the time—and my father was a pirate, my mother's spent time in jail and stole her way through life until she was seventeen. I do not think anyone will be scandalized by adding another thief to the family."
"I suppose so," he concedes, locking her fingers between his, "But what would I know of life in court? You, my love, are the future Queen—Henry will need you by his side. There is no use for me there—even less so if you do set through with your plan to save your parents."
He tries not to sound angry or bitter—he is not, not truly, for she would be saving a lot more lives than simply those of her own family—but he does feel disappointed and somewhat hurt that the promise of their own Happy Ending is not enough to deter her from traveling back in time to stop everything that has taken place in the last twenty years from happening.
He cannot deny that it stings.
"I'll always need you, Roland," she exclaims—though she keeps her voice down as to not wake the men—turning in his arms to face him, "But I need to do this as well. What kind of person would I be if I knew I had the power and the knowledge to save my mother from decades of pain and didn't do it? I could save my grandmother, my father, your father… Roland, they would be getting their Happy Endings with us."
She raises her hand to touch his cheek tenderly, and because he is hopeless and smitten, he tilts his face into her touch.
"I can't have a Happy Ending without them, Roland," she whispers, "I can't live with myself if I didn't at least try to give them a fair shot at having their own Happy Ending. I wouldn't be who I am if I didn't try—you wouldn't love me if I wasn't the person that would try."
He cannot deny that—damn her for seeing through him—and sighs.
"I know, my love," he whispers, "I know. I simply worry—if you go… Love, you wouldn't be able to come back. We wouldn't—" The mere thought of never seeing her again feels like a dagger to the heart and he doesn't want to consider this possibility, but he knows it exists and he must ask her to consider it too.
There are tears shining in her eyes and pain etched upon her face and he loathes seeing her in agony, but there is nothing he can do to ease her pain this time—it is her decision, and while he will support her whatever she decides to do, it is she who has to make the choice. She has to decide if she wishes to return to her home, if she wishes for him to join her, if she still plans to go back in time to change the past.
"I don't want to choose now," she breathes eventually, sinking into his arms, her head nestling in the crook of his neck, and her arms sliding around his waist, clenching his shirt between her fingers.
He simply holds her and allows her to cry onto his shirt, moving to pull her blanket around her a little tighter before he scoops her up in his arms and carries her back to their tent. "You don't have to," he finally whispers, when they are curled up on the pillows and in their tent once again, "You do not have to decide now, Love. Sleep—there is time to worry tomorrow."
.
.
.
Storybrooke General Hospital, Storybrooke, Maine—present time
"I want to come with you," Leia replies angrily, glaring at Emma as she prepares to join Mary-Margret and David at the station to interview George. Emma sighs—of course Leia would inherit her stubbornness—and glares at Killian pointedly.
She's his daughter too, and he's staying with her, let him explain.
"Leia, you are still recovering," Killian says calmly, "and perhaps letting the Snow Queen believe you are dying is not a bad idea—it will give us the element of surprise when it's needed."
Emma grins at her daughter's forlorn expression and reaches out to run her fingers through Leia's messy locks before she can stop herself. "You'll live," she laughs, "and you know it's a good idea. If George 'hears' us talking about your death and he manages to 'escape', he'll lead us right back to the Snow Queen and we can take her out."
"Fine," Leia grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting—it's unnerving how much she actually looks like Killian when she does that—, "Can I at least have my clothes back? And my necklace?" Emma frowns a little as Leia reaches for her neck, where the silver necklace usually rests—there is something painfully familiar about the move and Emma hopes to God that Leia's necklace does not mean to Leia what Emma's swan necklace meant to her.
She doesn't realize she's reached for her own necklace until Leia speaks up again. "It's not like that," she says hesitantly, her eyes flitting between Emma and Killian. "It's…" she gestures to Killian and mumbles, "It's your necklace. When I was six, Mama—" Leia bites her lip and glances towards Emma before continuing, "—she gave me the necklace so I'd have something of yours. I put my wedding ring on it before I jumped into the portal that took me here."
"Oh."
Emma blanches, and it hits her, for the first time, what her parents must have gone through when they met her—and realized who she was. Leia isn't a little girl—she's a grown woman, married to the love of her life, according to Killian, who decided to come back and save the Savior's Happy Ending single-handedly.
God, it sucks.
She really needs to start being nicer to her parents.
"I'll retrieve your items, little love," Killian smiles good-naturedly, bustling out of the room, leaving the two women in an awkward silence.
Emma fidgets nervously, desperately trying to come up with something to talk about—and it's not fair, Killian's a natural at this, and she doesn't know how the hell he just accepted that they are going to have a baby in less than nine months and that they still have to hang out with the grown up version of said baby until this crisis is over—but she doesn't know what to say. "So…" Emma mumbles slowly, "Killian told me that you…" she hesitates and shakes herself, reminding herself to man up and own up to her shit.
