A/n: I don't mean to upset you, Readers, but I think I'm on a roll. Thanks so much to everyone who continues to read this story and put up with my bullshit. You are all amazing, fantastic people. Please accept this chapter as a present from me to you, to celebrate my 21st birthday! (which was yesterday, the 22nd). A big thanks to my reviewers: onetreefan, melly326, Lisa1972, Xarrya, wootutoo, Tempremental'Bones, Wandering Lady, rhapsody-child-of-the-sky, doubledee068, Guest, .58, and FLpirate305.
Rhapsody-Child-of-the-sky pointed out something to me – an accidental plot hole that everyone else seemed to miss (or just ignored). Which was a timeline issue – part of the problem with picking up a story after not working on it for a couple of months is forgetting which episode you're picking up FROM. The plot hole has since been patched – so many thanks to you for pointing it out!
Guest had a question concerning Henry and Cora's spell, namely that if Henry doesn't remember Emma, than how would he know that Snow is his grandmother? This is more based on Henry's knowledge OF Emma. The spell eliminated his memories of Emma – he doesn't remember going to Boston to find her, or her coming to Storybrooke at all – but not of her existence; he still knows that he was adopted and that his biological mother exists out in the world somewhere. When Henry went to find Emma in Boston, he already knew that she was the savior, and he already knew that the savior was the child of Prince Charming and Snow White. If Henry is the son of the savior [Emma], and Emma is the child of Snow White and Prince Charming, than Henry is the grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming. If A = B, and B=C, than A=C. Sort of. Anyway, I hope that clears that question up.
On with the chapter – sadly, it's more filler and set up than anything else. Our lovable heroes do not get reunited in this chapter – it's really more like a part two to chapter 11.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Dinner was considerably more quiet after Emma's skirmish with the Steward. The courtiers made minimal effort to make small talk, which Emma obligingly responded to, and when their questions began to be a little too personal, Jefferson stepped in on her behalf. As the evening wore on, four courses into their meal, Emma began to feel the mask slip. She'd never had to wear an identity for so long before. All of her previous experiences in going undercover to catch a con had lasted no more than an hour. Still, she was grateful to have Jefferson as a barrier; he was never too far that he couldn't rescue her if she stumbled.
They had moved into the cocktail portion of the evening, moving their entire group into a separate parlor where they could drink themselves into a tizzy. Upon realizing that she knew nothing about the alcohol of this world, she let Jefferson choose what vintage of wine she would have – though it was accompanied by a stern gaze as she recalled what happened the last time he'd passed her a drink. She wasn't much of a wine drinker, and could only bear a sip of it at a time. She might have set it aside altogether, had it not come from a vineyard that one of her guests owned. He droned on, and on, and on about the quality of his grapes and the care they received. Emma considered it a testament to her patience and morality that she didn't have him thrown out of the castle.
As the evening finally came to a close, her guests taking their leave one at a time, Emma was ready to drop. It was well past midnight, and she'd had an incredibly long day. The steward, however, apparently had other ideas. In the five or so hours that dinner and the cocktail party had taken place, he had picked himself up after being publicly cut by Emma, and was ready for round two. On her way out the door, he requested that he speak with her, and Jefferson, in private about 'affairs of state'. Knowing that she had already embarrassed him, and not wanting to make an enemy of him, she agreed. They took refuge from the chilly hallways in the Queen's study, where a roaring fire was already under way.
Emma took her seat behind the desk and gestured for Lysander to sit across from her. "Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?" She asked bluntly, her desire and ability to beat around the bush having waned considerably as the night progressed.
"Well, since your majesty has shown such a commendable interest in taking your responsibilities seriously, and so quickly, I thought you might find it helpful to have a copy of our laws and current treaties, as well as a copy of our tax books and treasury." He snapped his fingers, and a servant – she hadn't even seen him come in – rushed forward with two large tomes in his arms. Lysander took them from the boy, who promptly bowed and left, and set them on Emma's desk, side-by-side.
"How very kind of you, Lysander," Emma said, hoping that she sounded a little more grateful than she felt.
