(Fairy Tale Land, Future Past)

The blacks and the blues and the barely light of the early morning stretched over the sky. Zarina's wings hummed behind her as she sped over the unbroken expanse of a dark, rolling ocean and chased a glittering green trail of fairy dust, a bright and glaring streak in the fading night.

"Look!"

Zarina glanced up at the call. Tinkerbell, flying above, pointed toward the horizon, where a smudge of white, murky against the just-waking sky, skimmed along the edge of stars and sea.

"Get big," Tink added, "his eyes aren't what they used to be."

Zarina shimmied and her body billowed around her, but couldn't help the tired groan that escaped her. They had been flying for some time and her sore muscles protested the strain of the added size. However, she watched the white smudge turn to white sails as the Jolly Roger sped toward them. Eager for a chance to land, she made to dive toward the ship, but Tink's hand at her shoulder held her back. As the ship neared, she felt a tingling thrum of a magic barrier.

Blood magic, if she wasn't mistaken.

Of course it would have to be blood magic now, she considered. Just a few months ago, Zelena had snuck into the castle, despite its powerful shields, and nearly kidnapped both Prince Henry and young Robyn. In the end she escaped only with the Author's pen. She appeared again a few weeks ago, aboard the Jolly Roger no less, with her eye on equally precious cargo.

The ship rushed by them, breaking Zarina from her thoughts. Tink took off after it and Zarina groaned again at the thought of trying to match the Jolly Roger on weary wings, but, mercifully, the ship had seen them and slowed. The fairies came alongside the ship. Zarina, excited, neared as close as she could to get a good look at the deck lit by scant, scattered lanterns, but froze when she caught sight of the white-blonde hair and green eyes of Emma Swan staring back at her. She was dressed in a sailor's shirt and a sturdy waistcoat; Zarina had taken her for a common deckhand at first, the undeniable power evident in her firm glare gave her away.

"Tink?" boomed a man's voice over the sound of water and wind and sail. Zarina glanced to the ship's wheel and almost strayed into the shield when she saw the captain at the helm, his hook thrown over a spoke. Wind raked through the sprawl of grey at his temples but startling blue eyes shone bright and ageless.

"Yes," Tink shouted back, "and I brought help."

Emma's shoulders squared in defense as she took in the fairies and Zarina wondered if this was her superpower at work, analyzing them for lies. It occurred to Zarina that she might not let them aboard, and Zarina sunk a little at the thought of flying all the way back to the mainland. But no sooner had the thought crossed her mind when Emma relaxed, stepped to the edge of the ship, and reached a hand through the shield. Tink and Zarina linked arms before Tink took Emma's hand and the princess pulled them through. Both fairies landed on the deck easily enough; Zarina, however, unused to the pitch and sway of a ship, and her worn-out wings too sore and heavy to properly counter her weight, lost her balance and toppled over, straight onto Emma. Zarina's cheeks burned as Emma shifted her stance and set them right. They cooled a little when she looked up to Emma's tight but sympathetic smile. Across the ship, however, the full weight of Hook's unamused stare settled on Zarina and she nearly shrank back to fairy size on the spot. She opened her mouth to apologize but only managed a series of indiscernible squeaks.

Tink cut in for her, "Emma, this is Zarina."

Hook, far enough away that the wind played with their words, balked and braced against the wheel. "Zelena?"

"Zarina, Hook," Tink shouted, over-pronouncing her name, "Za-ree-na!"

Hook relaxed, but only slightly, letting the movement of the ship sway him away from the wheel. Emma put a hand to their shoulders and guided them nearer to him.

"Blue didn't say she was sending help," said Emma.

"Blue doesn't know we're here," said Tink.

Emma eyed her from beside her. "Why?"

"Zarina's methods are not exactly standard variety fairy magic and if she finds out we're here, she'll have our wings." Tink balled her fists at her hips. "Blue is so afraid of another Fiona that she shuts down anyone who thinks just a little differently."

"Tink," Emma took a step forward, voice lowered in warning. "Fiona and her dark fairy dust almost wiped out all of the magic realms. I'd be gun-shy too!"

Tink opened her mouth to respond, but Zarina broke in.

"It's not dark magic," Zarina sputtered, though her voice came out an entire octave higher than she meant it to. All eyes on the ship snapped on her and she felt the urge to shrink again. "Well, I mean, I guess it could be used that way, but it isn't dark, just… different."

Zarina hastily reached into a pouch, pulled out a pinch of dust, and sprinkled it into her palm. It looked dull and colorless, more like ordinary table salt than magic. "Fairy dust comes from diamonds carefully nurtured so that they produce only light magic dust. Fiona-"

"-Nurtured diamonds with dark magic to make dark fairy dust," said Emma, nodding. "I'm aware."

"This dust is neither," said Zelena. "It comes from a diamond I nurtured myself, it isn't light or dark or anything; it's just uncharged dust that can absorb the properties of other magics."

Emma straightened, looking to the dust with renewed interest.

