Red Swan (Red/Emma)

ATTENTION READERS: Please read until the last chapter before express posting me pitchforks? Please?

SUMMARY: FTL. In which Emma finds herself before rushing to find her heart.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Once Upon a Time or its characters. I do not own 'I Hope You Find It – by Miley Cyrus'. I am not making a profit from this story. In fact, if you recognize it… I probably don't own it. Actually, I'm kind of happy I don't own it; I had a hard enough time keeping my fish alive.

Bruised Hearts

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It was hours later that Emma slipped stiffly off of her horse in front of an old abandoned barn. The roof was full of holes and the siding was worn and barely sticking together, but the inside was dryer than outside, at least, and ever so slightly warmer. Grabbing her horse's reins, she led the mare inside. Blinking her eyes to adjust to the darkness, Emma threw off her wet hood, and, using the brief flashes of lightning, guided the grey beast towards the cleanest patch of straw she could find.

Unbuckling her saddle, Emma finally became aware of just how tired her horse was as her hands passed through her wet coat, the sweat being slicker than the leftover rain. Patting her side gently, Emma distracted herself by venturing outside once more before returning with a broken barrel dragging behind her, what's left of it being full of rainwater.

"Here, Biscuit," Emma said quietly as she pet her horse's head, receiving a thankful whiny in return. "That's a good girl."

Finding a dry spot against the wall, she slowly slipped down to sit in the musty old straw, exhaustion clear on her face. Curling her arms around her legs, Emma rested her head on her soaked pants, a slight shiver running through her. Slowly, with the only sounds disturbing the almost overbearing silence being the quiet shuffling of her horse and the violent storm outside, Emma allowed her tattered walls to fall. It was for this reason, that though her clothes dried throughout the night, her knees bore a suspicious patch of wetness come morning.

Trudging blearily through the soggy street, Emma thought that the dreary morning matched her mood perfectly. As her thoughts once more returned to the events that happened days earlier, to Red's shattered face, Emma violently cleared her mind, putting up her well-worn walls as she wearily prepared herself to face another day alone. Her once morose expression becoming closed off, Emma didn't linger on the fact that putting up her walls had become harder than ever.

If she had learned one thing in life, it was that those walls were necessary.

Finally reaching the town limits, Emma dismounted before continuing towards the market on foot. Despite having spent the past few days holed up in the creaky old barn, Emma was finally hungry enough to bother venturing into town for food. Grey hood drawn over her face, Emma made sure to blend in with travel-worn clothes and a scruffy horse.

Finding an inn, Emma paid for a night and handed the stable boy Biscuit's reins, despite the fact that she would be heading back to her ratty stable come nighttime to continue her self-induced exile. She really only needed a place for Biscuit to stay for a while where she wouldn't be stolen while Emma shopped. With that thought, she stopped the boy before he could make it too far, grabbing an empty bag from the saddle; the thought of carrying her food in a basket caused her stomach to churn.

Walking sedately through the crowded streets, Emma perused the wares of a few stalls, before coming upon a fruit stand. Skipping right over the apples, Emma finally decided on a few oranges, and paid the merchant. As she was placing the last orange into her bag, however someone bumped into her, causing the fruit to fly out of her hands.

"Hey!" Emma croaked, her voice cracking with disuse, as a scruffy urchin swooped down and picked up her orange before darting away. Not willing to let him get away, Emma chased after him through the streets, finally cornering him in an alley. Slowly approaching, Emma huffed. "Dammit, kid, what the hell?"

The urchin narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him, not having expected him to be able to keep up with him. Clutching the large orange tightly between his two dirty hands, he backed up wearily until he bumped into the wall. Emma opened her mouth and took another step forward, only to be interrupted.

"Is everything alright here?" A gruff voice asked from behind them.

Emma glanced behind her, startled, only to inconspicuously pull her hood down further; making sure it hid her whole face. Making a snap decision as the man eyed the urchin with distrust, Emma walked forward decisively before stopping next to the little boy, startling him by placing her hand on his head. Facing the guard in front of her but keeping hidden, she ruffled the urchin's dirty black hair.