"Well, it is not all kindness, your majesty, I live to serve Wonderland as well as it's Queen. It would be helpful for you to know our laws and treaties, given the conference we have coming up in a week."
"Conference?" Emma questioned, her attention returning to the man in front of her.
"Oh, yes," Lysander confirmed, smiling. "Given your…eagerness to jump right in to your duties, I sent in an edited acceptance to the conference that our neighboring kingdoms are holding. Initially, I was supposed to attend, but given your new title and how well you handled yourself this evening, I thought that you would be able to represent our kingdom spectacularly. The conference will be the last stop on your processional, before you return to the palace."
Emma pursed her lips. It was clear that this was no boon, no favor meant to make her reign easier. No, this was his attempt to make a point – how ill-informed, ill-equipped she was. How much she needed him.
"Well," She leaned back in her chair, eyeing the man in a new light. "It's such a relief to know that you approve of me, Lysander. I'll have everything read over by then, if not before then. Now, if that's everything for this evening, you're dismissed," She managed to say without any malice or sarcasm in her tone, and bid him goodnight.
"And Lysander?"
He turned as he reached the door, raising an eyebrow in question.
"An escort of two guards should suffice from this point on, I think. I'm sure the rest of them have better things to be doing,"
Judging by the way Lysander's lips turned downwards, he'd received the message that she intended to send – he was not in charge anymore. He left, the door clicking softly behind him.
Emma waited a few more moments to be sure that he was gone before breathing a sigh of relief. She unlaced her boots and tossed them to the side, wishing she could do the same with her corset.
"Well, look at you," Jefferson teased, leaning against the fireplace mantle. "Queen Emma,"
Emma rolled her eyes. "Only until we get the cure. Then, I'm out of here." She said firmly, massaging her neck.
"Really?" Jefferson asked, in a tone that Emma couldn't quite name. "You're going to rescue this land from the most terrible creature in imagination, all the while winning the hearts and minds of the people of this country, and then you're going to leave them – just like that."
"Yes," Emma said, her eyes narrowing. "I am. These people will be fine without me as their Queen, probably better. I'm not really Queen material," She snorted.
"Says who?" He asked, cocking his head to the side.
"Says me," Emma snapped, growing irritated.
He held up his hands and stepped back, shaking his head. "Agree to disagree," She heard him mutter under his breath. She let it go, not wanting to alienate her only real ally in this world, and chalked it up to some kind of re-ignited madness.
"We should contact my parents tonight, let them know what's going," She yawned, and rubbed her temple. Just looking at the tome of laws was giving her a headache.
"Or it could wait till morning," Jefferson offered, his mouth twitching in amusement. "You're nodding off at your desk, your majesty. Do you really want to be half-asleep when you explain that you have peacefully taken over Wonderland?"
She gave him a dry look before shaking her head. No, that was not a conversation she wanted to have while partially asleep.
"Come on, Emma, up you get," Jefferson said gently, lifting her by the shoulders from her chair. She felt jarred, not even seeing him move to her side. As he was walking her out of the study, it occurred to her that she must have fallen asleep.
"Wait, I need my books," She said, trying to turn back and get them – Lysander would not make a fool of her.
"I'll make sure they get packed, okay?" He affirmed, and gestured for the guards to lead them to their chambers; she was too tired to argue at this point.
Lydia was waiting for Emma in her room, and stifled a laugh when she noticed the sleep-state of her monarch. "I'll take her from here," She informed the guards, and curtseyed to Jefferson, who waited until Emma was safely inside the bedroom before leaving.
Lydia clucked and chattered, telling Emma that the servants were ever so impressed with the way she'd handled herself at dinner, and how well she'd put Lysander in his place. Emma tried to listen but at some point all the words began to sound the same. She was bone tired. The last time she'd been this tired had been after giving birth to Henry. She felt Lydia removing the crown, and moaned in relief when the damn thing came off.
"They say that 'heavy is the head that wears the crown'," The maid quoted softly, with a small giggle. "I guess it must have two meanings,"
Emma smiled, chuckling at the girl's cheek. She felt her corset loosen and dimly realized that Lydia was undressing her; she saw the nightgown laying on the bed, and thought it strange. In all that she knew of medieval times, how the ladies of the royal court had a maid to wait on them and help dress them, she'd always assumed it was because the nobility had the money to afford it, and why not have a servant do it? Now, she knew the truth. The way these corsets were designed, you needed a second person to help you dress and undress. And she felt too tired to even attempt to struggle with it herself.