Even if it's shit she hasn't even done yet (shit she hopefully won't be doing now that she knows).
"He told you about our strained relationship, didn't he?" Leia interrupts softly, the look on her face far too understanding and kind after what Killian told Emma she had done to their daughter.
Emma nods, sighing heavily and moving closer to the bed, reaching for Leia's hand carefully. "I am sorry that I treated you like that—I can barely believe that I would…" She breaks off again and shakes her head, "I just want you to know that, even if I pushed you away a lot—I loved you. The harder I push, the more I love. You should… You should know that."
Leia's answering smile is beautiful and it nearly breaks Emma's heart because if what Killian told her is true, she does not deserve this beautiful girl—she does not deserve such a wonderful daughter.
"I do know that," Leia smiles tightly, "Look… The woman that was my mother—she's not you. I know that. I understand that she was so heartbroken that she just… She just couldn't show me the kind of love she wanted to. But I know she loved me—I know that you will."
Emma nearly bursts into tears when Leia moves their entwined hands to press against Emma's still-flat belly—she knows that her tiny little baby is growing in there (she tries very hard not to think about how weird it must be for Leia to know she's no more than a peanut-sized little lump in Emma's womb right about now) and that Leia's right.
She's going to love her baby with all that she has—Killian already loves their baby with all that he has.
"I will," Emma vows to Leia, squeezing her daughters hand tightly, "And we will defeat this Snow Queen. We will make this town safe and we won't lose anyone else."
Leia chuckles a little and replies, "Well, with the entire Charming family present, how could we not?"
"Indeed," Killian laughs from the doorway—both Leia and Emma glare at him when he just laughs harder when they jump, surprised by his sudden reappearance—smiling at both his women before sauntering into the room and handing Leia a large bag with the clothes she had been wearing when the Curse hit her.
Emma watches with a soft smile as her daughter and her… Well… her pirate banter as he helps Leia untie the hospital gown and change back into her own clothes—she briefly considers offering to buy Leia some Storybrooke clothes (the girl is wearing white linen wrappings for underwear, for God's sake), but then realizes that even if she did, Leia wouldn't really need them when she returned home.
Her heart clenches at the look on both Killian's and Leia's faces when Leia puts on her necklace—identical to the one Killian still wears around his own neck—trying not to consider the possibilities (probabilities that scare the hell out of her) of their future.
Emma knows the witch will be coming for Killian next—it only makes sense.
If you want to take your enemy out, start with the ones they love—isolate them, make them feel alone and helpless, and suddenly, they won't be so much of a threat anymore.
And now that she knows, she will make damn sure that ice bitch doesn't get anywhere near her pirate.
She's broken from her reverie when her phone starts ringing—she excuses herself to Killian and Leia, who're both caught up in their conversation about sword fighting, of all things—and moves to the corridor to take the call from her mom.
"Hey," she leans back against the wall next to Leia's door, "What's up?"
Her mother starts talking rapidly, and won't stop talking and with every words she says, Emma pales further, nausea curling in her belly. "He did what?" She chokes, pressing her hand to her mouth to suppress the sudden urge to throw up in the nearest trash can, "We need to get them back."
Terror washes over her and her legs nearly give out from underneath her and God…
She can't breathe.
She tries to suppress the urge to throw all caution in the wind and run out of the hospital immediately and hangs up after promising her mother she and Killian and Anna—she almost slipped up and called her Leia, but her daughter had made her promise not to tell anyone about who she is just yet, afraid it might change something that doesn't need to be changed at all—would be at the station ASAP.
No one knows how they cured Leia yet either—since Killian giving her a True Love's Kiss does not make a lot of sense unless they'd know about Leia being their daughter—and unless someone asks, they're not planning on telling anyone just yet either.
And now this…
This threw a huge wrench in their plans and she's terrified and she just…
She doesn't know what to do.
"Emma?"
She looks up when Killian and Leia exit the room, both looking concerned—she can't blame them.
She expects she doesn't look all too well.
"Love," Killian moves towards her, taking her hand in his, the feel of his fingers against hers is somewhat comforting, but she still can't breathe, and she needs to, because she's not going to be any good to anyone if she can't breathe, if can't get her own body to comply and move.
"Swan," he whispers, "What is it?"
"He," she chokes, surprised by how hoarse and weak her voice sounds, her fingers curling around his because she needs this, she needs him to hold her and to tell her it'll be okay, "He took Henry. George. He escaped and took Henry and Roland." She looks up into his crystalline blue eyes and whispers, "He took my son."