Hello lovelies!
I do apologize for the long for this chapter. As I said before (in the sneak peek) I had a surgery to recover from, so I didn't have much time to write. Also, I had a lot of trouble finding the right words for this chapter, and the next-given the very emotional content of the chapters, and the absolute heartbreak the writers are inflicting upon us with last week's cliffhanger-, which I hope will be beta'd and finished soon.
Thanks for your continued support on this story.
Also, I am sure that everyone has heard about the horrible things that have been happening in the world, and I'd like to offer up my two cents. While I am European and much closer to the tragedies in Paris, I do feel for EVERYONE who has been affected by the War on Terror, as papers are calling it now, and I will pray for everyone.
If any of you are unfortunate enough to be caught in this fight, I wish you all the best and all the strength you may need.
I love all of you!
Love,
Annaelle
PS This was beta'd by the amazing DancingDoula! Thank you, darling, for letting me overwhelm you with stupid questions about the next few chapters and all things Captain Swan :D
Chapter Eleven—She's Leaving Home—Part I
Wednesday morning at five o'clock as the day begins
Silently closing her bedroom door
Leaving the note that she hoped would say more
She goes downstairs to the kitchen clutching her handkerchief
Quietly turning the backdoor key
Stepping outside, she is free
—She's Leaving Home, The Beatles
Charmings' Royal Court, the Enchanted Forest—20 years into the future
RPOV
When he awakes, he doesn't realize something is amiss until he stretches an arm across the bed to draw his wife—finally a wife he'll be happy with—into his arms. When he opens his eyes, he realizes that he is resting comfortably on a mountain of pillows, the sheets twisted loosely around his waist—and he is alone in the room. The scene is not one he is unfamiliar with; Leia is a terribly light sleeper, and once she is awake, there is very little that can soothe her mind enough to allow her to sleep again.
He cannot count the amount of times he'd woken alone in their tent, while Leia was already up.
Of course, he had hoped she would have slept peacefully last night—at least enough so that he would not be waking alone on their first morn' as husband and wife. He smiles as he recalls seeing her walk down the aisle towards him, ready to pledge her life to his; she had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—then again, he always thinks she is the most beautiful woman in existence—and he had considered himself the luckiest man in existence for having her love.
He's broken from his thoughts by the soft click of the bedroom door, followed by the soft patter of footsteps heading straight for the bed.
"Good morning," she breathes, and he feels the bed dip as she crawls back on top of it. He knows she is approaching him, but he doesn't feel she moves fast enough, so he moves faster than he'd have thought he could, rolls over, grabs Leia and wraps his arms around her, pulling her flush against his body as he buries his face in her hair.
She squeals and smacks his arm—which only makes him smile—before draping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his chest.
"Hi beautiful," he whispers in response, tightening his grip on her. "Where were you?" He asks, jutting out his bottom lip in a pout, "I woke up all by myself in this large bed—on the morning after our wedding night." He pretends to glare at her and says, "I must not have done a good enough job last night if you still felt like leaving the bed."
She giggles and taps his bottom lip playfully. "I was merely arranging for our breakfast to be brought up here. I didn't think you would want to get up and dressed just yet," she adds with a wink.
He chuckles and closes his eyes as she settles comfortably in his arms, reveling in how good and right it feels. "You know I'd much prefer waking up with you in my arms though," he muses quietly, "Please stay next time?"
She grins, and nods against his chest. "Of course, darling. I rather enjoy waking up next to you as well. I promise I'll wait for you to wake as well next time." He smiles happily and presses his lips firmly to her temple, securely wrapping her in his arms as he does so.
Leia allows a contented sigh to fall from her lips—something that ensures basking in their happiness for a few more hours is quite easy. It is almost too easy to ignore the problems and responsibilities that await them outside of their bedchambers; but he honestly does not care as long as he and Leia can be together like this.
He is happy.
