A/N: Exciting chapter this time! And once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed. I had probably the worst weekend ever, so it was nice to get the encouragement to update on time. So please have fun reading, guys!

The Handmaiden's Philosophy
Chapter Seven

Emma's POV

Emma had experienced more of society in her twenty years of life than most people did in twice that time, simply because she had been born and raised a Princess before willfully abandoning that life for that of a peasant. Not a great many people could claim to have experienced both sides of that particular societal coin. (Though her father one of those few, ironically.) That isn't to say that she romanticized the life she had now over the life she was bred for. Emma was of the firm opinion that there were both benefits and drawbacks to belonging to the noble class as well as belonging to the serving class. If she were being honest with herself, Emma might even admit that she didn't really care what her station in life was, so long as she was the one in command of it. That being said, her visit to the ancestral Raillon keep was proving to be very interesting. If there was one thing she had learned in her time on the run from the rulers of the Silverwoods, it was that people were all the same no matter who they were or how far you wandered. And the fact that many of the upper class looked down upon their subjects as if they were lesser beings was a constant source of astonishment to her.

After all, what was a noble but a well-dressed peasant? A shepherd could be King just as easily as a Princess could be a tavern girl.

She had not interacted much with the servants in the Queen's castle. She liked a few of them –Josie and Mabel and little Teresa, the cook's assistant—well enough, but Emma hadn't ever really been one for friends. The ones she'd had in her youth were all assigned to her. Later, during her time as a tavern girl in Lyon, she'd found that with her upbringing she had little in common with the other peasants. More recently, the other servants –be they chambermaids or footmen or kitchen girls or stable boys—respected her enough to keep an appropriate emotional distance. She was used to the relative isolation, having never known anything different, and Emma had plenty to occupy her time when not attending her Queen in the castle.

At Lord Verye's wedding, things were different. No one knew her there, and the servants were not held to as exacting a standard as they were in the royal palace. They socialized and gossiped while they worked, and the chaos induced through the mixing of so many guests and their accompanying servants (the Lord of House Raillon was a popular man, it seemed) made a calm and organized working environment next to impossible to achieve. Amongst the servants, no one was quite certain who had arrived with whom, or what their respective duties actually were in an unfamiliar house.

Emma could say this for the Evil Queen though; she treated her servants well, if they were competent. It was rather strange for the blonde to experience the complete indifference and occasional rudeness from other nobles that she was subjected to during their three-day stay at the keep, so accustomed was she to serving the Queen who at the very least usually acknowledged her presence and would often converse with her.

Personal servants were so very underestimated by those less wise than her Queen.

Emma wasn't what one might label nosy. Honestly, she wasn't. But dressed clearly as a servant, she became more invisible to some of the upper class than if she had acquired a spell to make it so, and she was a naturally curious soul. She could hardly be blamed for paying a bit more attention than usual to the sounds that surrounded her when there was such delicious gossip to be had directly from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

In the absence of Mabel, who had stayed behind, Emma took on additional duties as a chambermaid. She was assisted by another girl who lived in the keep itself, as she was obviously unfamiliar with the guest rooms provided, and Emma in return frequently followed her about to assist in a few of the other rooms when she had the time. Thus, Emma was oftentimes in prime position to overhear various naughty tidbits of conversation that occasionally had her laughing like a madwoman when she recalled them.

Like now, for instance.

It had taken quite an impressive amount of self-control for Emma to keep her silence until she had reached her Queen's guest quarters, arms full with fresh linens. Once she'd stepped inside however, the once-Princess collapsed into a fit of giggles, slumping against the door in a rare break of posture and gasping for air between peals of laughter.

"What in the world has brought you to such a state, girl?" snapped the Queen from her place leaning in the doorway to the sitting room on her left, startling Emma into a state of semi-sobriety. She'd thought the brunette to be out at the celebration still, as the dancing and drinking of the wedding feast were still in full swing.

Struggling to regain her composure, Emma straightened before dipping into a shallow curtsey, splaying her skirts on only one side as the fresh bed linens were still tucked under one arm. She'd stopped laughing, though she knew she was still grinning like a fool. "My apologies, my Queen," she demurred. "Had I known you would be retiring early, I would have made your bed far sooner."

The Queen just ached a perfectly formed eyebrow, her beautiful features clearly showing her irritation with the evasion of the question. She was still dressed in the skin-tight black gown she'd worn to the festivities, her hair thrown up into the upright ponytail edged with lace that Emma was informed was her classic image. Stunning, as usual, though Emma was beginning to think that it was impossible for the woman to be otherwise, regardless of her state of dress.

