Chapter Eight - The Price and Might of Magic
With an apron tied around her waist, its bib pulled up high, the traveler sank her arms into the warm water before her. She had offered, as the witch had so graciously offered her a place to rest for the evening, to clean up after their shared meal. It had seemed only fair, as the witch had cooked, and her offer had been met with the presentation of an apron and a bar of olive oil soap scented with rosemary.
"I would never expect a princess-" the witch gave the traveler an appraising look, taking in her tunic and woolen stockings. The traveler glanced down at them and winced, realizing that they had once belonged to her father and had been hastily shoved into her pack when she was preparing to depart the castle. "Or would you prefer prince?"
The traveler's ears flushed bright red and she took half a step backwards in her borrowed house shoes. She had always been a knight and a fighter, her place was not in the home. Her mother had been forced into that same position by this very woman, and yet she still relished in the feminine arts that the traveler so detested. She scowled at the witch for her comment; a dig about how she chose to carry herself was never acceptable. "I'd rather your son not discover who I am," she explained in a whisper.
The little boy was obviously taken with her, and the traveler did not want him to grow too attached. She would be gone in a matter of days, pulled forward into the forest by a wanderlust that she could never quite place. The traveler had oftentimes longed for a child of her own, someone that she could share her love of the world and the stories it held. She forced those emotions down and away, the witch could probably smell them on her.
She was met with an indulgent look and a pleasant smile that was almost predatory in its nature. "You think he doesn't already know, dear?" She reached out and patted the traveler on the shoulder. "You must think us both fools."
The traveler swallowed her tongue with her pride as she bent to her task, ears still red with humiliation. "I don't think you fools," she muttered, scrubbing with the rag she'd been given at the bowl in her hands. "I just don't want to confirm any suspicions he has."
Leaning against a support beam, the witch seemed almost confused by this statement. The traveler watched as she allowed her finger to move backwards and forwards though the air, weaving what the traveler could only imagine to be invisible threads of logic together. Her lips pursed and her entire body seemed to move forwards while she remained completely still. "Did you not tell your mother where you were going?"
The traveler shook her head, "It was safer that they did not know."
"You are the princess," The witch asserted, "You should not be missing court life."
"I am a cursed wanderer," the traveler plunged her fist into the water, her hands reaching the bottom of the basin and remaining there, submerged to nearly her elbows in water. She did not look at the witch, she could not look at the woman who had somehow managed to goad such a response from her. Such a creature was not worth of response or respect – her father had taught her that much. "So long as I am at the court, I cannot be happy. There is a void in me –Gods above, you know it."
The witch smiled then, her fingers snapping as the traveler pulled her hands out of the basin with the final bowl from their meal. It was already clean; the water that had slopped up the front of her apron and had soaked through to her shirt was gone. "I would never bind a child such as you," the witch said with a humorless smile. "I only give my favor to those that have earned it."
Rolling back on her heels, the traveler shook her head. "When you came to me at my birth, my mother said you offered a strange blessing. Your favor and my status as your champion."
"I have since abdicated my throne to prevent your mother from committing regicide," The witch said dismissively. They were now standing very close together, their bodies humming with the magical energy of the witch's home and the forest itself. She truly was the forest mistress, and the witch was full of the power of her home. "It would be a pity for such a sacrifice on my part to go to waste because you are too afraid to accept your destiny as future ruler of this kingdom."
"R-" the traveler began; the witch's name on her lips as she leaned forward.
A single finger, long and cruel and sure to be unrelenting pressed against her lips. The traveler stared at the enticing brown eyes of the woman before her and reached up, fingers shaking, as she touched the woman's hand. "Do not speak my name," the witch warned, as the traveler's fingers intertwined with her own.
The traveler leaned forward, capturing the witch's lips before she could make any more arbitrary rules.
The alarm's shrill peeping pulled Emma bodily from her dream and she groaned loudly. It took more effort than she was willing to admit to roll over and turn off the alarm clock. She'd learned long ago that the best way to mess up her entire day would be to linger, and she let out a low hiss as her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor of her bedroom.
She stumbled towards the bathroom, scowling at the early hour that glowed red on her alarm clock. One of the perks of being deputy was that she got to come a little later in the mornings. As she was a one-woman-show now, her hours were slated to be long and filled with the minutia of tedium.
Emma couldn't stake the feeling of the dream, pressing down all around her. They'd been getting worse, starting to feel more and more real, and they were frankly starting to scare her a little bit. The witch in the dream was starting to haunt Emma's every waking moment. She knew who the witch was supposed to be and she knew that such events could never come to pass between them. Still, the beautiful, bewitching woman with dark eyes that Emma felt like she could drown in was a real person that Emma could reach and touch. She'd probably get slapped for her trouble, but the option was there.