He doesn't allow thoughts of Leia's plans to leave soon to sneak their way into his mind—doesn't allow himself to think about anything but the woman in his arms.
"We will have to get up eventually," Leia breathes after a short, comfortable silence as she nuzzles into his embrace. He growls in protest at the mere notion, tightening his arms around her—he has no intention of going out to face reality today.
He's staying right here.
"Nope," he replies flippantly, pulling out of their embrace just far enough to look at Leia, "We are not leaving this bed." She raises an eyebrow at him, attempting to hide the amused smile that was pulling at the corner of her lips. He smirks at her and flips her onto her back, wedging his body between her thighs.
"No one is going to miss us until at least dinner time," he whispers against her lips, "we are, after all, expected to consummate our marriage."
He grins when she does and leans down to kiss her again, and proceeds to do just that.
.
.
.
Three weeks later
It feels like only hours ago, Roland muses, as he watches his beloved wife gather the ingredients she needs to cast the spell to return to the past, that they were in their marital bed, consummating their marriage. Of course, it has been over three weeks since the morn' of their first day as husband and wife, but he cannot help but feel like time has sped by all too fast for his liking.
And now, his wife is going on a journey where he cannot follow, and the mere thought of it still distresses him greatly.
He attempts not to contemplate it too much.
They are standing in the gardens that surround the castle, tucked away in a far and private corner, where there should be no unexpected run-ins with curious servants or nosy nobles. Leia and Henry had managed to keep her pending departure somewhat private, and though it pains Roland that he'll have to be without her for God knows how long, he'll keep his mouth shut about her true intentions as well.
None of them want to risk word getting 'round to the Dark One—they all know that he'd either bargain a favor out of them, or even kill one of them to prevent Leia from going back in time and changing things.
He watches Leia adjust one more thing inside the salt circle she'd created, nervously eyeing some of the ingredients she had procured—he still does not see the need for a leaf from a beanstalk (took him and his men two days to get the damn thing off the beanstalk in the first place, and that had been with the men that hadn't decided to stay behind out of pure fear for the giant that resided at the top), but Leia had assured him that it was a vital piece of the spell.
Something about being touched by True Love and magical spells and all that.
He could scarcely keep up with her when she started talking about magic and spells, so he mostly nodded along with whatever she said and hoped that she wasn't talking about something she actually needed to discuss with him.
"Are you sure about this?" He asks her hesitantly when she finally turns to face him, her eyes bright and green—he's still not used to her eyes turning that violent shade of green—but he still sees a minor bit of apprehension and fear shining through, and he knows that she needs him to stand with her on this. He knows that if he asks her to stay, she will—but he also knows that this is something she needs to do, and he's never been one to hold her back from doing what she needs.
She smiles at him, but the smile is forced, and he can see the underlying sadness, before she looks down at her feet. He knows that the idea of being apart from one another weighs upon her mind as it does his, and he knows that if she hadn't felt as though she needed this, she would never leave him—but she does and she must.
"I need to do this," she whispers, her voice soft and almost apologetic, her tears glassy with unshed tears as they once again meet his gaze.
He nods, stepping closer to her—as close as he can, with the salt line separating them—reaching out to touch her. "I know," he sighs, "I know. But... If this works... If you change the past, our lives will be different—we could... There's a possibility we would never meet." Speaking the words aloud pains him more than he'd like to admit, but it is a legitimate concern that has been plaguing his mind since the first time she brought up her plan.
"I don't believe that," she exclaims, rushing over the salt line to grasp his hands in her smaller ones, "I love you—and I will always find you, as you will with me."
He nods wordlessly, strengthened by her words, and leans forward to press a kiss to her lips before lightly touching the silver necklace on which she'd hung her wedding ring, as to not lose it. "Be careful," he orders, though his voice is still gentle and calm, "Promise me you'll come back to me."
He takes a deep, shuddering breath when her slender fingers close around his wrist briefly, her forehead resting against his as she whispers, "I promise."