"Yessir," Emma stated lowly, thankful the rasp in her voice was deep enough for her to pass as a male. "Just out shopping with my little brother."

The guard eyed the two of them suspiciously as the cloaked figure wrapped a comforting arm around his little brother, the dirty boy looking up at him in surprise. Passing it off after a moment of scrutiny as them not being close siblings, the guard finally nodded. "Well, good day to you then."

Nodding back, Emma waited for the man to leave before stepping away from the little boy. Sighing at the confused eyes looking up at her, Emma crossed her arms and turned away. "Keep the orange, kid," Emma threw over her shoulder as she began to leave the alley.

The urchin shot forward and grabbed the back of the man's cloak, only to gape in surprise as the lady's long blonde hair was released from her hood. Emma stopped, startled, only to whirl around and stare at the boy, hoping he didn't recognize her.

"You're a girl?" The urchin asked, amazed.

She wasn't sure whether to be amused or offended. "I guess I am," Emma responded dryly as she pulled her hood back up.

The urchin slowly closed his gaping mouth, a calculating look entering his eyes. His gaze switched from looking at her, to the orange, and back again. Nodding to himself, he trotted forward and took her hand with one of his small grubby ones, leading the bewildered woman to an unknown destination.

"Hey, whoa, kid," Emma started, surprised, as she suddenly found herself ducking in and out of crowds of people. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You know, you're pretty okay. For a girl." The kid replied, refusing to answer any of her questions.

Snorting in frustration, Emma decided to just let the kid drag her wherever, squashing the little voice in her head that said he reminded her of Henry. She didn't really have anywhere better to go, anyways. As they were reaching the edge of town, however, Emma jumped in surprise as a bird swooped down and narrowly missed her head.

"What's that?" The kid asked, curiously.

Bending down to pick up the bluebird, Emma felt a coil of dread settle in her stomach, only for that dread to multiply tenfold as she read the scrawled 'Emma' on the outside of the rolled up letter. She recognized the writing, and it was with a queasy feeling that she shoved it in her pocket. Shooing the bird away, she let the urchin lead her forward once more; ignoring the inquiring looks he sent her way.

As they turned down another alley, Emma was astonished to find them stopping in front of a large crate. The wood was worn and slightly moldy; a ratty blanket covering the opening to what was obviously his home. Emma stood shocked as the little boy dropped her hand and scurried inside, only to emerge seconds later without the orange.

Just as she was about to open her mouth, another voice called out from behind her.

"Orin!" A little girl shrieked, running past Emma to tackle the little boy, hugging him. "Where has you been!"

"Eww," Orin complained as he pushed the smaller girl off of him, his nose wrinkled at the cooties she undoubtedly gave him. "Ris!"

Ris giggled as she stood up, not bothering to wipe the mud off the back of her dress. Looking towards the stranger next to her brother, she clasped her hands behind her back and bounced slightly. "Who's this?"

"This lady bought us an orange," Orin puffed up proudly as if he had hunted the illusive fruit himself.

"Really?" Ris asked excitedly.

Emma watched, speechless at the events unfolding around her, as the little girl's dirty chocolate brown curls bounced as she was wrapped up in a quick but heartfelt hug. She was only marginally successful in blocking out the image of another curly-haired brunette doing the same thing. "Uh, you're welcome?"

As Orin disappeared back into the crate, Ris leaned up on her tip toes, face sombre, as if she were about to impart a big secret. "Granny's sick and we dun has money to help her, so we's been trying different foods. Orange was next on th'list."

Emma felt her heart clench as her mind unconsciously flashed back to Storybrooke, to another sad brunette whose granny had just had another heart attack. Swallowing the lump in her throat it caused, Emma opened and closed her mouth, trying to find something to say. She gratefully turned her attention to Orin as the little boy emerged again.

"Granny wants to see you," Orin stated, helping his sister push the reluctant lady towards their home, waiting with arms crossed until she disappeared inside. "C'mon Ris, let's play!" Seemingly forgetting the younger girl was supposed to have cooties, the two began a playful game of tag, their giggles filling the alleyway.