Doctor Hopper had pulled Emma aside when he'd passed her on her way home the previous evening and told her that he was required to offer counseling services to all city employees. She'd laughed in his face and asked him if Henry had put him up to it. He'd been quite earnest when he said that she looked like she could use someone to talk to.
The dreams - oh how the dreams plagued her. Doctor Hopper would send her to a psych ward if he ever heard her theories about them.
She showered and brushed her teeth on auto pilot. As she spat out the last of the foam from her toothpaste she heard the tell-tale sounds of Mary Margaret moving around downstairs. A mug was placed on the kitchen island, the kettle whistled shrilly. Emma usually waited until then to blow dry her hair. She couldn't not, it was too damn cold to go to work with it wet and she had to go see Mr. Gold first.
Emma chewed moodily on the inside of her cheek, staring with unseeing eyes at her reflection in the mirror. In fairy tales, mirrors were powerful things, stealing souls and serving as long-range communication devices. They reflected what was inside, not out. Emma didn't have to believe in fairy tales to know that much, she'd been told that her entire life.
Maybe she wasn't much of a feminist, but she liked to think she tried.
Emma did not know how this visit with gold was going to pan out. She suspected that he would try and figure out if she was truly in the Mayor's pocket and go from there. Emma didn't know how to play the situation, but she knew that she had to at least attempt to play it. Gold was very good at his game, that much was for certain.
Thick socks and boots and leggings under her jeans and Emma was nearly ready to face the biting late-November air. She made her way down the steep steps with her sweater half on, pulling it down to be greeted with Mary Margaret's vaguely horrified face. "One of these days, you're going to trip and kill yourself," her roommate sniffed.
"And then you'll surely be framed for murder," Emma retorted as Mary Margaret smiled shyly at her over her steaming mug of coffee. Her hair was curling, forming cow-licks from where she had slept on it wet. Emma had the same problem, the few years she'd kept her hair cropped short so as to avoid it attracting attention to her when she was just out of prison. "No early morning errand today?"
"I..." Mary Margaret glanced at the clock. It read 7:30, they both had to be at work in fifteen minutes. Mary Margaret's things were already arranged by the door, the woman had a minor case of OCD about preparedness and making sure that she had everything for the day's work. Emma thought it was somewhat endearing, but the morning when Mary Margaret had discovered she'd left a mitten and her favorite scarf in her desk at work had been hell. "I think it best if I don't go any more."
There were a million questions that sprang to Emma's mind, but she did not voice them. Mary Margaret would tell her in her own time. They kept little from each other after Emma had told her the story of Henry's conception. She knew that it was about David Nolan - about the Prince Charming that Mary Margaret could never have.
"That's okay," Emma replied, walking to the fridge and pulling out an apple. She set it down next to her keys and paused, staring it thoughtfully. "You'll figure it out."
Mary Margaret sipped her coffee and gave Emma a morose look. "I imagine I will," she sighed and attempted to put a smile on her face. "I'll go to work, I'll come home. I'll even whistle while I do it. I'll be able to move on eventually."
"That'll be the day," Emma laughed, because it was a well-established fact (confirmed by both Ruby and Ashley - the girl that Emma had helped to keep her baby) that Mary Margaret could not whistle. She got red-faced and her cheeks puffed out like a chip monk, but she could not do it.
The glower she received over the coffee mug was well-earned. Emma pulled a can of soup and a bowl down from the cabinets and tucked them both into her work bag, along with her apple. "I'll see you tonight?"
"Definitely," Mary Margaret replied with a smile.
As she walked out the door, she heard Mary Margaret click on the radio. The door closed to the opening strings of a song that had haunted Emma for most of her life.
"I want somebody to share... Share the rest of my life..."
She hummed the tune as she cut across the street and headed steadily up the road towards Mr. Gold's shop. He had requested her presence and she would not go against his request. She couldn't go against his request.
The fact that there seemed to be very little argument about her compliance worried Emma. She knew that it was a bad sign, a sign that Gold had some sort of sway over her that was far more absolute than the favor Regina had offered her.
Was this what had caused Regina to stand aside when she had been so angry with Gold? Emma very quickly shoved that thought to the back of her mind because the implications of what it could mean were simply too scary and too much for her to stomach and not-even-eight-am. No, such things were meant to be pondered after at least four cups of coffee and a decent breakfast.
So, after lunch.
Her thoughts and the biting wind swirled around her as Emma rapped three times on the door to Gold's shop. There was a light on deep within the store floor, despite the early hour. She knew that Gold had a house, and old Victorian not too far from the Mayor's house, but it did not surprise her that he rarely seemed to be there. His shop was in the center of town, close to what little action there was in Storybrooke. It made sense that a man who commanded so much power in the city would want to spend much of his time located near to where the action took place.
