Emma felt herself roughly forced into a chair as her wrists were bound to its arms beside her. She winced as the dull pain in her gut flared, but she was grateful no one could see this sign of weakness for the dark back that had been pulled over her face. When she was secured to the chair, it was removed.
King George stood before her, decked in lavish, kingly clothes that belonged to this world. Emma vaguely recognized him as the defensive attorney from Storybrooke – Spencer, was it? She had had very little interaction with him, but all of it had made her slightly uncomfortable. Especially when he had been questioning Mary Margaret about Kathryn's supposed murder before she showed up again behind the diner. She tried to focus on what had been said about his identity here on the deck of the boat. He had called her his granddaughter, but Charming had denied being his son. He had been a king, but had been undermined by her parents. Honestly, she had only half been listening, but a knife at her throat and painful injuries tearing at her insides as she struggled to stand.
She blinked her surroundings into focus, trying to sit as straight as possible given the internal injuries she sported and the bonds fastening her wrists to the arms of the chair in which she sat. The room was large and dark. Many tall windows lined the walls, but all were closed by deep red drapes. Between each shimmered two candles fastened to the wall in small lamps.
"You must forgive me for my poor manners," he said pleasantly, nodding at the ropes that held her in place. "I can't risk letting you slip away. You're far to valuable."
Emma was used to be spoken too as if she were an object. It happened all the time when she was growing up. She was a commodity, worth something to each of her families only so long as the cost of keeping her didn't rise above the support check she came with. As the stitch in her side flared, her wounded arm aching in its socket, she settled for brevity.
"What do you want?"
"I want to know the exact nature of the powers you possess," he said, standing back a bit farther and surveying her as a whole.
"I have absolutely no idea," Emma said. "You kidnapped the wrong girl."
"Don't lie to me, Ms. Swan," George chided coolly. "I saw what you were practicing back in Storybrooke. Saw what you are capable of. Now, we can do this one of two ways. Either you can choose to cooperate and use your magic to help me, or I can take from you by force. Rest assured, the latter is not a pleasant experience."
Emma eyed him warily, a fearful curiosity forming from his words.
"Allow me to explain," he offered, stepping towards her. From within the folds of his robe, he revealed a short knife. The same knife he had pressed first against her rib cage and then against her throat on the boat, before his soldiers had taken her below deck. Emma watched it carefully, trying to remain defiant. "Magic is contained in a person's blood. It flows through your veins. If you will not use your powers to help me, I can simply take your blood myself."
As he place the blade against the skin on her forearm, she involuntarily squirmed, stretching her wrists against the shackles that held her arms to the chair in which she sat. He left it there, stationary for a moment, before piercing the skin. He drew a long, smooth line down her forearm. She hissed and clenched her teeth, trying to avoid giving him the satisfaction of knowing the pain it caused her as a line of deep red blood followed from the groove the knife left. As he pocketed the knife, she breathed heavily, trying to block out the pain.
"All I have to do is put it in here," he said, tapping something resting on his chest. Emma saw some kind of amulet dangling from a chain there. He took it from around his neck and unstoppered the top of it. He brought it to the wound in her arm he had created and, none to gently, squeezed, causing the thick blood to trickle into it. This time, Emma could not help the small outcry that left her mouth, though she tried to reign it back in, biting her lip against the pain. When the small container was filled to the brim, he replaced the cap and swung the charm back around his neck.
"Now, I can use your powers myself," he explained, his voice almost cheerful. "But see, all magic comes with a price. And for magic forcibly taken, the price is doubled. Any magic I perform with your blood costs you double the energy than if you were performing it yourself. Let me demonstrate."
King George sparked a ball of flame in his hand. Emma felt her mind go numb, and her body's aching begin to double. She felt as if something were being drawn painfully from her. Her breathing grew heavier as she felt her lungs tighten, refusing to absorb air. As King George watched her reaction, he began to bound the flaming ball from one palm to the other. This simple movement made Emma scream as the pain intensified. He smiled as he brought the ball to rest between his two palms, then squashed it until it was nothing.
With the flame extinguished, Emma felt the sensation that had wracked her body with its ignition subside, though she continued to ache and heave air into her lungs unsteadily.
"You feel it, don't you?" King George purred. "You feel the energy it drains from you to have me using your magic. It would be much easier if you would just cooperate and use it yourself."
"I told you, I don't know how," Emma panted. "I only had Gold teach me one thing."
"Shame," King George said, clicking his tongue. "It would be so much easier for you if you did."
George raised both his hands out to his sides menacingly. The candles on the wall all began to flicker, their flames growing. For Emma, the pain of the effort, sustained by her blood around his neck, was unbearable. She could not even hope to stifle the extended scream of agony as it wracked her body, the flames throughout the room magically expanding and dancing, filling the room with heat. Her body writhed against its bonds, her airways constricted, pain seeming to shoot through each of her veins.
George released the spell and the flames returned to their normal fervor. Emma slumped in her chair, panting and trying to keep her eyes open. Blearily, she saw King George crouch, placing his face directly in front of hers, far too close for comfort.
"So if I were you, I'd learn fast."
