A/N: So sorry for the wait! I went on a two-week vacation to Maine, and I brought my laptop with every intention to get some writing and posting done, but I forgot to bring my charger. So I was kind of suffering withdrawal for the entire time I was there, since my laptop was essentially about as useful as a paperweight. On the bright side, Maine is kind of adorable (even if it is freezing cold) and my cousin got married without anything awful happening besides his sister both getting me drunk and teaching me how to smoke cigars. (Gross, by the way. I felt like Wolverine for about two seconds before I decided that I don't like the taste of ass.)
So... I edited this in a bit of a rush, is the moral of that story. But I hope you'll like it anyways!
The Handmaiden's Philosophy
Chapter Ten
When Emma blinked her way sluggishly into the waking world, the first thing she registered was the soreness of her body. She wasn't in too much pain, but the sensation was still lurking within her muscles and in the back of her mind, as if she'd only just recovered from a particularly nasty fever. This was unusual, as Emma generally had excellent health and moreover did not actually recall being ill in the first place. It was also somewhat disconcerting to find that she didn't recognize the chamber she was resting in. Judging by the austere ambiance, Emma theorized that she was resting somewhere within Queen Regina's palace, but she had never seen this part of it in person before. She didn't remember how she'd gotten here.
Blue-green eyes flew open from their sleepy, hooded state as her brain finally began to process her memories of the return trip.
The carriage ride. Poetry. Flying monkeys. Screaming. Blood. The Queen. Magic. Pain. Pain. Pain.
Emma exhaled shakily. "Gods…" she whimpered to herself. She'd never experienced anything quite like that before.
Groaning, the woman heaved herself up into a sitting position and took stock of herself. Aside from the moderate soreness of her muscles, she felt quite well. The bed she'd been placed upon was both larger and softer than the one in her assigned chambers, and though she was still dressed, her cloak and shoes had been removed and stacked neatly upon a nearby dressing table. The light filtering in from between the curtains that were drawn loosely over the solitary window indicated that it was sometime around mid-morning. Emma crinkled her nose in distaste. It was a little startling to realize that she'd been unconscious for the entire afternoon and evening –but then, she had known that magical exhaustion was dangerous and very hard upon a caster's body. It was one of the reasons she'd run to help her Queen, after all.
At the thought, Emma cringed and allowed her upper body to fall back onto the bed. The Queen.
Clearly, the transfer of magic had worked, and the brunette had both recovered from her state of exhaustion and had defeated the two remaining armored flying monkeys. (Emma pushed the thought of said beasts firmly to the back of her mind, unwilling to think upon how, or even why, such distasteful things existed.) Seeing as she was not currently languishing in the smallest cell of the Evil Queen's darkest dungeons, Emma felt it safe to assume that the woman was not too infuriated by what she'd presumed to do: but she by no means felt comfortable with the woman knowing she had magic, and had furthermore hidden that ability.
Though really, her comfort didn't matter at this point. She knew, and there was nothing Emma could do to change that.
Hesitantly, the blonde raised her hands to her face so that she could inspect her wrists. Curiously enough, she felt very little pain there, which was obviously wrong. She recalled quite clearly the damage that the inhibitors had inflicted upon her as punishment for using her magic. Therefore, she was unsurprised to find that the wounds had been expertly tended to. She could smell the herbal paste that had been applied to prevent both pain and rot, and admired the professional quality of the dressings. It wasn't easy to work around the metal inhibitors, she knew from experience. Hopefully, these most recent wounds wouldn't scar as badly as she'd first assumed they would.
It was worth noting though, that the Queen had most definitely inspected the inhibitors if she'd ordered the wounds attended to. And if that was the case, then Emma had no doubt the woman was aware of the exact nature of the 'special bracelets' she'd been trapped by for nearly her entire life. The Evil Queen was, after all, rumored to be the single most knowledgeable and powerful practitioner of magic after the Dark One. She was no fool.
The better question would be if the Queen would be able to put the pieces together and discover any of Emma's other secrets. Since she was still alive and in only a small amount of pain, the blonde could be reasonably sure that her former identity as the Princess of the Silverwoods had remained undiscovered thus far, at least. This was no guarantee for the future, however. It was depressing to think about, actually. Emma greatly admired and respected her Queen both professionally and –more so—personally, and it would devastate her if her identity was discovered and she became the target of the woman's sincere ire. She could only hope that the brunette would exercise restraint when (and it was 'when') the information came to light, and refrained from torturing or killing her. Emma would be shattered, she knew, to have lost the one person she was closest to in the world in such a way.
The fact that that person was the same Evil Queen who murdered her grandfather, spent years attempting to do the same to her parents, most likely would happily continue the trend with Emma herself, and had a history of generally terrorizing anyone who got in her way was an issue she would address at a later date. Preferably never.