Emma shivered as she watched Gold make his way through the store, leaning heavily on his cane. She had wondered a few times how his leg had gotten that way – he was about the right age to be a Vietnam vet, Emma guessed. Somehow, though, she couldn't see Gold as a soldier. He lacked a certain something that Emma could not quite put her finger on that would have made him a good soldier. "Ms. Swan," he said, sounding almost legitimately surprised. Emma could feel the lie curl at the base of her neck, the hair there standing up on end. He was a good actor, but not perfect one, it seemed. "I didn't realize you'd come so early."
That, at least, was the truth. She gave him a weak smile. "It's freezing today," she explained. "I still have a lot of paper work to sort through, so I wanted to get to the office and stay there until patrol later on today."
"It is rather chilly, for November." He gave a small shrug and stepped away from the door, allowing Emma passage inside. She stepped in and exhaled gratefully. Her knees were starting to feel numb and she was almost positive she was shivering. "Now then," Mr. Gold began, heading over to the counter. He set his cane down and bent, lifting a box and setting it down with a quiet exhale of air that betrayed how much effort it had actually taken him. "I know that it's not much, but I thought that I'd offer it to you before I do what I normally do and attempt to resell it."
"Why not donate it?" Emma asked, wrinkling her nose. She'd been on the receiving end of donations from the dead before, and she'd always been grateful for their things. "There are people who could use it."
"Ah," He raised a finger and shook his head, "I am a businessman, dearie. I'm not in the business of charity."
Emma frowned, eyes narrowing. "Then why offer his things to me at all?"
It seemed silly to do so. Like they were merely a carrot to get lead her in, and she wasn't buying charity from a man who seemed to thrive on deals and contracts. This felt like the unknown of Storybrooke, that terrifying feeling that Emma got whenever she spent too much time around Regina. She felt as if she was being sucked into something far bigger and more dangerous than her own personally fears and views of the world could handle. It was almost paralyzing her fear, and Emma felt the urge to flee grow strongly with her – Henry and her promise to Regina the only things keeping her rooted here.
She stood stock still, fingers curled around the edge of the box, watching him as he flipped through a magazine near the top of the pile of Graham's things.
"You're smart," He said at length. "I can see why she picked you." He gave her a bland smile. "Pity, though."
"What's a pity?" Emma demanded.
"That she doesn't know who you are," He leaned forward, eyes flashing dangerously. "I was the one who got her your boy, wasn't I? I knew exactly who you were and what you had done when I gave him to her."
She wanted to protest that Regina knew those things too, but the words did not come. She glared at him and folded her arms across her chest. Perhaps it was better to play into his hands, just for the time being. He was a fixer, she'd met a fair number of them in her time. It was all about knowing how to appease him, Emma knew that well. It was easy then, to cock her hip out to one side and dare him to argue against her when she pointed out, "I was a minor, and those records are sealed."
"You're in a position of power in this town, sheriff," he explained, picking up a small metallic statue of a wolf and turning it over appraisingly in his hands. Not for the first time, Emma wondered just who this man was in Henry's story. Regina had said he'd created the curse, but had never specified who he was. Emma resolved that the best solution would be to simply ask Henry. Henry would know and would tell her without a fight. Hopefully. "You'd best wield it wisely."
Emma leaned forward and flashed a mirthless smile. "It is far too early in the morning for threats, Mr. Gold. Please, tell me why you have me here or I will walk out that door and do everything I can to get you run out of this town."
He gave a little bark of laughter. "You do that, dearie." He gestured to the box. "Please, take something, I'd hate to see you without a memento of the good sheriff."
There were a pair of walkie-talkies in the box, and Emma reached without thinking. "These then," she replied. Maybe she could find some use for them if she ever ended up wandering around the woods looking for a deranged sheriff again.
"For your boy?" He asked, his tone suddenly quiet and malice gone.
"What do you care?" Emma demanded, heading towards the door and tugging her hat further down around her ears. "You were the one who brought him to this hellhole." The cold stole her breath as she walked out, Graham's walkie-talkies tucked under her arm and a scowl firmly etched upon her face.
Had she bothered to turn, she would have seen a smile curling across Mr. Gold's face as he set the box of the former sheriff's things down onto the floor next to the counter. Things were getting interesting in Storybrooke, it seemed.
Interesting indeed, dearie.
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Emma received a text from the Mayor on her lunch hour, requesting that she please collect Henry from school on her way back from patrol and watch him until six. Apparently the Mayor, as Emma discovered a few irritated texts from Regina later, had a great deal of paperwork that she had been unable to get to the previous day because some child had been using her work computer to Google facts about bears.