"Good," he chuckles a little, biting his lip as he takes a step back, gently pushing her back into the circle, "Good. Now go. It's your turn to be the hero." He watches as she nods bravely, her hands only shaking a little when she raises them, her lips moving wordlessly as she begins casting her spell. He can feel her magic, swirling around him, the air thickening with its electric charge, white light steadily building up inside of the circle until he can see nothing—only white...
And then it's gone, and he falls to his knees at the sudden change in the air—and he is alone.
.
.
.
The Docks, Storybrooke, Maine—present time
Emma can feel the exact moment Leia's heart stops beating. It's a heart wrenching, unerring realization, but she knows—she knows the very instant she can feel the clear, impenetrable shield Leia had conjured shatter beneath her bruised palms—she knows when she watches her daughter's body drop like a puppet whose strings were cut.
She knows when her knees nearly buckle as the pressure that is holding her upright suddenly disappears.
She knows when she hears Killian's agonized cry as he reaches their daughter's now lifeless body.
She nearly chokes on the silent tears that run down her cheeks as she drops to her knees next to Killian, her fingers trembling as she reaches to wipe away the thin line of blood that trickles from the corner of Leia's mouth.
It hits her then, how even in death, her daughter is almost unfairly beautiful—even with her eyes glazed over, the colour frozen halfway between green and blue, her skin unearthly pale and her limbs spread out in unnatural angles.
And it seems so wrong.
So incredibly, horrifyingly wrong.
How is it possible that Leia, who was young and beautiful and strong and good, had to die to bring some semblance of Happy Endings back to them?
She barely registers Killian repeatedly pressing his lips all over Leia's face, begging her to wake up, to come back to them—it doesn't occur until much later that he's attempting to wake their daughter with another True Love's Kiss. When it does finally occur to her, she cannot even muster up the energy to feel annoyed with him—why would she?
He truly loves their daughter, even after only knowing of her existence for mere weeks.
It has worked before.
At least he has the faith to try again—he has faith in his love for their child.
She wishes she would have had that kind of faith.
She wishes she could say the same—perhaps if she'd had that kind of faith in her love for Leia, Leia would never have felt the need to travel back in time and fix things. Leia wouldn't have sacrificed her own life and Happy Ending for Emma's.
Emma doesn't know how long she and Killian sit on the cold, wet grass, cradling their daughter in their arms, before her parents reach them.
It could have been hours, even days—she doesn't know.
She doesn't care.
Leia is dead.
"Emma. Killian." Her father's voice is soft and gentle, as is his hand when he lays it on her shoulder, but it is also a sharp stab to her heart, to remind her of a reality she doesn't want to know.
A reality so grave and horrible it has cost her daughter her life.
"No," she chokes, tightening her grip on Leia's limp hand, "No, no, no, no."
"Emma," her father pleads gently, kneeling next to her, "we need to take the—we need to take Leia somewhere else. Somewhere private," he stresses, and though she hears the words, she feels strangely dazed—as though nothing is really registering in her brain.
Nothing could possibly be important enough to register.
And nothing does, either. She feels so… numb—it almost feel as though she's not really there; as though her body is there, feeling and knowing and shattering…
But her mind isn't.
Not really.
The pain she feels is almost… Bearable, and she wonders if that is just shock, or something different, something infinitely more terrifying.
Maybe she's been broken and beaten so many times in her life that she just doesn't really feel anymore—maybe that's her brain's way of coping. Maybe she's just shutting down; maybe she wouldn't even mind so much, if that meant not feeling the gut-wrenching ache that is lodged where her heart once was—because even when she only feels a shadow of her real feelings, she knows that that pain would destroy her, if she let herself feel it.
"Emma," her mother has joined them now, her hand small and soft against Emma's shoulder, while her father turns his attention to Killian, "we can't stay here—they might come here."