"Here, give me your palm," ordered Zarina. Emma obeyed, presenting her hand. Zarina sprinkled the dust into Emma's palm.

"Now do something magical. Something simple," Zarina asked.

Emma opened her hand again and lit a ball of light. The dust beneath began to glow white. Zarina put a silent hand up, and Emma let the ball fizzle to nothing. The dust now shined bright white and glittered. Zarina gently took Emma's hand and turned it over so that the dust fell into Zarina's own palm, then she stepped back and concentrated.

A ball of crackling light, twin to the one Emma just summoned, lit in Zarina's palm.

"No way," Emma whispered, slack-jawed, then locked eyes with Zarina. "Is this how Zelena is getting through my shields?"

Tink shook her head. "I doubt it, but if it is, Zarina is still your best hope of fighting it."

Zarina's chest bubbled warm with the vote of confidence. It dissolved, though, when her hand began to shake under the sustained power of the stolen savior magic. Diving forward, Emma clasped a hand over Zarina's and snuffed the ball out between their palms. A few bright white grains of dust slipped through Zarina's fingers, mere glints in the sunlight as they fell and scattered on the deck.

"Sorry," said Zarina, waving her hand to call the stray dust back to her palm. "Dust charged after refining is a little more temperamental than the other kinds."

Zarina clenched her palm again, a small, harmless burst of light magic escaped her fist, and she opened it again. Not a single grain remained.

"Where do we start?" Emma asked.

"So it would seem we're taking in the fairy fugitives after all?" asked Hook.

Tink ignored the comment with an eyeroll. "What exactly happened the night Zarina boarded? What were they after?"

Killian took a deep breath, his eyes darted over the waters. "Liam was aboard."

Tink tensed. "Is he alright?"

"He's well, as well as can be expected. We weren't here when it happened," he said with a sigh, "but as best we can understand, Zelena and Blackbeard snuck aboard and tried to break the blood lock on the cabin. My first mate interfered, they retaliated, and, in the process, alerted Emma."

"Howso?" asked Zarina.

"It's kind of like a security alarm. Any magic that happens on the ship I know about instantly. I poofed us back as soon as I felt the tingle, but they were gone, and any witnesses dead, except Liam and Morgan."

"Morgan?"

"My first mate," said Hook. "She was alive when they took her, but any and every tracking spell we've used to try to find her has failed."

Zarina's gaze dipped to the deck. A failed tracking spell usually meant there wasn't anything, or anyone, left to find.

"I'm not taking that as confirmation," added Emma. "It's entirely possible Zelena's learned to duck a tracker. We still don't know how she got through my shields."

Hook only nodded toward the hatch. "We make landfall soon, best that the two of you get out of sight."

The sky had finally brightened, a red dawn crawled from the ocean, pressing the last wisps of quiet cobalt to the west. Emma again put her hands behind the fairies and ushered them toward the captain's cabin. Again, she took Tink's hand and they formed a chain, passing through another blood shield as they stepped down into the quarters.

As soon as Zarina's ears dipped under the deck, she heard the sad strains of a violin. A young man sat in a chair, below the cabin windows, eyes closed, a violin at his chin. He wore simple clothes, a billowy shirt and breeches, well-made and well-tailored, but old, the shirt worn through at the elbows. His dark hair was swirled with messy disregard. He looked like he hadn't slept in decades.

Low, slow, somber strings wrapped around her heart, weighing it down with strands of despair until hot tears of sudden regret burned at her eyes. The sincere depth of it might just have smothered her right there but for a sudden buck of the Jolly Roger against a rogue wave that jarred her attention. Zarina, still unused to her big, awkward body stumbled, the motion of the ship knocking her off balance and away from the two others. Desperate to keep herself upright, she grasped for the only solid object around her, a chair, but her wild motions only knocked it over, sending it clattering into the captain's table, upending a plate and a half-eaten meal, all of which crashed to the floor.

The two other women bent over her immediately, asking if she was all right. The violinist, however, played on uninterrupted. Moreover, there wasn't a even a flicker of acknowledgment at her commotion, his brow knit in devout concentration, as if he heard nothing beyond the sound of his own violin.

Tink bent to offer her a hand up. "Takes a lot more than that to break Liam's concentration."

Liam, Zarina thought. The Songbird Prince. The nickname the fairies had giggled as the flailings of young, chubby arms turned to skilled strokes of lean limbs and the fumbling child proved a master musician in the making. Now a grown man, no finer aficianado than the young prince drew breath in all the lands.

Emma walked over to the young man and smoothed his wild hair. Zarina took Tink's hand and shifted back to her feet.

"He's in his own world," said Emma. She leaned over and placed a light kiss on his forehead. "My sweet boy."

Liam's shoulders slackened and the music moaned to an uneasy close. His green eyes broke open, blinking as if using his eyes for the first time in days. He looked up at Emma. "Mom?"

Emma brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. "Look who came to help."