"The table attendants told me that Lord Marcus of House Tris was expelling his usual vitriol towards non-traditional couples quite loudly in the dining hall this morning," Emma explained, relenting some as she straightened once more. The Queen was regarding her with interest, and Emma thought that this reaction was probably due to the fact that she rarely maintained less than impeccable posture regardless of the humor of their interactions, and yet just moments ago she'd been laughing freely. She blushed slightly under the scrutiny, self-conscious of having lost control in such a way before her Queen, who required such professionalism from her servants. "Yet but a few moments ago, I witnessed Lord Marcus's eldest son entering one of Lord Blake's son's chambers. He was greeted quite… enthusiastically. I do wonder what Lord Marcus would think, should he become aware of the identity of his son's latest dalliance," Emma finished with a coy smile.

The Queen blinked before tossing her head back with a dark chuckle that did funny things to Emma's stomach. "Well isn't that precious?" the woman commented with a sneer that the blonde knew her well enough to know hid genuine mirth. "Lord Marcus is old. Perhaps we shall see a union between House Tris and House Black before long. When they are found out, I will lend my support of the match, and I might have a greater ally in those Houses as well."

If Queen Regina was anything, she was a competent Queen, Emma knew. The blonde wasn't sure of the woman's personal stance on most subjects, but she was pleasantly surprised that the Queen was both intelligent and tolerant enough to already be contemplating how to take advantage of such a situation regardless of whether or not she agreed with it. Emma's own parents would have disapproved of the affair, she was certain. They would have never outwardly objected, of course, but they would have never openly supported two noblemen if their wish was to be married either, regardless of how it would have benefitted them to do so. It was especially hypocritical considering their liberally espoused veneration of all aspects of True Love.

Emma smiled brightly at her Queen. A true, open, affectionate smile that caused the other woman's eyes to flash with momentary surprise upon seeing it. Normally, Emma wouldn't dare break the reserved façade that was expected of her as a handmaiden, but tonight, she simply couldn't bear concealing her happiness. Thankfully, the Queen chose not to comment on her expression and allowed Emma to go about her duties in peace as she sat by the fire with a book. She pretended indifference, but Emma could feel the woman's eyes on her as she quietly finished preparing the rooms for the evening.

She didn't mind.

The wedding of Lord Verye and Lady Mary was a resounding success, and the guests left the next day quite contented. Even the Queen. Once more, Emma rode in the carriage with her employer. Unlike her first experience doing so, however, the pair did not sit in silence, for which Emma was glad. (The journey was a full one from sunup to sundown, and while the blonde was fairly good at maintaining composure in most situations, the dull monotony of the trip would have had her fidgeting like a child within minutes.) Instead, the Queen had brought a small selection of books from which she demanded Emma read aloud to her both on their way there and now, on their way back. The handmaiden did so gladly. In a strange way, she found it endearing that the Queen suffered from something so human as motion sickness when she attempted to read while traveling, and so she took to her task with good humor. Literature was a subject that the both of them took joy in, and Emma was glad of the easy atmosphere that her recitations created within the carriage.

It was a beautiful day for traveling. It had rained on their journey to the Raillon keep, but six hours into the return journey the weather still held, and Emma was grateful that she needn't fear suffering the abysmal cold once more.

Unfortunately, it was what she didn't think to fear that she really should have.

The first beast dropped from the sky faster than the drop of an executioners axe. (And Emma would know, having witnessed a fair few during her time as a Princess.) Tucked snugly inside the carriage with the book and her Queen, Emma didn't really catch a good view of the creature. First, there was only the sudden, inhuman scream of aggression, quickly followed by the whoosh of displaced air, a flash of fur and glinting metal, and the shouts of their accompanying guards. Startled, Emma's voice choked off mid-word and the book she'd been reading slipped through numb fingers, landing at her feet with a soft thump. The Queen reacted more quickly, springing to her feet even as the carriage lurched to a stop and peering through the window in an effort to glimpse the cause of the disturbance, delicate hand splayed out against the inner wall of the coach to steady herself.

Another screech sounded, and yet another. Emma heard the sharp clank of metal on metal, the distressed tramping of horses, and the wet ripping of flesh. The wails of pain that followed came from both men and beast alike, she knew.