The mere mention of the Ice Queen and Rumple sets fire to her anger, and it feels like liquid rage pours through her veins—her magic starts humming furiously in the back of her mind, and she has to consciously stop herself from unleashing it on whoever is unfortunate enough to be anywhere near her.
"Let them," she hisses, startling when she doesn't recognize the sound of her own voice—she almost sounds like the Dark One had back in the Enchanted Forest. She doesn't look at her when she feels her mother recoil in surprise—instead, she focuses on the treeline, adrenaline rushing through her veins as she senses another magical being approaching.
It seems she'd gotten her wish.
They did come here.
In the back of her mind, a little voice insists that this feels too coincidental—why would they come so soon? Rumpelstiltskin would be smart enough to not show hide nor hair near them after casting a curse on them; it must be the Ice Queen, coming to gloat…
Unless they don't know.
They don't know that the Curse failed—that Leia protected the town.
"Emma, no," her dad's voice sounds like it's coming from far away, and there is a small voice in the back of her head that agrees with her father, that tells her she needs to back down, that she is making a big mistake—but the voice is easily drowned out by the fire that is racing through her veins, the magic that is humming just beneath her skin.
Her blood is boiling, and when she looks up, she finally understands the saying, 'seeing red', because her entire vision is tinted in a scarlet glow, and all she can focus on is her daughter's heartwrenching scream when the Spell had hit and killed her—the look on Killian's face as he was forced to listen to another loved one dying—and the disgusting prideful grin on the Ice Queen's face as she regards the devastation she has caused. That horrid woman had orchestrated the destruction of their family—of her life—because it suits her so-called rightful quest for the throne.
She is going to make her pay for what she has done.
Something is stirring deep inside of her, something dark and dangerous and powerful—and it scares her how much she loves the feel of it. She vaguely wonders if this is what Leia had meant when she said that the magic, no matter how light, could go dark in an instant.
But even with that warning in the back of her head, she wants this power. She is stronger like this—better—and she can protect when she is like this. She can keep her parents and her son and her pirate safe—and no one would blame her for it.
They will all understand.
The Ice Queen have decided to up the ante to them-or-us.
And Emma is not going to let that frozen bitch take anyone else from her.
The Ice Queen is now so close, Emma can feel the slight drop in temperature and see the tiny droplets of frozen water on her white dress—they sparkle prettily in the sun, and it reminds Emma of a world filled with beauty and happiness.
A world Leia died for.
It seems almost ironic to consider the Ice Queen's beauty—had the woman not been the one responsible for her daughter's death, Emma may actually have been dumbstruck by the woman's regal, classically beautiful features. It is easy to imagine many a man—and woman—walking straight into hell for the Ice Queen.
She vaguely wonders if that is how the Ice Queen managed to defeat them in Leia's timeline—not with violence, but with a charm so subtle they didn't see the danger until it was too late.
"Such a pity," the Ice Queen chimes when she is close enough, her expression something quite akin to regret as she takes in Leia's body, "she was powerful. I could have used a sorceress like her in my court." There is a hint of possessive wistfulness in the woman's voice that completely infuriates Emma.
"She was my daughter, you bitch," Emma hisses, "and you killed her."
The Ice Queen simply smiles and shrugs. "It couldn't be helped. You and yours decided to fight me; if only you had submitted, there would have been no need for violence and curses."
"You should have stayed in that urn," Emma spits, barely recognizing her own voice as the words fall from her lips, "You messed with the wrong family." She can feel the magic build up in her palms, and her eyes nearly roll back into her head—she had no idea using her magic could feel so good, so addictive.
The roar of her power is deafening, and it is easy to drown out the shouts of her parents—they would only protest against what needs to be done.
Before she is even aware that she has moved, her hands are raised, and blinding white light shoots from her heated palms, knocking the Ice Queen over before the woman gets the chance to react.
She takes a few steps closer, surprising—and frightening—herself by how much she enjoys the fear that lingers in the Ice Queen cold, pale eyes.