"Take care not to injure yourself, trying to think so hard," a sultry voice commented dryly from beside her.
Emma's heart nearly gave out from the shock, and she jumped rather violently in place before jerking her gaze towards the person who'd spoken to her. The Queen was standing at her bedside –resplendent as always, in spite of Emma's current inability to help make her so—and was regarding her with some amusement. She hadn't been there a moment ago, and the blonde could only assume the woman had transported herself into these chambers via magic. Hastily, Emma struggled to sit up and stand, but was stilled by a sharp command to stay. She instead opted to dip her head respectfully with a murmured 'My Queen' as a greeting and arrange herself primly sitting on the edge of the bed, uncomfortably aware of how terrible she must look at the moment.
For a long moment, the Queen just stared at her, familiar dark eyes scanning back and forth over Emma's pale features. Then, she simply stated, "You have magic."
Emma dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Yes," she ceded. No point in trying to hide it now. And in the Summerlands, at least, the skill alone wouldn't earn her a death sentence.
"You were fitted with inhibitors very young," came the next observation.
"I was three," the blonde confirmed calmly. The Queen reacted best to calm, she'd found, and Emma very much wanted a calm Queen at the moment.
Beautiful brown eyes widened slightly, and a jaw was clenched tightly for a moment before it was released. "You are very powerful, to force your magic past them."
Emma shrugged lightly. "I wouldn't know," she offered. "And it matters little. I will never be able to use magic properly, regardless of how powerful I am."
The Queen appeared to ignore that statement. "Given your age at the time, I assume you were telling the truth when you said the scars on your wrists were given to you by my mother? You were certainly too young to request this for yourself."
At this question, Emma winced slightly. She was well aware that her emotions were playing more clearly over her features than she would typically permit, but it also seemed the safest option at this point. The Queen hated liars. "She made the request and ultimate decision to have my powers bound, yes," she sighed.
"Why?" was the immediate follow-up.
A very good question indeed. One that would have to be handled delicately. It wouldn't do well to inform the Queen that she'd so effectively traumatized her stepdaughter that she couldn't stand the very thought of magic in her life, much less her daughter, after all. That would only result in awkward questions and Emma's possible death.
"I was born in the Silverwoods," Emma confessed after a beat of silence. "I assume you are aware of what happens to people with magic there?"
A derisive and disgusted sneer was answer enough.
"My parents hoped to rid me of my powers, and my mother called upon the Dark One to help her."
At this, the Queen appeared faintly alarmed. Her eyes flashed, and her fists clenched tensely at her sides. "And the price of this barbarism?" she demanded.
Now it was Emma's turn to clench her fists. "My name," she responded curtly. She didn't know what the Dark One did with the names he collected. Frankly, she had little desire to find out. She hoped it was irrelevant now anyways, as the imp had vanished without a trace somewhere around her fifth Name Day and had yet to appear in any of the known realms again. Still, she'd never really gotten over how recklessly her parents had endangered her by agreeing to the Dark One's price, all for the sake of taking away a gift that was a part of her.
Silence descended as the Queen paused to absorb this information. The lines of her face were tense with a strange combination of anger and greed, and Emma wasn't quite sure what to make of it. She opted instead to wait upon the Queen's response.
Unsurprisingly, it didn't take too long. "Emma is not your name," the Queen said with a strange sort of sad smile.
Emma returned the gesture. It was odd, the amalgamation of guilt and sorrow and understanding and resignation and grudging admiration that was passing between them, but she didn't question it. It was best, she'd found, never to question her interactions with the Queen. "It is not the name I was born with, no," she clarified, "but it is the name I chose for myself. It has been a great many years since I have tolerated being addressed as anything but 'Emma' or occasionally 'Swan'. I do not wish to be known by a name that belongs to the man who helped do this to me."
This, Emma felt, Queen Regina would definitely understand and respect.
As predicted, the brunette dipped her head in acknowledgement of this desire, the stress lines around her eyes softening knowingly, before moving on to another point.
Though Emma admittedly never expected the point that she moved on to.
"If you wish it, I can remove the inhibitors and free your magic," the Queen stated bluntly.
And Emma's world stopped, her breath stuttering to a halt in her chest somewhat painfully.
For a very long time after learning of her magic, the blonde Princess had hated herself. She'd thrown herself into her duties and studies. She'd dressed impeccably and learned to sew and sing and play the harp. She'd smiled, and shown aggressive kindness towards anything with a pulse, and made any and every effort to be the epitome of a 'good' Princess. Anything to atone for the seductive darkness that she felt lurked inside her like a sleeping demon, tainting her with its evil.
And she'd never been so miserable in her life.