Snarling, the Queen threw open the carriage door with one hand while the other conjured a fiercely crackling ball of fire an inch above the palm. Without a word, she stepped out into the fray of distressed horses and shouting guards and flying beasts that shed fur and feathers and hot blood down upon them like a sort of macabre rain. Emma scrambled to the open door and peered out, heart hammering more fiercely than a dwarf's pickaxe in her chest. She feared greatly for her Queen, and also for herself. The Queen had powerful magic, she knew, but magic couldn't do everything.

And Emma had no idea if it could kill armored flying monkeys. (She very much hoped it could.)

In total, twelve of the beasts were circling on wing up above and diving down to attack the fire-wielding monarch and her six mounted guards, shrieking and wailing with mouths full of sharp, dirty teeth and jagged claws extended in preparation to rip and tear. Emma had never seen the like before, but it might not have seemed so unbelievable to her if the winged monkeys weren't bedecked in plate armor, tinted black with what the blonde idly theorized were smears of charcoal. By the time the Queen entered the fray, two of the beasts were wounded by the bite of the guards' swords and bleeding heavily, their wings beating irregularly as they retreated to a safer distance from the attack. Unfortunately, two of the guards were already dead, and lay prone upon the packed earth of the road. Their throats had been horrifically mangled by the bloodied claws of their attackers, and Emma cringed in sympathy at the sight. A third guard suffered from a more minor version of this same infliction, but was still mounted and prepared to fight. Clearly, he had been quicker to dodge than his dead brethren.

If she'd only a bow, Emma mourned upon taking stock of the situation. She might have helped then, as she was an excellent shot. As it was, she was weaponless, and therefore useless. So she stayed as she was.

The Queen, however, wasn't useless. Her magic was fully accessible to her, and she didn't hesitate to use it. Curling her full, plum-painted lips into a fierce snarl, the brunette launched the fireball she'd conjured high into the air where the monkeys circled. The mutated simians squealed as the flames burst out in a halo of magic, hungrily licking up the bodies of at least six of them.

But the flames vanished almost as instantly as they appeared, leaving their targets stunned, but otherwise unharmed.

In different circumstances, Emma would have found the stunned and incredulous expression that the Queen was wearing somewhat comical. As if she was legitimately offended by her opponents' failure to die a fiery death.

It took only a few moments for the Queen to pull herself back together, even as another of her guards died to her left and a monkey's leg was severed to her right as her guards desperately tried to keep the flying animals away from their ruler. Instead of conjuring another fireball however, the woman took a deep breath before exhaling sharply. With the release of breath, her body seemed to leak a shimmering purple mist that gathered around her hands and pooled at her feet. Palms out, she thrust her hands upwards and directed a stream of the magic towards the same area she had the fire, where it pulsed outward towards the monkeys like a swarm of angry bees.

This time, four of the monkeys disintegrated on the spot, two others suffering painful-looking burns before the mist dissipated. Seeing this, the Queen sagged a little, shoulders slumping, before preparing to repeat the action with a grim set to her face.

Emma didn't blame her for showing the strain. She herself couldn't practice magic without inviting debilitating pain, but she was extremely well read on the subject. For all that King James and Queen Snow had outlawed the practice of magic in their realm, the library in the castle carried extensive material on it, and the once-Princess knew exactly what she'd just witnessed. Something about the monkeys provided magical protection to them, and to break through a magical shield, the person doing the breaking needed to put in more power than the person doing the shielding. Magic, in its purest form outside of the body of the caster, took the form of colored mist such as that the Queen had produced and used to overpower the spells on the monkeys to destroy them. Utilizing this pure manifestation of power to break through a magical shield was certainly effective, but it was also exhausting. Emma was frankly in awe of the fact that the woman had been able to create even one blast of that size, much less the second that she was gearing up for even as another of her guards fell. Human magic users were rare enough as it was, but the amount of power that the Queen held was simply breathtaking.

In a swirl of black velvet, the Queen once again released the violet swell of her power into the furred mass of her attackers. They'd learned from the last time though, and two monkeys managed to escape with only minor damage, only slightly dazed.

This, it seemed, was the end of Queen Regina's magical strength though. It was clearly no easy task to break the enchantments protecting the flying beasts. She collapsed onto her hands and knees, trembling and panting, as her remaining two guards stood over her protectively, one brandishing his sword and the other a dagger so as to use his free hand to staunch the flow of blood from the lacerations to his neck.