"You did this," she speaks, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage, "You ruined our lives. You killed Ruby, and Leia—you've tried to kill all of us. And if I let you go, you'll try to do it again. So I'm going to stop you." She raises her hand again, unaware of anything but the delicious feeling of power and magic rushing through her veins as she crushes it against the Ice Queen's pale throat.
She increases the pressure ever so slightly, a sick kind of satisfaction washing over her as she watches the Ice Queen struggle against her magic—struggle to breathe.
She idly wonders how Leia managed the urge to use her magic like this always—how she managed not to kill everyone who stood in her way—before deciding that she can't dispose of the woman this easily.
No.
That horrible bitch needs to suffer—she had conspired to brutally murder her entire family. The woman killed her daughter. She bares her teeth in a growl and jumps closer to her, reaching out towards the woman's chest.
It seems only fair she'd return the favor now.
Her blood sings in her veins as she leans forward, her breath washing over the Ice Queen's now terrified face. "I will enjoy this," she whispers, taking delight in the pleasurable tingle the magic sent throughout her body.
She glances back towards her parents, who looked positively aghast and terrified for the very first time—and though it makes her feel just a tad unsettled, it is not quite enough to make her stop.
She eyes them before saying, "Don't look. This will be nasty."
And she turns back to the Queen, abruptly sinking her hand into her chest, enjoying her cries and whimpers of pain, until her fingers wrap around the woman's icy heart.
She looks up into those pale, blue eyes and smiles coldly.
"No last words, your Majesty?"
Something flickers in the woman's eyes when Emma speaks those words, as Emma's fingers tighten around the woman's heart, and the colour of her eyes changes nearly imperceptibly, almost as though she is watching frozen ice thaw.
An imperceptible dark mist seems to abandon the woman's body as Emma squeezes the heart in her hand tighter, her nails digging into the fragile surface. "Thank you," the woman chokes after a deep, shuddering breath, a small, confused smile appearing on her lips, "For setting me free. Thank you."
And then the woman's heart is suddenly ash in her hand, slipping through the cracks of her fingers as she stares at it in wonder and horror.
She killed someone.
She killed.
What did she do?
.
.
.
A few hours later—Charming's Loft—Storybrooke, Maine
Snow White has always considered herself a strong woman.
A woman unafraid to fight for those she loves—unafraid to fight for the people of the kingdom she grew up in—the kingdom her father had left her after his death.
She's been dealt her own hand at tragedy in her life, and while she is aware that she may not always have dealt with grief and pain in the best way, she does know that her many trials and tribulations have only made her stronger.
She's survived two separations from her daughter—her beautiful, fierce, strong Emma—three curses, plenty of near-death experiences and nearly twenty years of her stepmother attempting to kill her.
If anything, Snow White knows what it feels like to suffer, and how to survive it.
But right now, she cannot, for the life of her, imagine the kind of agony her daughter and her apparently future son-in-law—provided they all manage to survive this latest threat—are in right now. She cannot imagine the heart wrenching pain Emma and Killian must be feeling right now; she had felt like her heart was breaking just by watching them—she had not even known Leia that well.
She cannot possibly begin to comprehend how it must feel for Emma and Killian.
But she does know that they don't have much time to sit about and weep, despite how much she wishes she could give them both all the time in the world to grieve the daughter they'd only just realized they had—would have…
She's not entirely sure how that works with the time traveling.
The Dark One is still out there, waiting, plotting way to destroy their Happy Endings in a desperate attempt to regain his own.
Currently, she is standing in her own bedroom, rocking her baby to sleep after he'd woken up screaming—and Snow can't help but worry that he too had felt the effects of one of their family members dying a violent death.
She knows that her husband is still attempting to coax a very uncooperative pirate from Leia's lifeless body, and that Emma probably hasn't moved from her spot on the floor by the window, where she'd dropped herself when she and David took her and Hook back to the loft. She'd been reluctant to have a body in the same loft as her baby at first, but when she'd tried to voice that opinion, she swore both Emma and Hook nearly killed her with the hateful looks they sent her way.
