King George sat in a brooding silence, fingering the precious vile in his hand. He brought it up to his line of sight. It was almost empty. Again.
He had not anticipated that Emma would be in such a poor state when he acquired her, nor that he would need to keep taking so much blood to use her magic. He brought his fingers troubledly to his temples. No, things had not gone to plan at all. She grew weaker and weaker every time he pulled her from her cell, and there was no hope of her learning to use her magic at this point. She was barely conscious half the time. He continued to extract blood from her because he needed it, but at the same time he knew that this was not a sustainable solution. If she died, he would be right back to where he started.
When the guards informed him of an intruder, he clasped the vile on the chain around his neck briefly before slipping it down the front of his shirt. He pulled the anxiety he felt from his face and adorned his expression with one of intimidating confidence as he bid them to bring her in. She entered peacefully enough, one guard on each of her arms for good measure.
"Well, well, this is a surprise," King George sneered. "It's wonderful to see you, Snow. I'll admit, I thought eventually you would try some kind of desperate attempt at rescuing your daughter, but I didn't think it would be something so simple or witless as just walking up to my front gate."
Snow did not deign to respond.
"Where's that prince of yours?" King George prodded.
"He doesn't know I'm here," Snow said. King George leaned forward, intrigued.
"And why are you here, if I may be so bold as to ask?"
"I'm here because Emma's dying, and neither of us wants that to happen."
"Rest assured, your daughter is not…" George started, but Snow cut him off.
"Don't deny it. She's withering away feverishly in that cell, and you're doing nothing to stop it."
King George blinked at her, attempting not to let his admiration for her pluck and nerve show.
"How could you know that?" he asked, keeping a pleasant note in his tone.
"The queen's mirror," Snow responded simply.
"Regina." King George said the name like a curse under his breath. "I knew she'd betray me."
"She didn't," Snow said, shaking her head. "We stole the mirror from her palace while she was away. I tend to be pretty good at stealing things from Regina. I've had a lot of practice."
"If you've come here to plead for her release, you're wasting your time," George said heatedly.
"I'd never imagine you'd be so civil," Snow responded crudely. "My husband wanted to plan some kind of noble and valiant attack to win our daughter from your clutches. But I've been watching her, and he won't succeed. Not in time. Probably not at all. She's dying, and neither of us wants that. Let me go to her. Let me nurse her back to health. I'll be your prisoner as well. I'm her mother, I know I can convince her to cooperate, to use her magic for you. Because if she doesn't, you will just keep draining her until there isn't anything left to drain, and you'll be powerless, right back where you started. Only I won't have my daughter anymore. Let me convince her to help you."
"You're asking me to make you my prisoner?" King George clarified after a pause.
"Yes."
King George surveyed her for a moment, his face hard to read.
"Well it's not like I can have you scampering back to that husband of yours with information on this fortress anyways, so fine. Wish granted." He waved a hand at the guards beside her. "Take her below."
Emma did not open her eyes when she heard the gate creek open and shut again. Time had stopped for her, so she had no idea how long it had been since she'd last been dragged out for use, but it must be time again. She had no energy to help them transport her to the torture of upstairs, though she would not have used it if she did. However, she was surprised to find the hands she felt on her to be gentle and smooth and soft.
"Emma," came a voice, trying to restrain it's anxiety and sound soothing. A voice she recognized. Her eyes cracked open.
"Mom?" she croaked. Snow felt a few light tears slide their way down her cheeks at the title.
"Yes," she said, her lips quivering as she pushed a few stray hairs back from her daughter's bruised face. "Yes, it's me. I'm here." She pulled her into a cradled embrace.
"How did you get here?" Emma asked, attempting to sit up a little straighter before a sharp pain in her side caused to hiss and lean back against her mother.
"Don't move," she cautioned, trying to keep her voice steady and free of the fear she felt for the sake of her daughter. "It's alright, I've got you, it's going to be alright." They were empty words and she knew it but they came so easily to her to comfort her baby girl and friend in her arms.
"Why are you-?"
"I came here to be with you," Snow answered simply. The response seemed to rile Emma dangerously as she choked out her harried breath.
"No, you can't be here, you have to get out…" she began, but Snow placed a calming hand on her shoulder.
"It's already done," she said. "Now lie back, you're going to hurt yourself." Emma winced and shuddered. Snow placed a gentle hand to her abdomen and felt the swelling that had persisted there. She reached up and touched her clammy forehead, nearly retracted her had from the heat she felt there. "God, you're worse than I even imagined."
"I'm fine," she protested weakly, her eyes closed as she took a shaky breath. Then her eyes shot open and she looked pleading at her mother. "Henry. Have you seen him? Is he ok?"
"Henry's fine," Snow assured her, explaining as little as she needed. What her daughter clearly needed was rest, especially if she was going to be strong enough for her plan to work. She did not need the weight of the extraneous details. "He's safe."