He looked at the two fairies and a smile broke across his face, crooked, as one not quite in control of his features. "Tink!"

"Liam," she returned a sad smile. He stood to hug her, gently, and with the weak sway of a body too long awake. He put his hand to her back to steady himself, leaving a trail of red streaks where his fingers brushed.

"You're bleeding!" Emma grabbed his hand and examined it. He had played so hard and for so long that the strings had cut through his calluses. Emma's hand glowed with healing magic but he snatched his away with renewed strength.

"No magic!"

Emma sighed with irritation, but backed away. She moved across the cabin, opened a drawer, pulled out a small box, and returned to his side. She opened the box, which was full of bandages, and held it open for his inspection.

"Happy?" she asked.

Wordlessly, he held out his bleeding hand. Emma gently guided him back down into his chair and started tending to his wounds.

"Can you help us find them?" he asked of Tink. Zarina saw clearly now the red, bloodshot eyes of a desperate, sleepless man.

Tink took in a breath, apparently unsure what to promise.

"We're waiting on word from Ariel," said Emma. "She has eyes all over, and under, the ocean. Someone has to spot them eventually."

"I want them dead," Liam growled, and the swift shift of his tone brought an almost palpable chill to Zarina's spine. His wounded hands balled into fists and his muscles strained beneath his bandages. "Drowned, perhaps. Or crushed under a mast as Blackbeard's ship sinks into oblivion."

"Liam, this isn't you," Emma put a hand to either side of his neck.

"Clearly my violin won't protect anyone," he snapped back, "maybe it's time I tried a sword."

"Shhh," Emma whispered. She put a hand to his face, stroked a thumb along his cheekbone, smoothing his unkempt stubble. His eyelids drooped, his shoulders sank, he slumped back in his chair. She waved a hand and poofed him across the room, onto the captain's bed. He sprawled there, unconscious, as she walked over and settled a pillow under him.

"My sweet, sweet boy," Emma murmured.

"Did you just… magic him out?" Tink asked.

"It's the first he's slept in almost a week," said Emma. "He and Morgan were-are-kind of a thing."

"This is the Hook in him," warned Tink. "You know a nap isn't going to make this go away, Emma."

"I just need time to talk some sense into him. Or find a place to shackle him."

"Emma!" came a woman's muffled voice, though none of the women had spoken.

Emma dug a hand into a pocket of her waistcoat, pulled out a small mirror and cradled it in a palm.

"Regina?" she asked the object. "Did you get it?"

"Barely, but yes. We'll rendezvous with Henry back at the castle."

"We needed some good news today."

"How is he?" Regina asked.

Emma glanced over at the sleeping prince. "Worse."

"I'm sorry."

"We'll be right there," said Emma, and stuffed the mirror back into a pocket

"Emma?" Tink asked.

"Regina and Robin just stole Henry's pen back, they're going to see if his author powers can tell us what's going on with Zelena."

She looked again to the sleeping prince, then back to the fairies. "Are you two up for babysitting?"

-0-

(Queen Anne's Revenge, Storybrooke, Present)

Boots outside Henry's compartment cut short Zarina's story.

"Oh no," Zarina whispered, eyes bright with fear. "Henry, no one can know I'm here. If they see or hear me…"

She trailed off as she desperately glanced around the room for a place to hide, but the sparse cell gave exactly zero options, so she fluttered over to the door.

"Zarina," Henry whisper-warned.

"I'm sorry, I'll try back when it's safe."

She stuck her head under the door and, seeing a moment of opportunity, scrambled underneath and was gone.

Henry thought maybe the bustle of bodies were coming to interrogate him, but they stomped straight past his door. Instead, he heard a loud jangle of chains, the opening of a nearby door, and the sound of a body landing in the cell next to his.

The boots retreated and faded up a ladder and he waited for any sound from his neighbor, but nothing came.

Henry's mind raced. Had they caught someone else, too?

"Hello?" he tested. "Mom? Killian?"

Henry scooted over to the wall, searching for a crack or gap, any insight into the cell beyond. He found a spot where two boards had warped and bowed apart slightly. If he moved up super close and pressed his eye to it, he could see into the other cell. A single, dirty porthole in the next compartment let in very little light, but he could make out a human form curled on the floor. His heart skipped a little at seeing long, blonde hair, but this was not Emma. He felt a small pang of disappointment, which was soon eclipsed by relief that his mother was not captured.

No, it was an unfamiliar young woman in the other cell. She was dressed for the sea in loose pants, a flowing shirt and a leather bodice. Her hair, knotted and greasy, fell well past her waist. She showed little sign of life, and Henry thought she might be dead except for the subtle rise and fall of her chest. He tried calling out a few times, but she did not stir. Indeed, she looked so filthy and bruised that a swell of compassion told him to let her sleep.

Left alone with little else but his worries, he tried his best to make a comfortable spot in his uncomfortable prison, and rehearsed all the unflattering phrases he was going to use to describe Blackbeard when all of this was over.