As she shrugged her gown off and pulled it over her head, Lydia took it from her and went to the wardrobe to hang it up, giving Emma the privacy to dress herself for bed. She had figured out that Emma was uncomfortable being dressed from their earlier adventure, and had taken Emma's discomfort into consideration. Emma crawled into the bed, grateful that it had already been turned down, and fell asleep almost instantly.
Abridel led them to a city just outside the capital, and warned them before they entered to keep close to one another, and keep their heads down. It was called La'Coulare Ma Bengire, often shorted to La'Coul, which in the old language translated into 'The City of a Thousand Slaves'. It made Killian's stomach turn. If the children hadn't been with him, he would have pressed on – passed the city altogether and braved the darkness of Wonderland. How terrible could it be, compared to the darkness he had endured in Neverland? But the children were tired, and hungry, and the darkness held dangers he was not prepared to face with Henry and Grace in tow. He tugged the children closer to him, placing one firm hand on each of their shoulders.
"Stay close," He whispered, his tone brooking no argument. Their walk here had only been made longer by the children straying from the path to investigate a new creature or talking plant. It had made him incurably nervous and stressed when they strayed too far. He could only do so much to protect them when they insisted on wandering off. He might have considered buying a leash, if it wouldn't give people the wrong impression. They entered the city, a bustling, beautiful marble jungle with a busy marketplace right near the front gates. Killian kept his hands on the children this time, not letting them be lured away by any unusual sights or smells, and steadfastly kept his head down and his eyes on Abridel, who was leading them further into the city. She kept them out of alleys and seedy streets and led them into a more working class area of the city.
She stopped at an inn, a rustic, old looking place that had probably been around for awhile. Though, if Killian were to judge, it looked as if business was hurting.
"This is where I leave you for the night," The cat said, tail switching. "The Inn keepers are dear friends of mine, so treat them well. I'll return for you in the morning." And she faded away into nothingness, leaving Killian to stare at the spot where she had been sitting.
He was beginning to hate this place.
"Come along, children, in we go," He said, and nudged them into the inn. They went without protest, tired from their long day and the thought of what was yet to come. The inn was clean, to say nothing else. The furnishings were nothing to brag about, the drapery looking tired and worn, and the wood being chipped and scratched, but it was clean. At the moment, that was all he could really care about.
"Slavers aren't welcome here," An old woman barked from behind the bar, not glancing up.
"I'm not a slaver," Killian replied calmly, taking a seat at the bar. "I'm their guard."
The woman looked up and appraised him, squinting at the children and how they looked – hungry, but not gaunt, and they lacked the haunted look so many slaves carried with them. She nodded after a moment and held out her hand for payment. Killian rifled through the satchel and pulled out a pouch of gold coins; he was a little fuzzy on the currency here, but he knew there should be enough for what he needed for this venture without dipping into his own funds. The Rabbit had carried too much on him to be wise. Killian placed 15 gold pieces on the counter, watching the woman's eyes round. Five gold coins each should suffice for a room and three meals. Judging by her reaction, he had probably overpaid. But the cat called them friends, and they seemed to be decent people. It couldn't hurt to get on her good side.
The children sat at a table nearby, shrugging off their backpacks and storing them between their knees. The inn-keep, who had warmly introduced herself as Madge, brought them purple-colored beverages smelling of some kind of fruit, and Killian a tankard of ale. He moved away from the bar to join them, feeling reluctant to let someone get the impression that they were unattended. He wished he had a stronger drink, something to dull his bitterness and cloud his thoughts. He was on a wild goose chase, to collect a Jabberwock's spit and live to tell the tale, with two children in tow. He was, once again, an entire realm away from Rumpelstiltskin and back to square one on discovering a method to kill him. There was a dagger that he already knew of, but whose location lye with Cora. And half of his current problems only existed because he loved a woman.