(She had snorted about that one and had just barely resisted asking how she was ever going to explain all the leather daddy pictures that now were cached on her computer. Barely being the key word there because oh, it was tempting.)
The day dragged a little bit, Emma staring at Graham's walkie-talkies as they sat on the desk before her. They were a stark reminder of what she did not know. Her mind was clouded, distracted as she bundled back up to head out on patrol and to pick up Henry.
Henry met her at the curb when she pulled up at close to three-fifteen that afternoon. She was a few minutes late, held up with a public intoxication citation and a stern promise to the gentleman in question that next time he'd be spending his evening in the station's lone jail cell should he do it again.
"Why are you picking me up?" Henry demanded, climbing into the warm cruiser and shivering a little bit as the warm air that was blasting from the heaters hit his cheeks. Emma tried not to wince as he raised the back of a mittened hand to rub at the snot that had accumulated at the end of his nose. Maine was the absolute worst in the winter, and Emma was not at all surprised that Henry's nose was running like crazy as the temperature around him changed rapidly.
Emma reached behind her and grabbed a box of tissues and pressed them into Henry's hands, eyes on the road as she moved to turn out into traffic. "Your mom needed her computer," she explained, signaling and maneuvering herself successfully through the throngs of dated mini-vans and sedans as parents picked their children up for the evening. "You're to write out your report by hand and to make up for it she'll help you type it tonight."
Emma knew that it was a little bit of a stretch to believe that Regina would truly type up her child's report without doctoring it at all. "Your mom do that lots for you, kid?" she asked as Henry blew his nose and peered at the tissue with interest. "Gross!" Emma added, swatting at his hand.
Little boys were the worst.
"Yeah," Henry explained, his tone lighter than Emma would expect, given who they were discussing. It only served to further solidify Emma's theory that Henry did indeed love his mother. She was distant and not entirely emotionally available, that much was a given, but there was love between the pair of them that could not be mistaken. Emma was glad of that, she hated to think that Regina was a sociopath or something close to it. Curse or no curse, she had to try and see what was best in everyone – it was her purpose in life to save them all, it seemed.
"She's never really gotten used to computers and we don't have one at home so when I need to do reports, I either use hers if she's not too busy at work or write it out by hand and she'll type it up for me." He turned to look at Emma, fingers curling around his school bag where Emma was positive his book was.
"You're lucky," Emma admitted, eyes fixed on the road ahead of her. If she looked at Henry, her face was sure to crumble. She would have killed for someone - anyone - who would have helped her find interest in her school work. She'd spent half of her high school career in detention, forced to do her school work because she honestly had no other choice. She hated it, hated how she was never given an option to grow to love learning as much as Henry clearly did. "I woulda killed for something like that when I was your age."
"What?" Henry asked, as Emma turned towards the station.
Emma sighed, her gloved hands on the steering wheel slipping as she spun the wheel. "A mom who cared," she explained as she pulled into the sheriff's parking space. She was still so new to this whole parent thing, and she wasn't about to bring up the walking up hill in the snow both ways to school. Fuck that, she wasn't an old lady just yet - and she could say her piece without Henry thinking that of her.
His silence was a testament to the truth in her words, Emma thought. There was no other way around it really. Henry was a child who saw things the way that all children see things - black and white and absolute.
As they both clambered from the car and hurried into the station, Emma added, "How about this, Henry, I have to return you for dinner at six. You finish your report by five and we'll talk about Operation Cobra some."
His eyes grew wide and excited, "Really?"
Emma nodded, pulling off her gloves and ruffling his hair. He raised his hand and tried to bat her hand away, instead resorting to sticking his tongue out at her as she smoothed it back into place. "I want you to teach me about how magic works in your book."
He settled down at Emma's old desk and Emma found herself lingering in the doorway. Watching him sit there was forcing her to accept for the first time that this was her show now. Graham was gone and in the ground, Regina had arranged a lovely service and Emma had dared to dress in the official sheriff's uniform for the first time to attend the funeral.
Half the town had turned out and Emma had found herself standing with her jaw set and resolute beside the man who had been one of the first to welcome her to Storybrooke.
Emma shook herself, trying to force the emotions away. She did not want to appear weak in front of Henry. He already saw her as a hero that she did not think she was ready to be. The stack of paperwork she had yet to process for the day was still growing on her desk and she found herself scowling at it trying to will it smaller.
With a long-suffering sigh, Emma switched on her computer monitor and got to entering information into the city's documentation system. The thing was straight out of the eighties as it was, and time groaned slowly on.
At five fifteen Henry set down his pencil and pushed his notes and printouts away and pulled the book from deep within his bag. "DO you want me to read your report before you give it to your mom?" Emma asked, not sure if peer review was something that Regina supported or frowned upon. "You know - check if to GUMs and stuff."