Emma crawled uncomfortably inside the cramped crate, coming to sit with crossed legs in front of an old woman. Sitting in uncomfortable silence, Emma studied the older woman. She was resting against the side of the large crate, raggedy pillows and blankets helping to cushion her. Looking the weak-looking form up and down, Emma was surprised to see cloudy eyes staring slightly to her left.

"I apologize for my grandson," Emma was startled as the woman spoke, her voice slightly raspy but surprisingly strong. "I thought I had taught him better than that."

"It-It's okay, really," Emma stumbled over her words, waving away the older woman's words with a hand before realising with embarrassment that she couldn't actually see the action. "I gave him that orange."

"It's sweet of you to say that, child," the old woman chuckled slightly, "but if I know my Orin, he didn't give you much choice in the matter."

Emma opened and closed her mouth, not knowing what to say to that comment; not wanting to confirm that the boy had stolen her fruit. "They said you were sick?" Emma ended up blurting out, wanting the awkward silence to end, yet wincing when the words actually came out of her mouth.

The old lady was quiet for a few minutes, and Emma was starting to believe she had trespassed on a sensitive subject, only for the woman to shift slightly. Nodding to herself, the old lady did her best to set her gaze on the young woman in front of her, as if coming to a decision. "Humor an old woman, would you child, and listen to her story?"

Emma hesitated. She knew she should get back to her exile; knew she should hide away and fix her walls. But looking at the gnarled face in front of her, she knew she couldn't leave right away. Not when the little boy reminded her of Henry, and the little girl reminded her of… No, her tattered walls had taken a beating that day, and Emma didn't have the strength left to pretend at the moment. Starting to nod, Emma quickly stopped herself, vocalising her permission instead.

And so Emma sat there for hours, reluctant to leave the first human contact she had had in days, listening intently as the old woman told her story. She learned of the old lady's life as a child. How she was the daughter of a pair of farmers; how out of eight siblings, only three had made it to adulthood. She listened as the lady talked about how, as a young girl, she fell in love with the blacksmith's middle son, and he with her; how they snuck behind their disapproving parents' backs. She told of how her family was too poor to pay the dowry, and how his father looked down upon her family name; she and her love were going to run away together.

Emma learned of her miscarriage, and how she was raped two months later.

The old lady told of her adult life; about how she had ran away and raised the son alone, feeling shamed and unable to face her love after the attack yet also unable to go through the pain of losing another child. She told of how he had tried to follow her, but she had snuffed him out of her life; she told of how she deeply regretted that decision for the rest of her life.

She told Emma of how proud she was of her son, Orik, when he decided to marry for love, despite the difference in standing between the two of them; of how they were blessed with young Orin, and soon after, little Ris. She told of the bleak day Orik's wife died of the coughing sickness, her parents not wanting anything to do with their wayward daughter despite Orik's pleading for help. Her last words being those of love; of saying she had been blessed and had no regrets.

Emma learned that Orik died two years later, stabbed for the money it was believed he had since he had married a nobleman's daughter; Orik's last words to his son telling him not to cry, that he would be with young Orin's mother once again soon, before he died with a smile on his bloody face

The old lady recounted how she had raised the children alone after that, only to contract a sickness, one that affected the eyes. It was fairly common in these parts, apparently, but was quite pricey to cure; Emma learned the old lady decided to put food on the table instead of buying the antidote, only to lose her job and her house shortly after due to her disability.

And yet, as Emma soon found out as the old lady's story came to a close, the only thing she genuinely regretted in her life was pushing Orth, for that was the name of her childhood love, away.

As the old woman fell silent, her voice hoarse after talking so long, Emma was at a loss as to how to respond. Clearing her throat, Emma asked, mouth dry, "Why did you tell me all of that."

"I sensed your restlessness child; your disquiet feelings." The old lady smiled, somewhat ruefully. "One thing this sickness has done is boost my other senses; a fact I am not wholly grateful for at times." The old lady folded her hands in her lap as Emma sat speechless. "But I digress; my grandson mentioned a bird delivered a letter to you, yet you did not seem pleased. Why is this?"