He paused in taking a drink of his ale, felt a dark blush creep up his neck and curl around his throat, felt his pulse skip a beat. He wasn't sure anymore if he was doing this to enact his revenge on Rumpelstiltskin, or to save Emma. He protected her boy, sure, but that was just good form. He leaned back in his chair, pondering this new state of affairs. It seemed shameful that he should give up on his revenge after three hundred years, but the realization that came with it… he felt relieved. His shoulders relaxed and the muscles that had been knotted for years seemed to unwind. No more fights to the death, no more betrayal, no more stealing, or plotting, or death. No more waiting for the weight on his chest to be lifted – it already had been.
Emma had seen through him from the start, had no time for his charm or his stories, and he had seen in her. He saw the scars no one else had the sense to see, appreciated her courage and her passion even when she didn't have faith in herself. She found the good him, brought Killian Jones back to the surface kicking and screaming though he had been silent for a very, very long time. She had spurned him, and then reeled him in during what should have been his victory. By all accounts, he should hate the lass, let her hang and make her own grave. The very thought of it made him ache, left a lump in his throat and a sweat on his brow. No, he could not bear to let her die. He loved her.
"I must be mad," He said, pushing his tankard away and shaking his head as Madge held up a pitcher in question.
"And why is that?" Madge asked, putting down the pitcher and relaxing against a post.
"I'm in love,"
The inn-keep snorted and chuckled. "Aye, but it is the best kind of madness," She affirmed, looking to an elderly man who was minding the bar.
Killian shook his head. "Nothing but trouble, really,"
Madge nodded, somber, before breaking into a smile. "Ah, but, and correct me if I'm wrong Master Jones, you seem like a man who enjoys trouble. Perhaps you are exactly as you were meant to be all along,"
Killian laughed, and felt every step he'd taken that day take it's toll on him. She was right. He enjoyed trouble, and Emma Swan was certainly that if nothing else.
"Come on guardsman," Madge said, clucking her tongue. "You're half asleep at the table and your charges already are,"
It was true. Henry and Grace had cleaned their plates and were both sound asleep, using their backpacks as makeshift pillows.
"I'll carry the girl if you'll carry the lad," Madge offered, already lifting Grace up in her arms. "My husband's gotten your room already for ye',"
Killian nodded and knelt at Henry's side, sliding one of the boys arms around his neck and picking up the rest of his weight with his arm. He slid their backpacks over his hook and hauled them over his opposite shoulder, and began to make the tenuous trek up the single flight of stairs. Henry's arms gradually tightened as they began their clumsy ascent, but he stayed sound asleep despite the couple of missteps. The door to their room was open, where Madge was already tucking Grace into one of the twin beds in the spacious room. Killian set Henry on the opposite twin bed, which Madge's husband had obligingly turned down, and gently removed the boy's arms from his neck. He took Henry's shoes off, setting the beside the bed, and tucked him in.
"Arm chair is mine then, I take it," He said dryly, gesturing to the chair with a tired smile.
"Not at all," Madge said, frowning at his presumption. "We've prepared the room next door for you,"
"I only paid for one room," Killian reminded her gently.
"Aye, but you seem to be a good sort, and you overpaid on everything else. T'was no trouble, really,"
Killian thought about it for a moment and considered his options. He could take her up on her offer, sleep in a real bed that night and be well rested for the day, but it could put the children at risk. He sighed. "Your hospitality and generosity are appreciated, ma'am, but not required. I'll sleep in the armchair in their room tonight. I don't feel comfortable leaving them alone in this city,"
Madge nodded knowingly and smiled. "I thought you might say that. There's a pillow and some extra blankets in the trunk at the end of the lad's bed," She said, and left, pulling the door shut behind her. Killian pushed the chair up against the door and situated himself with the pillow and blankets from the trunk. He'd slept in far less comfortable places, especially recently. One night in an armchair certainly wasn't going to break him.
Emma slept soundly through the night. The bed was the most comfortable she had ever slept in before, and she recalled thinking that if she could bring one home with her, she would. Dawn broke over Wonderland, and it was a few gentle, tendrils of light stretching in through her window that roused her from her sleep. She stretched as she sat up, working out the one or two kinks in her neck, and stood. She was grateful for the thick, heavy curtains preventing the sun from blinding her. A robe had been laid out at the end of her bed, which she obligingly put on after feeling the early morning chill. She wasn't quite awake yet, but knew that she should try and contact her parents before Lydia came in and her day had to start.