Henry inclined his head to the side, "Gums?"
What the hell was Mary Margaret teaching him in that class? Emma scowled, "Grammar, usage and mechanics." She raised her eyebrows, "You know, those things that you should be getting mostly correct by your age?"
"My mom will do it," Henry replied. "She likes to help me make corrections once it's on the computer. She thinks it's smarter, but when I was little she would make me rewrite things."
"Oh," Emma supposed that it would be easier to do then, in the long run. "Okay, that actually makes more sense."
"Thanks for the offer," Henry smiled and Emma found herself grinning back at him. He was a good kid, actually tried to do his school work, unlike Emma at his age. He wasn't interesting in stealing the older kid's bikes and climbing trees to get away from life, her foster families, everything really.
He hopped up into her lap and propped the book open against Emma's desk. "Okay," he said, opening to the section about how the curse was cast. There was a picture of some of the Evil Queen's cronies, gathered around a fire pit full of purplish-black smoke. "What do you want to know about magic?"
She knew that she really should be asking Regina. Henry was just a kid, what could he possibly know about this stuff? But she wanted at least a neutral observer to explain it to her.
The questions that she had about magic did not come from the place where Regina would answer willingly. She had questions about how exactly magic worked in the fairy tale world of Henry's book. Regina had implied that there was no magic in this world, but that there were still some protections and spells that could work. She was able to produce the sword, after all. And why was that?
"Is it true that the Evil Queen-" Emma began.
"My mom," Henry interjected.
"The Evil Queen," Emma insisted forcefully, "Cursed everyone she'd ever met to this world knowingly?"
Henry turned a few pages and pointed to a specific passage. "Yeah," he tapped the page and Emma leaned forward to read a description of the Evil Queen saying some very Regina-like things and announcing that the world that she was cursing Snow White and the rest of the denizens of the Enchanted Forest to had no magic at all. She'd called it terrible. "Why do you ask?"
"If the Evil Queen is a witch and very good at magic, why would she send herself to a place where she would have none of it?" Emma asked. She reached around Henry and flipped the book back a few pages. Magic was the sort of thing that was ruled by arbitrary concepts and rules. She knew this was why true love's kiss could break any curse – she'd learned that from the Disney version of Snow White when she was five. From what she could gather, Disney, at least, had gotten that little detail correct. "The price that she paid was..."
"She killed her father." Henry's tone was dark and his expression grim. "She didn't even care that she was killing him, after all that he'd done for her."
"How do you know?" Emma asked, resting her chin on Henry's shoulder as they both stared at the passage before them. The Evil Queen had gone to Rumplestiltskin to ask why the curse had not worked when she'd scarified her favorite horse. Emma hadn't known that the Evil Queen had liked horses, and filed that information away to ask Regina about later.
His lips drew up into a thin line, much like the expression that Regina often got when Emma was getting on her nerves. Or breathing too loudly, or asking too many questions. He turned a few pages back in the book, pausing at a story about what looked suspiciously like the Mad Hatter, before going back further. "I just do," he announced finally, placing two hands with fingers spread wide across the book and sighing. "It's a feeling."
Emma pulled his hand away, looking at the picture he was partially covering up, an image of a little girl sobbing into her father's shoulder. "I think she loved him very much," Emma explained. "Maybe that's why the curse worked; because it hurt her so much to do what had to be done to make it work."
"But that's terrible!" Henry protested. He looked horrified that Emma could even suggest such a thing. "How could you kill your mom or your dad?"
"Henry," Emma said seriously. She fixed her eyes straight ahead and stared hard at that point on the wall, willing herself to not shake or waver as she spoke. "When you told me that I was the savior of this town, meant to break the curse, how did you think that the curse would end?"
He stilled in her lap, and Emma wrapped her arms around him as tight as she could. "I don't know." His admission came quietly, and Emma knew that the realization of what Emma was getting at could not be far behind. "I thought that you'd come in and be a hero – kill the evil."
"I don't want to kill your mom," Emma said quietly. "I don't think you want me to do it either."
"No..." Henry said quietly. "No I don't."
"Maybe…" Emma began, not wanting this conversation to end on a poor note. "Maybe the role of the White Knight isn't to save the people who are cursed – maybe it's to save everyone. Even the Evil Queen."
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The next time Emma found herself truly alone with Regina was several days later. Henry had gone with David Nolan to help him feed the animals at the shelter, happily chattering away about man things that Emma didn't pretend to understand or get. Regina seemed to like David a lot more than Mary Margaret, which was interesting in and of itself, given how he was (if the curse was to be believed) Emma's father.
"They seem happy," Emma commented. Her hands were shoved in the back pockets and she felt almost intruding as Regina retreated back into her study, settling down on the couch there and staring at her hands. "Do you approve of them being close?"