But one day, at the age of thirteen, Emma had discovered something that had changed her life. A book. A magic book.
It hadn't been with the other books on magic. Emma had avoided that area of the library like the plague. Instead, she'd found it in the section on healing. Because that's what the book was. Healing magic. Magic that saved lives.
Magic that was good.
Emma, despite her fear, had read it cover to cover, and then read it again. Much of the content was difficult for her to understand, as she lacked even a basic understanding of magic aside from the knowledge that it was evil, but she understood enough. She understood that while healing magic did have a price just like other magic, it wasn't often unreasonable. She understood in that moment that magic was capable of good that well-wishes and honeyed words simply couldn't match.
From that day forward, Emma had devoured every bit of knowledge on magic –dark, light, and everything in between—as she could possibly acquire without alerting her parents to her newfound interest in magic. (Which, incidentally, was quite a bit, as they paid her little mind when she wasn't stirring up mischief.) The more she learned, the easier it was for Emma to stop hating herself for something she couldn't control and instead make a concerted effort to move past the hate and fear that had been instilled in her from the moment she was capable of understanding such concepts. And eventually, she'd mourned the loss of her magic. Grieved for the potential for greatness that once was, but never would be agian.
Except… now it could. Her Queen was offering her magic back as if it were nothing. But really, it was everything. It was akin to offering an amputee the return of a limb he'd never thought to feel again, much less regain use of.
For a moment, Emma wondered if one of the flying monkeys had actually killed her and this was some twisted version of the afterlife. It seemed more likely.
Because she could get her magic back.
Emma wanted to cry. As it was, her eyes grew suspiciously bright and she began blinking furiously up at the woman who had just graduated from Queen to Goddess in her eyes. "You…" Her voice was hoarse with emotion. "You can –and would—do that for me?" she queried tremulously.
For a split second, the Queen appeared slightly unsure of how to handle such a sincere expression of adoration coming from a person whom she'd actually earned –and not demanded—it from. She regained her composure quickly though. "I have a condition," she warned her sharply. When she received a swift motion of acknowledgement, she continued. "Before I free you, you must agree to become one of the castle's apprentice mages," the brunette commanded. "I will not be responsible for the disaster you would become without proper control over your magic, and you will be taught."
Emma fought very hard to contain the surge of joy she felt at this offer. Not only would she regain her powers, but she would also learn how to use them. She could hardly believe her sudden good fortune. "I understand and agree, my Queen," she murmured solemnly instead, biting her lip against the happy tears that were welling in her eyes. She felt almost dizzy with her sudden and well-earned jubilation.
The Queen smirked in approval. "Very well then," she said simply, extending her hands out in front of her, palms up. "Your wrists, if you will."
Trembling in anticipation, Emma obeyed and placed her bound wrists in the woman's grasp. Her dressings immediately vanished in twin puffs of purple, leaving the pair of silver bands and accompanying wounds exposed to the open air. The Queen's face pinched in extreme concentration as she regarded the inhibitors, muttering a continuous stream of what Emma tentatively identified as some form of elvish. Quite suddenly (or at least it seemed so to Emma) the woman flared her nostrils and exhaled sharply, sending a powerful jolt of magic from her palms and into the bracelets. There was no visible reaction at first, but as she continued, the previously silver metal began to glow a bright violet, and Emma winced as a curious sensation of cold began to crawl up her arms. It didn't hurt, per say; but like immersing herself in ice water, Emma didn't exactly find it comfortable. This continued until the chill had enveloped her from head to toe, crawling over her skin like so many glaciers, and she was shivering violently.
And without warning, the silver inhibitors just… cracked open, and shattered, like broken glass, leaving her scarred and raw wrists bare for the first time that Emma could even remember. The Queen withdrew her magic, followed by her hands, and Emma felt warm again.
But more than that: for the first time in seventeen years, her own magic was free. Emma lost no time in calling it to the surface to test the boundaries of her newly cuff-less body. Her hands were lit with a pale blue glow, sparks dancing from her fingertips as Emma studied her previously mundane appendages with awe. It looked beautiful. It felt beautiful.
This time, Emma did cry, allowing a few silent tears to slip down her cheeks. "Thank you…" she breathed. Words didn't quite seem an adequate medium for her to express her gratitude towards her Queen, but she supposed that they'd have to do for now. If she hadn't been completely and utterly devoted to this woman before, she surely was now. Emma could never repay Queen Regina for the gift that she had given her, but in that moment, she vowed to try.
"Do not thank me just yet," the Queen purred, curling a soft finger beneath the blonde's chin and tugging her head slightly so that they were properly facing each other. The woman appeared unbearably smug, but Emma supposed she had a right to be. "We have work to do."