Hook sat scratching two rocks together violently, his back up against the rough, cave wall of his dungeon cell. He had woken in his own ship's brig, those standing guard over him refusing to answer his demands for information on the situation. He had heard the commotion on deck, or more felt the violence of many footsteps echoing through the wood down into the vessel's hull, but only when they had dragged down Emma's limp form and tossed it unceremoniously into another of the ship's cells did he become aware of the gravity of the situation.
"Swan!" he had tried, coming up to the bars of his cell as he watched them bring her in. She looked beaten and broken. He caught sight of a few large gashes on her skin, and a sickening, sallow bruise as the hem of her shirt slid above her midriff in the shuffle. What had happened on deck?
Emma had slipped out of consciousness, no doubt due to some blow dealt by one of the guards. It was only after he felt the boat begin to move at a speed that could only mean they had set sail that the clear culprit of this incursion came below deck to view his prize. Hook did not recognize him, but his ornate and lavish clothing, as compared to the armor of the soldiers he'd seen before, tagged him as the mastermind of this shenanigan. He placed himself in front of Emma's cell and stared down at her unconscious form, a dangerous longing in his eyes.
"What did you do to her?" Hook had growled, each hand gripping one of the bars at his face.
"Nothing compared to what I will do if she refuses to cooperate," George said simply, his tone low and intimidating.
Eventually, he felt the ship dock yet again, and a number of guards came for both him and Emma. Finally, as they began to jostle onto her unsteady feet, her eyes fluttered open.
"Emma," he had breathed desperately, wrestling with his own band of guards as they invaded his cell and fettered his hands.
"Hook?" she whispered blearily, her face dangerously pale as they bestially dragged her to her feet, binding her hands as well. It was all the time they had to mutter to each other before Hook watched a dark sac pulled over her face seconds before his sight was snuffed out by one of his own.
Once he was tossed into his new cell, now on solid land, it hadn't taken him long to cut the ropes around his wrists with a stone he found on the floor. He was alone in the dark for some time before he heard a ruckus at the end of the room as someone swung open a heavy door. Two guards dragged the small blonde between them, her feet stumbling on the uneven rocky floor. He stood as the instinct to rush to her pulsed through him.
"Hey!" Hook exclaimed as they tossed the beleaguered woman into her cell with force enough to fell her to the floor. Emma lay crumpled where she fell and did not move immediately. Hook knelt at the adjoining bars "Emma?!" he whispered frantically, panicked by her pale, bruised skin and her shallow breathing. "Emma, stay with me, love."
Emma choked a breath and her eyes fluttered open at his insistence. With what seemed a huge effort, she rolled herself over onto her back, but it seemed all she could manage. She coughed and sputtered in the effort, a spurt of blood piercing her lips.
"You're getting worse," he hissed, grimacing.
"Yeah, well, torture doesn't usually do much to heal injuries," she stuttered in a pained attempt at humor.
"Why is he doing this?" Hook asked, trying to keep his voice from cracking for the fear that crept into his heart from her banal manner. "What does he want?"
"He wants the magic," Emma stammered, lacking the energy to even seem angry or frightened about it. But Hook was scared for her. Never had he seen her so worn and broken, heard her voice so small.
"You're bleeding," Hook commenting gingerly, eyeing her arm. The cut still bled, though she did not have the energy to even attempt stemming the flow.
"It's fine," she coughed.
"It's not fine," he pestered. "Come over here. Let me see it."
"In what light? It's pitch black down here."
"Let me see it," Hook insisted.
"You gonna bind my wounds again, Hook?" she breathed, her voice disconcertingly quiet. "Like you did atop that beanstalk?"
"Would you stop being stubborn and get your wounded butt over here?"
"There's the haughty pirate I remember," Emma said, half a smirk sliding onto her worn face. She reluctantly shimmied her way over to the bars their cells shared and extended her arm to him. It was easier than arguing.
"It's going to get infected," Hook inspected.
"As will the others, I'm sure," Emma sighed, her voice barely above a whisper, wincing. "The blood he took today isn't going to last him forever. He'll be back for more before long."
Hook was discouraged by the passivity with which Emma spoke. She was the kind of woman who fought to the death for the people she loved, for her own protection. It was in her blood. Blood that she was losing in dangerous amounts.
"I'm not just going to sit here and watch you rotting away as they torture you to death."
"Whatever happened to not caring, Hook?" Emma choked as her eyes fell closed, no smile for the joke reaching her tired face. "Don't get all soft on me now."
Hook could see that even this attempt at playful banter was wearing her out, so he let the matter slide and resigned himself to watching her shallow, shaky breathing as she began to slip in and out of consciousness in the cell beside him. Eventually he took her hand in his, and after a few moments, her subconscious grasped it back.
Hello everyone, thanks for the supportive reviews for the last chapter. I'm mostly just writing this for my own amusement, but it's comforting to know that people are still reading and enjoying it :) Honestly, what were they thinking, a four week break? See what happens when they leave me to my own imagination?
In the next chapter, it's escape plan time. But whose side is Regina really on, anyway? Will she redeem herself, or does she have alternate plans up her sleeve?