A measurable weight seemed to lift from her daughter, although it just left her seeming smaller and frailer. She sank into her mother, and Snow received her, biting back the urge to sob that had formed in her throat. She began to stroke her hair as Emma wheezed breath shakily into her lungs. Eventually, without realizing it, she had begun to hum a soothing tune her mother had taught her.
"I thought you said you were a terrible singer," Emma stammered in an attempt a humor. Snow thought back blissfully to when she had playfully discussed all the inaccuracies of the Disney animated version of herself. A soft tear slid from the corner of her eye.
"Oh, hush up," Snow said kindly, pressing a gently kiss onto the top of her head before continuing her soft humming. The pair sat like that for a long while, every once in a while a pained cough piercing Emma's uneven breathing.
"Mary Margaret," Emma whispered in a dry voice. Snow tried not to be too disappointed at the renewed use of her old name on her daughter's lips.
"Mhmm?" she asked soothingly, reaching down and taking her hand.
"I'm sorry I snapped at you before," she stuttered, pausing to inhale a shaky breath. "About Henry, about sitting with him beside the pool. I shouldn't have…"
"Shh," Snow interrupted. She knew what was going through Emma's mind. That this might be her last chance to apologize before her inevitable death. She wanted to tell her to cut it out before she broke down in sobs.
"You were just trying to help," she choked persistently.
"You have nothing to apologize for," Snow assured her, blinking back tears and grateful that Emma's eyes remained closed so she could not see them. She needed to be strong for her.
Emma gave a small, involuntary hiccup and a light trickle of blood appeared on her parched, cracked lips. Snow pulled her daughter closer to her. Her whisper came out as a whimper, quiet enough to be meant just for herself as Emma slipped from consciousness again.
"We have to get you out of here."
Charming's eyes had not left the mirror since Snow's departure hours before, his stomach knotted in tight anxiety. When she finally showed up in the cell beside Emma, he didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified. She had made it this far in the plan, but they still had a long way to go. He watched her speak gingerly with their daughter, helping her to sit a bit straighter and cradling her, despite that she was the same age.
At first, he had adamantly refused Snow's suggestion. He could barely handle one of the women he loved most in the world being held prisoner by a deranged lunatic. He couldn't bare the thought of both of them out of his reach and in that cell. But even he couldn't deny that it was the best plan they had, and as everyone else began to get on board, he realized he didn't really have much say in the matter. He knew when he married her that she would always do what she thought best, regardless, and to be honest, that was what he loved about her.
Except now, as that quality had landed her next to their daughter at the bottom of a dark dungeon. He allowed himself one long look at her lovely, heart-shaped face before he turned and returned to the plotting room.
"She's in," he said, trying to keep the discomfort, bordering on insanity, out of his voice and pull together a strong front. They would definitely need it. "We have to be ready to go as soon as she gives the signal."
"We're ready," Neal said as beside him Red began to roll up a number of maps and charts that had been spread out. As if on cue, Regina entered the room. She did have a knack for grand entrances, the long tales of her riding coat billowing behind her as her riding boots clacked on the stone floor.
"The horses are saddled and ready," she informed them, pulling leather gloves from her hands. "I left Hook in charge of rounding up all the men. He seems to like the authority. Now all we need is Snow's signal."
"I want to come," Henry piped up. He's said it numerous times since the plan had been concocted, both before and after Snow left, and each time it had been met with the same answer.
"Not a chance," his father said.
"It's too dangerous, Henry," Charming explained for what felt like the umpteenth time.
"She's my mother," he argued, his tone bordering on whiny.
"And she won't thank us for putting you in danger," Neal said. "Or you if you get yourself killed. You would be so grounded." But Henry did not rise to the attempt at humor.
"Everyone else gets to risk their lives for her, but I was the only one there for her when none of the rest of you were," he spat, a bitterness in his desperate speech that none of them had heard before. "You cursed her to a childhood alone in a strange land, you forgot about her for twenty-eight years, and you abandoned her when she needed you most."
He looked at Regina, Charming and Neal in turn as he spoke, and they all froze, blinking guiltily as his tirade continued.
"I was the one who went and found her. I brought her to Storybrooke. I reunited her with her family. I was there for her when no one else was. If anyone deserves the chance to help, it should be me."
He glared at them all defiantly, challenging them to deny anything he had said. They stood for a tense moment of silence because, of course, they couldn't. Everything he had said was entirely true. Slowly, Neal came forward, his shame plastered all over his face as he knelt before his son, looking up into his face.
"You're right, Henry," he said, his voice raw and dry as he looked his son squarely in the eyes. "We weren't there for her. I wasn't there for her, and I should have been. You were the one brave enough to give up everything for her. More than once. Now it's our turn to prove ourselves. We have to make up for it. Do you understand?"
Henry nodded solemnly, looking at his feet.