Regina's brow furrowed and Emma watched as the woman stared down at her hands. It was strange to see Regina, who was usually so put together, like this. Her movements were somehow uncertain and Emma could tell that she was worried. Graham's death had clearly affected her, drawing her deeper within herself and making the Mayor even less willing to answer Emma's questions. "Hardly," she said at length, drawing her gaze up to focus on Emma with slightly unseeing eyes. "His relationship with David Nolan is no doubt instilling in him the ideas that relationships are just an inconsequential element and do not require commitment."
Emma felt her eyes widen and she leaned forward, finally allowing herself to fully enter the room. "I see you ah…" she trailed off, running her hand through her hair and looking sheepishly at Regina. "Know about that."
The look she received suggested that the Mayor thought considerably less of Emma for letting it go unmentioned. The Mayor's face contorted into a mix of emotions so complex that they took an extra moment to be drawn back up and under Regina's usual expression of superiority and contempt.
"This is my town, dear," Regina said, sitting back and letting her arms rest across the back of the couch. Emma thought she looked every bit the queen she was in that moment, and swallowed, trying to suppress the urge to drop to her knees before her Queen. "There is very little that goes on here that I do not know about."
That simply would not do. She could not allow Regina to think her somehow inferior because of whatever the fuck having her favor meant. Emma knew that there was a lot more going on here than what met the eye. She was all about seeing deeper meanings in things, but Regina was a tough nut to crack. She was all locked up within herself, and Emma would not allow the Queen the luxury of knowing what Emma was thinking when Emma was still struggling to discern what was going on behind those dark eyes and closed-off expression.
"Can I ask you something?" Emma asked, moving to sit at the opposite end of the couch and squaring her feet as best she could. Her entire body was already on the defensive and she hated that she had yet to even choke the words out and already her body was screaming at her 'no.' It was stupid and foolish.
Regina's expression softened. "You already have," she offered.
"I meant-" Emma began.
"Please, Ms. Swan," Regina chuckled, "Your lack of diction aside, I am willing to answer your questions – within reason."
Emma took a deep breath and asked the one question that had been burning on the periphery of her mind for far longer than she cared to recall. "For as long as I can remember, I've had these dreams," She began, looking over at Regina with a small smile. "I'm a traveler, always. When I was younger I was as I appear in the dreams now. I'm searching for something across a fantastic realm on a horse that belongs to the man who I know in the dreams to be my father."
Regina's eyes narrowed and she nodded for Emma to continue.
"When I came to Storybrooke I had had one of these dreams. I usually took them as a sign to move on from wherever I was staying, never really gave them much thought until the," she gestured in the general direction of Regina's chest, "sword and stuff."
"Tell me," Regina began, leaning forward and looking far more interested than a normal person should be regarding fantastic potentially prophetic dreams. "Did you dream of anything else?"
"In my dreams I met a little boy in a clearing in the forest. The clearing stank of magic, the sort of sulfur smell mixed with rosemary-"
"And dill," Regina finished and Emma stared up at her with confusion clearly written across her face. "I'm a witch, Ms. Swan," Regina pointed out. "I know better than most how magic smells."
Emma threw up her hands, "Look, I just wanted you to know that I'm dreaming about the world that Henry's book is based out of. You're in the dreams, and they seem to be trying to tell me something, I don't know what," she glared at Regina. "Please, don't mock me just because I'm telling you them as I've experienced them. Unlike you, I didn't grow up around magic."
"I didn't," Regina interjected quietly. Emma could see a flicker of hurt cross her face and she leaned forward, fingers brushing up against Regina's thigh. "Grow up around magic. Not entirely."
There was so much hurt and confusion in Regina's voice that Emma withdrew her hand and scooted a little bit further away from the Mayor. Personal space, she'd learned, was prime real estate when it came to Regina Mills, and Emma was determined to give it to her as best she could. "My childhood wasn't so charmed either," Emma offered.
"I suppose you think that my fault?" Regina asked in that same quiet tone that set Emma on edge. She couldn't place a finger on why it bothered her so much, but she supposed it was because it was the tone of a woman scorned, rather than that of pure evil. Henry's notion of his mother was that she was a purely black character in a world of black and white. Emma had been trying to make him see the shades of grey as best she could, but they did not come easily, that much was certain.
Emma shrugged. "How could I?" She asked, because when she truly thought about it, it was not Regina's fault. Regina created her initial life circumstances; she did not create the subsequent ones. "All I could be mad at you for was taking me away from my parents – but they're the ones – according to the story anyway – that sent me away." She gave a little shrug and added, "It is nice, dreaming about having a loving family." She scowled, thinking of how the traveler in her dreams always was quick to point out that her parents were not exactly the most kind and forgiving of parents. "Only I get the sense they did not appreciate my wanderlust."