Eventually, she had decided it was not worth aggravating her daughter and the pirate over—especially since Hook hadn't said a single word since the protection spell had broken; he had just cried silently, cradling his future daughter's body in his arms as though she were a newborn child—as though he could protect her from the evil in the world by simply wrapping her in his arms.
Emma hadn't been more eloquent than her lover after she had freed—because it is easier to think of Emma freeing a soul from an old demon than killing a woman—the Ice Queen, and though it frustrates Snow, because she can't figure out what they need, what she can do to make it better, she cannot truly blame either of them. She knows that they're both in a state of severe shock—they're probably not even truly grasping what happened.
Snow has to admit that she isn't even quite grasping what had happened.
She hadn't even realized who Leia was until David had whispered it in her ear.
To be honest, she hadn't truly grasped what Leia was doing either, when she sealed the protection spell, despite being on the outside, and being seconds away from being torn apart by a dangerous curse—not until David's whispered clarification had she realized why Killian and Emma had been pounding on the barrier and shouting and pleading for Leia to change her mind.
And now, here she stands, unsure of what to say or do or even feel—because Leia was her granddaughter; and even if Snow didn't know who she was at the time, Leia sacrificed herself to save her life and Killian's and dozens of others in the town (and the memory of Ruby, her dear, beloved friend, doing the same makes her stomach roll, and makes her want to curl up in a corner and cry until she has no tears left to shed).
She looks up when David shuffles into the room, his eyes red and his cheeks tearstained, rubbing his hand over his forehead. "Emma is with Killian," he whispers hoarsely, "though I don't think she joined us to get him away from the body."
Snow exhales shakily, allowing her husband to take their son from her arms before she collapses on their bed. "I don't know what we can do for them," she admits reluctantly, rubbing her hands over her arms, "I just... I don't know what to do to help them."
"I don't think there's anything we can do," David replies sadly while he attempts to rock Graham back to sleep, "we can't bring her back, we can't change the past—the Ice Queen's dead, George is gone, Rumpelstiltskin is in hiding somewhere; it's not like there's anyone left to punish for what happened. Leia's gone, and she died saving us all—and they, as well as the rest of us, need to learn to live with it." She watches as he swallows thickly and presses a kiss to their baby sons head before he whispers, "The only way I know to honour her sacrifice is to live the life she wanted us to have."
She nods shakily, watching as her husband lays their son into his crib gently, covering his little body with his favourite blanket—it's embroided with pirate ships and had been a gag gift from Killian, but it had quickly become their son's favourite (much to her amusement and David's annoyance).
She sinks into him when he sits next to her, his arm sliding over her shoulder to hold her to him.
They sit in silence for a few moments, both trying to accept the monumental changes that occurred today—Snow's almost certain she's having a harder time at it than David is; she's always had a harder time accepting changes (she supposes that is where Emma got the trait as well).
She is about to suggest they check on Emma and Killian one last time before they retire to bed themselves when they hear someone bustle down the stairs, not bothering to be quiet about it.
"Emma?" Snow frowns, rising from her seat to see what all the fuss is about. She's slightly confused to find her daughter standing in the middle of the kitchen, a large pan already on the fire, Emma's hand hovering over it, a large spell book open on the counter next to her. "What are you doing, honey?"
She winces a little at the look of pure pain and determination in her daughter's red-rimmed eyes, but decidedly ignores the mascara streaks on her cheeks and watches as Emma pulls open a drawer and rummages around in it. "We're taking her home," Emma finally answers, her voice still slightly shaky and unsure, "maybe if we can get her home, Roland can save her. And if he—" she chokes a little and bites her lip before continuing, "at least she'll be home. They deserve to know what happened to her too. We're taking her home."