"Good," Neal said. "With that understanding in place, I think he should come with us."
"What?" Charming said, his jaw all but dropping.
"He's just a boy," Regina protested.
"He's twelve," Neal corrected, standing to face the others in the room. "I was twelve when I was asked to start fighting in the ogre wars."
"You were fourteen, actually," Henry reminded him. Neal grimaced down at him.
"Not helping your case, kid," he said. He looked up at the others. "Look, I'm not saying we should plop him on a horse and have him lead the charge. He should stay back in the woods until everything is over. But he has the right be there when we break her out, if all goes well. He's earned that much at least."
"And if all does not go well?" Regina suggested, raising a disapproving eyebrow.
"Then, Henry, you know how to run, right?" Neal said, looking down at his son. Henry nodded eagerly.
"Really fast," he assured him.
"Great," he said, smiling down at him and patting him on the shoulder. "Then why don't you run and get your things ready."
"Come on kid," Red suggested, eyeing the other adults in the room and sensing there would be more to this conversation, and she didn't not want to be around for it. "I'll help."
The two left the room. Immediately, Charming stepped forward.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice wavering between genuine curiosity and blatant, almost-angry disapproval.
"I'm thinking it will be better to have him where we can see him than miles away where we don't know what's happening," he started. "I'm thinking he's got a point that he deserves, more than any of us, to be there if he wants to. And," he looked up and caught Charming's eye as he continued, "I'm thinking Emma will have a much stronger drive to stay alive and fight her way out if she knows Henry's waiting for her when she does."
The truth of his last statement hung weightily around them.
"Emma would not approve," Regina said. It was not an argument against the idea, more a statement of fact.
"Well then, we better make sure she gets back all in one piece," Neal responded, "because I do love how her face gets all red and scrunchy when she tells me off."
If Snow had thought watching her daughter's agony through the looking glass had been difficult, she could not have imagined how much more unbearable it was to be at her side. It wasn't long after she had arrived and scooped Emma's cold, shivering body into her arms that the first attack began. Emma twitched, a strong sound catching in the back of her throat as she woke. She gasped for breath, and Snow felt her tense in her arms.
"Emma?" Snow had asked, fretfully concerned. She tried to answer through what was clearly immense pain, but was only able to choke out a few words.
"He's… using… upstairs…"
Snow pulled her daughter closer, utterly helpless. There was nothing worse than seeing her in pain and knowing there was nothing she could do to relieve it.
"It'll pass," Emma managed to say, and Snow's guilt doubled as her daughter, wracked with such an energy-draining sensation of pain, attempted to ease her mother's concern. Then she shuddered and a restrained cry of agony escaped her lips as she nearly toppled out of Snow's arms. Snow held her tighter, trying to take even breaths and pass them along to her. She couldn't say how long it lasted, but it felt like an eternity with her frail daughter trembling in her arms, attempting to stifle her screams as the waves of pain came stronger and stronger.
It wasn't long after it had ended, mercifully, that Snow heard the door at the end of the hallway creak open. Emma had slipped into a semi-conscious state following her episode, and while she didn't open her eyes at the sound, Snow felt her release a short breath of dread, as if even her subconscious knew what was coming. Snow was physically frightened, her breathing becoming harder and harder to control as the footsteps grew closer. This had been a part of the plan. A crucial part. King George needed to see Emma at least once since Snow's arrival if he was to continue to believe that Snow had come of her own accord, and not as a part of any large plot. But as the clanking footsteps echoed around the dungeon, she pulled her daughter tighter to her. She couldn't let her go up to the torture she knew was waiting above. She couldn't let it happen.
Of course, she didn't have a choice. The true vulnerability of her position hit her forcefully as the two guards wrenched Emma from her arms. A few feeble protests escaped her lips as they dragged her sagging form out of the cell and swung the door shut. Snow stood at the bars, panic overcoming her lungs.
"No… you can't… please," she was saying, but already the door to the dungeon closed and the light it offered was snuffed out. Snow, left alone in the dark, sank to the ground, trying to calm her breathing. Snow hoped her husband was watching as she reached with trembling hands as obviously as possible for the ring around her finger, swiveling it in a full circle, then once again for good measure.
Miles away, Charming faced the mirror as his wife fiddled with his mother's ring.
"That's the symbol," he said, his voice dark and determined. He turned to his comrades behind him. "Let's go."
Wondering what the plan is and if it will succeed? Me too! Honestly, I'm literally thinking this up as I go, so please forgive if there are any discrepancies or parts that are a little hard to believe. I'm not a criminal mastermind by any means, so I have very little experience coming up with escape plans.
The end pretty much sets of the next chapter. It's execution time! I don't know if it will be in the next chapter, but somewhere down the line there will be some pretty BAMF horse-riding. I've been a bit disappointed with the lack of exciting horse-riding in this season on the show.