Her clothing had been cleaned and replaced in the duffel bag, but the hand mirror made from broken Looking Glass had been placed on her vanity – apparently that was deemed suitable enough for her to keep out in the open. She sat down at her vanity and finger combed her hair, trying not to look as sleepy as she felt. She held the mirror in her hand and breathed lightly onto the glass.
"Snow White," She said, and watched the mirror fog over completely and begin to glow. The glow flickered for a minute or two before fading, leaving only her own reflection staring back at her. Frowning, Emma tried again. "Mom?" She tried hesitantly, waiting for there to be some kind of response. Again, there was none. She set the mirror down and studied it. She supposed that her parents could be out, taking Henry to school or being… otherwise engaged. She wrinkled her nose at the thought and set the mirror aside for good; she would just have to try them later.
A sharp, short knock echoed on her door. Emma stood and closed her robe, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Come in," She called out, and waited.
Lydia entered with a deep curtsey, her arms full of skirts and capes and a myriad of other garments. "Oh, you're already awake! Thank goodness – there's still much that we have to do before we can leave today," She said, huffing as she made her way to the small, circular table. She set the pile of clothes down and immediately began sorting them and rearranging them. "You need to pick out which styles you like, and then which colors you want them in," Lydia said, her fingers moving like lightning to rearrange the garments. "And I have the swatch the seamstress gave me right here!" She pulled out a large, multi-color piece of fabric, and handed it to Emma.
"I see. And how many outfits do I need, exactly?" Emma asked, her tone disapproving.
"Oh, well… You'll need a dress or two for dinner, a ball dress, a riding outfit, a winter coat, several day dresses," Lydia continued, ticking each of the items off her fingers. Emma sat down in a chair and listened numbly for a few moments, nodding when Lydia made eye contact with her. This was going to be a very, very long day.
Storybrooke General was not a large hospital by any means. It had one resident doctor, six or seven nurses, and ten or so volunteers. It's small size, and her still relatively-strong magic, made it easy for Cora to navigate the corridors unseen and sneak into her daughter's room. Regina lay unconscious on the bed, her heartbeat growing steadily weaker, as the tendrils of black poison spread across her throat.
"Oh, my dear," Cora whispered, moving to sit by her daughter's side. It was horrific to her, to see Regina slowly slip away from the world. "I'm so sorry," She held Regina's hand, one gloved thumb caressing her palm. "You've always been stubborn – a family trait, certainly. I'd hoped that you would grow out of your naiveté as you got older, more experienced. When you tricked me and sent me to Wonderland, and when I found out why, I thought that perhaps you had finally grown into the Queen I always knew you could be. And then, like me, you didn't know when to let a grudge go, and this curse was born."
Cora clucked her tongue and shook her head, placing Regina's hand back at her side. "Your boy has weakened you, my dear, made you too vulnerable and now you will lose everything that you worked so hard for. But I'm not going to let that happen. I'm not going to let that chit of a girl, the savior, take your kingdom from you – or your child. The boy has been taken care of, and when you wake up, you will have a loving son waiting for you. Emma, and Captain Jones, will be dead, and Snow White and her precious prince will be yours to punish as you will," Cora said firmly, and stood. Withdrawing a small vial filled ot the brim with clear liquid, she administered a single drop into Regina's left eye. The black veins at her throat receded slightly, and her pulse returned to normal.
"Just as soon as I've taken care of this town. Never fear, my darling. When you wake up, everything will be as it should be." She assured her sleeping daughter, and left, to set the rest of her plan in motion.
A/n: dun dun dun dunnnnn. God, I didn't drink that much and I ate plenty of food and drank plenty of water but man is my tummy upset. Ugh. Anyway, please review and let me know what you think! Next chapter is significantly more action packed.
P.s. It would be really great to have some reviews to read in the morning when I'm nursing my hopefully-nonexistent hangover. Thanks for reading!
Peace!