Regina gave a short bark of laughter. "Such is the problem of such realms," she explained, her lips twisting into an almost friendly smile. "They do not allow for those who do not adhere to social mores to move outside of them."
"Hey, I think that Snow White was pretty bad ass," Emma protested. She had to admit, upon finally getting Henry to tell her the specifics of Snow White's epic quest and adventures, that her mother hand lived damn dangerously and was the sort of badass that would make even Xena jealous.
(Well, maybe not Xena…)
The Mayor's shoulders hunched, "Snow did what she needed to out of necessity."
"Because of you?" Emma asked.
"Yes, dear," the Mayor's lips twisted into a sneer and her expression hardened into something unpleasant and alien on Regina's face. Emma hated seeing her like that, full of hatred and contempt for the world at large. "Because of me." She leaned forward then, fingers reaching out to touch Emma's face. Her fingers burned as they lay on Emma's cheek, lingering just so to make Emma almost flinch at the intensity hidden there. "Your dreams are further proof of the connection between us. Should you ever actually succeed in breaking this curse, your mother, I'm sure, will be thrilled to find you in my thrall."
"I am not in your thrall," Emma folded her arms and jerked her chin away from Regina's hand. "I am no one's puppet."
"I think," Regina said coldly, rising to her feet and giving Emma a look that made her feel almost sick to her stomach, "That you will find that you are." Regina folded her arms across her chest and looked down at Emma, still seated as she was on the very edge of the couch. Her fingers rose and fell, one by one, onto her forearm as Regina contemplated Emma. "Bow before your queen," she hissed.
Emma's knees seized up from under her and she pitched forward, shins and kneecaps connecting harshly with the hardwood floor of the Mayor's study. Her palms splayed wide across the floor as she rested on all fours, pushing herself upwards as defiantly as possible. Emma could feel her jaw jutting out proudly and her expression turning haughty. "I bow to no one," she said, shakily rising to one knee. "I will give my life for you, for anyone in this town, Majesty. But do not expect me to bow."
"You're on your knees," Regina pointed out snidely, folding her arms and looking smug as all get out doing so. "You will submit to my will."
"Just as you are a pawn to Gold?" Emma demanded, shoving herself to her feet and taking a step forward. "I heard him – when you were talking to him after Graham died. He told you to back off and you did. What the hell does he have over you to make it so that he can get whatever he wants from you?"
The Mayor's eyes flashed dangerously and she stared at Emma as Emma dared to take yet another step forward. "I don't know what you're talking about," Regina said quickly and the lie settled heavily over Emma. Maybe Regina had not believed her when she had told Henry that it was her super power. She could always tell when she was being lied to – she'd spent her entire childhood living out that lie, after all.
Emma's lips twitched, pitching upwards into a self-assured smile as she placed her hands on her hips and said in her most 'this is bullshit' tone, "I think you do." The Mayor seemed to crumple, being caught in her lie, and Emma knew that this was the moment where she had to push her advantage. "He said please and you just let him go."
Regina threw up her hands, turning and stalking away from Emma to stand over by the window. Emma could see the troubled and conflicted look on her face as she breathed out, "Those are the rules."
The rules? What the hell sort of rules were those? Emma bit at the inside of her cheek and glared at Regina. The low light of the room and the growing darkness outside were making the Mayor's eyes almost shine in the darkness, gleaming with a sort of malicious intent that made Emma feel sick to her stomach. The strangest thing was that she didn't think that the evil look and anger were directed at her, but at the man who had made the rules in the first place.
Still, it begged the question, and Emma couldn't help but ask, "Are they supposed to apply to me? To Henry?"
"I-" Regina opened her mouth, realization dawning in the first clear emotion that Emma had seen all day across her face. Her eyes were wide and fearful and Emma wanted nothing more than to walk across the room and put her arms around this woman she'd come to care about.
She couldn't do it. Not yet.
They were in this for the long haul, now. Emma's soul had been committed before she could even consent to it. She would be breaking this curse, that much she knew for certain. She'd break the curse and save everyone no matter what the cost.
She scoffed, peering over at the back of Regina's head. "Now who's the pawn?"
Regina seemed to stiffen, her back becoming ramrod straight as her voice took a cold tone, "Leave."
"No." Emma crossed her arms across her chest and cocked her hip out at what she hoped was a defiant angle. She was daring Regina into action here, wondering what she'd do if pushed too far.
"Ms. Swan, I may not have magic here, but I am still your queen and you will respect my wishes," Regina stepped away from the window, crossing to stand near Emma. They were facing opposite directions, their bodies diametrically opposed the way that they were as people. They wanted different things out of this union and the agreement between them was hardly fair.