A cold fear clutched at Emma's heart at seeing her Queen in this state. She knew the symptoms of magical exhaustion well. It was dangerous and put a great strain on the body, and in this instance, it also meant that her Queen was unable to protect herself. Emma knew then that she couldn't bear for the prickly brunette to be harmed. Evil Queen or no, the woman had wormed her way into her heart, and Emma needed to keep her safe.

But she had no way to do that. No weapons that she could use.

The thought gave Emma pause. She couldn't use her only weapon, but the Queen could.

Hastily formed plan in place, Emma ducked her head and scrambled from the carriage and across the stretch of road that separated her and her Queen, falling to her hands and knees just in front of the woman.

Still panting, the Queen raised her head to look at her with bleary, unfocused brown eyes. "Emma," she breathed out as the blonde threw aside all propriety and seized the woman's soft hands, tugging them from beneath her and squeezing them tightly in her own. Above them, the wounded guard died with a wet gurgle as yellow claws tore out what remained of his throat, but Emma forced herself to ignore the noise. "What… are you doing?"

Emma smiled tenderly at her Queen, resigned to what she was about to do, but also glad to do it. The brunette might have been her employer, but she was also Emma's friend (even if the other woman would never admit to it). She greatly admired her Queen, and Emma would do just about anything to keep her safe. And she would, shortly. The unhealthy coldness of the woman's skin and the tremors still wracking her body were somewhat alarming, and the blonde quietly vowed to do as much as she could for her. "I'm helping, my Queen," she responded gently, giving the hands she'd captured in her own a reassuring squeeze. "Brace yourself."

Without further ado, Emma did what she hadn't in so very long. She reached for her magic.

The magic inside of her was warm. It always had been. Sometimes, when she was younger, she'd let it well up inside her like the sun whenever she was upset and in need of comfort, and it felt like getting a hug from the loveliest, most tender person imaginable. Magic to Emma was happiness. It was the heat of joy and the burn of passion and the scorch of temper. Her protector. And even though she'd never really been able to make conscious use of her power outside of her own body without great suffering, magic was still the one entity that loved Emma unconditionally, and her sole comfort in those moments where she felt cold and alone. She felt radiant as it filled her up. It was only when she tried to force it past the barrier at her wrists and out of her body that the pleasure abruptly switched to agony.

But force Emma did. Because her Queen had depleted her own magic fighting the armored monkeys and her body had gone into shock from magical exhaustion, and Emma had magic to spare. Pain was nothing.

The magic burst free of her even as Emma cried out in agony, her wrists searing and burning beneath their linen wraps as they were branded by the equivalent of a hot poker. Her body shuddered with the force of the white-hot sensation that she well knew would only escalate the longer she maintained it, but she dared not stop until she'd done all she could. The raw power she was exuding from her palms manifested in an electric blue glow that engulfed both her hands and those that she was holding. Drained nearly completely of power, the Queen's body lapped up the offering of Emma's magic like a dry sponge to water, surging through their physical connection like the tide. Shocked at the sensation, the Queen's dull eyes widened and she threw her head back in ecstasy, plump lips parted in a wordless cry as she was filled with the foreign magic.

This transfer wouldn't have worked for just anyone, Emma was well aware. Most magic was incompatible with the magic of others, like oil and water. It was rare for casters to be able to cast together, much less share magic as she was doing now. Frankly, it had been a great surprise when Emma had first realized that the Queen's magic didn't make her skin crawl when used in close proximity to her, but instead felt quite pleasurable to her magical senses. They were quite compatible, it seemed, though from what she'd read, Emma knew it was likely that the Queen would never be able to command Emma's magic with as much precision as she could her own powers. In this instance, however, the need was urgent, and even unruly magic would be better than no magic at all. Hence why Emma was forcing as much of her power as she could into the other woman. Magic took focus to complete, and though it was possible for her to force her magic past the inhibitors, the pain that such an action caused utterly destroyed her concentration. Fortunately, this was not a spell. This was Emma giving her Queen a tool for the other woman to wield.

Emma wasn't quite sure how long she pushed the power she'd long held within herself out into her Queen. She was sobbing out great heaving breaths as best she could, but her world had narrowed into the sensation of pure, unadulterated pain, and her vision dimmed slowly around the edges until she quite suddenly couldn't see anything at all. Even then, it wasn't until she herself was suffering from the coldness of magical exhaustion –the absence of her beloved warmth—that she finally allowed herself to lose consciousness and slump fully to the bloodstained earth.

The last thing she heard was the angry scream of a flying monkey.