Emma's hand unconsciously twitched towards her pocket, before she grabbed it with her other hand and clasped them in her lap; the letter burning a hole through her pocket now more than ever. "It's nothing."

"Oh, do my ears deceive me, or is someone dissembling?" The old woman shot a pointed look in Emma's general direction. "Now tell me child, if it is nothing, as you claim, then why would you lie about it."

Not amused at being at the other end of the lie-detecting stick, Emma frowned.

"Now, I may be a sickly old woman, with not a copper piece to her name," The old lady started, voice stern, "but what I lack in education and worldly possessions I make up for in experience. Do not make the same mistakes I did, child." And then, suddenly, to Emma's complete discomfort, the old lady's cloudy eyes found her own with unerring ease. "Even the hope of a happy ending is a powerful thing."

And with those familiar words, Emma found her walls come crashing down, leaving her feeling raw inside. "I don't…" Looking down, Emma found the rolled up letter clutched tightly in her hand. "I'm just me; I don't deserve a happy ending. I'm just plain old me. I don't know how to… how to..." Emma trailed off, unable to force the words out.

"Perhaps." The old lady nodded her head in acceptance. "And yet, perhaps not. The question you must ask yourself, however, is whether or not the person who wrote you that letter deserves a happy ending; answer that, child, and you shall know the answer to the question in your heart."

And with that piece of advice settling heavily in her stomach, Emma watched as the old lady seemingly fell asleep. Uncramping her legs, Emma took that as a dismissal and began crawling out of the crate, only to stop at the threshold. Deliberating for only a moment, Emma untied the small pouch of gold coins from around her waist and deposited it on the ground in front of the old lady, before stretching as she finally exited the small space.

Sighing, she stopped Orin as he rushed by, fixing him with a stern stare. "Okay kid, this is what you're gonna do. You're going to wait for your granny to wake up; then you're going to convince her to head to the inn. There you'll find your room under the name Emily Swin. You'll all have a good night's rest, bathe and eat a hearty meal, and then in the morning you'll get your granny her medicine." Emma released the boys shoulder and walked swiftly away, not turning back to see the wide-eyed look that followed her until she was out of sight.

Walking quickly through the thinned crowd, Emma found herself back at the inn and took her horse back from the stable boy before instructing him on what would be happening with her room. Jumping onto Biscuit's saddle, Emma trotted out of town.

"But miss!" The stable boy called after her, only to mumble to himself in confusion as he watched her speed out of sight. "Nobody lives in East Alley…"

Emma slowed Biscuit down as buildings gave way to lush forests, sighing in unease as she glanced at the letter still tightly clutched in her hand. Smoothing out the crumpled paper, Emma hesitated. "What if she hates me, Bis? What if she never wants to see me again?" Emma's stomach churned; each imagined letter worse than the next. "What if she… takes back what she said… that night. What if she doesn't…" Emma trailed off, only to be almost thrown off her mare as Biscuit snorted and bucked slightly.

"Yeah- I, she deserves it, Bis." Emma cleared her throat, rubbing her eyes roughly as she felt the first prickling sensation of tears and managed to stop them in their tracks. "I still don't, I-I mean I… But she does Bis; she really does. She deserves her happy ending."

Taking a deep breath, Emma shakily opens the letter, eyes drinking in the familiar, yet shaky scrawl, the words interspersed with tearstains. Reading the words, Emma couldn't help but let a slight sob escape her mouth, her pathetic walls torn down as she imagined that it was Red reading the words to her. Blinking away the tears that clouded her vision, she urged Biscuit into a run, the letter fluttering limply from her hands only to be swept away with the wind, slowly coming to a rest yards away in small brook, the words slowly being washed away.

"I hope you get this message that I'm sending to you, 'cause I hate that you left without hearing the words that I need you to. 'Am I supposed to hang around and wait forever', were the last words I said, but that was nothing but a broken heart talking, baby; you know that wasn't what I meant. So I hope you find it; what you're looking for. I hope it's everything you dreamed your life could be; and so much more. And I hope you're happy, wherever you are; searching for whatever it is out there that you were missing here. I just wanted you to know that….. And nothings gonna change that… And I hope you find it."

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A/N:… …