Regina's fingers were warm on Emma's check, patting her there with a bizarrely maternal expression crossing over her face. Her eyes softened and her smile did not seem quite so calculating. Truth be told, it was that smile, more so than anything else that Regina had ever done or said to her, that made her want to run as far away from this place as she could possibly arrange. "Go away Baby Charming, these are war games, not cops and robbers."
"I- I have to be here, for you." The words sounded clunky and awkward, out of place for what she was offering Regina. The Mayor had made her this way, forced her into this role of protector and savior.
"You are a fool then, and playing into his hands," Regina said, her tone sounding almost sad at the fact.
Something snapped in Emma then, and she stepped forward, fingers closing around Regina's shoulder and yanking them around so that they were facing each other. Regina's eyes were narrowed and her nose was flaring dangerously – almost like a bull preparing to charge. Emma knew that she should be careful, and not go too far, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, each word proof positive that she might have finally figured this shit out. "Like you did? Killing your only loving relative to trap yourself alone in this hell-hole?" She scowled, her expression haughty as she raised an eyebrow at the fury blossoming across Regina's face. "Tell me; was it easy for you to stick a knife into dear old dad?"
"You go far beyond your place," The Queen hissed, her fingers connecting with Emma's cheek as she lashed out, nails biting into the soft flesh at Emma's cheek. The sting of Regina's ring and nails cut harshly into her cheek. "I should have your head."
"Sorry lady," Emma said, fingers on her cheek. There was defiance in her every move now, and she pressed her luck further. She leaned in towards Regina and growled, "This is America. We don't believe in beheading people just because they point out the truth to us."
The hand that had slapped her rose to strike again, and Regina hissed, "Get out." Emma stood resolute before her, and she added, desperation clear in her voice. "I am your Queen."
Emma shook her head, "I can't do that," she explained. She'd said what she had to do to get Regina to see that most of the secrets were already known between them. There was no point trying to hide these things from each other, because honesty was the only policy that was going to keep them alive if Mr. Gold and whomever else Regina had made an enemy of would be coming for them. "I am the savior and when I tell you that I want to do this together, I mean it."
She hadn't realized it until that moment, but she had bought into the curse wholeheartedly. There were so many obstacles to tackle, huge mental barriers that she had to force herself to work around. She had come from the world where Regina had been born, fucking Narnia or some shit. She had a million questions, but they didn't matter right now.
Her fingers slid up Regina's arm to cup under her chin, forcing her eyes up. Emma damn near flinched at the maelstrom of emotions that surged in the depths of Regina's eyes. She had not anticipated them being there, because Henry had said that the Queen had given up her ability to feel when she cast the curse. The pain she saw there was very real, and incredibly terrifying. "Regina, come on," Emma whispered, fingers lingering on Regina's face.
"I-" Regina began, brow furrowing a little bit in what Emma could only place as uncertainty. There was a moment of hesitance, before Emma found herself shoved up against the wall of Regina's study and the Mayor pressing her lips against Emma's. There was desperation in that moment, and Emma found herself too surprised to react, her arms sagging against their grip on Regina's shoulders as she let herself be kissed with ferocity that she'd never experienced before.
It had never felt like this before.
Emma's eyes fluttered closed and she raised her hands to tangle in Regina's hair, the thought occurring to her before her mind was too far gone that maybe this was what it meant to have the Queen's favor.
db
Now, let's get cooking.
This has never been my strong suit.
The spell that Rumplestiltskin gave the Evil Queen was actually fairly simple, all things considered. He thought of it as his final masterpiece, the one thing that he had gotten right in all of his (many) years. The incantation was but four lines, the price was steep for such an act, and the man behind it waited in breathless anticipation for the spell to be cast.
He could never pay such a price; otherwise he would have cast the spell long ago. The one he loved most was gone from this world.
List of ingredients to cast an evil spell:
-heart of what you love most
-tails of three young, pregnant hares
-fyendfire seeds
-beanstalk leaves – fresh, not found
-a strand of hair from your closest enemy
-and three from your greatest ally
-Toenail clippings of a toad
-eye of a bear
-Three drops blood thine own.
Funny, the queen put her hair in twice.
Yes, I was wondering about why she did that.
Who knows with those magic users anyway?
You guys are super duper awesome, thank you so much for your kind reviews!
The song that comes on the radio is Depeche Mode's Somebody. it's a great song by a great band and you should all listen to them. One thing that always bothers me in fanfic is when people give characters super indie-hipster taste in music, so I tried to pick a song that would have been popular when Emma was young so that a] she recognized it and b] would help to illustrate how Storybrooke was dated.
I actually sat down and planned out the rest of the fanfic! Go me. Looking at maybe 14 or so parts?
Next: The Dreams and The Meaning