#14

There are only two sources of light. The moon, and the little candle that Regina has enchanted. Its flame illuminates her hands and the work area, but beyond there the light ends abruptly, as if contained in a bubble of darkness. Even so, the full moon bathes the place, projecting its clarity on the tree where Merlin rests and allows them to move quite fluidly.

Regina prepares the bowls, checks the quantities once more, and gets each step of the ritual in order. All this in a perfect harmony, while Emma, standing to the side, feels incapable of intervening. She watches Lancelot, beside her, as still and fascinated as she is, and experiences some relief.

"Almost there," Regina murmurs, focused on her task. Her voice breaks the ceremonious silence of the night and seems to bring them back to reality.

"Perfect," Lancelot says. "If you shall allow me, I will go around the perimeter to make sure there will be no interruptions."

Regina nods and Lancelot disappears into the night towards the castle walls. As the quiet murmur of his footsteps and the movement of his armor recede, Regina sets her instruments aside and relaxes her hands, before turning to Emma, and muttering, "It's good to be cautious."

"Do you reckon there'll be trouble? Is there something I know?"

"Not exactly," she replies, looking towards the castle towers. "Tonight, at dinner, there weren't many people in the hall."

"You lost me there," Emma blinks.

"Arthur's men weren't there. Well, there were the courtiers, some older soldiers, and the wives and children, but more than half of his knights were missing, including those from the Round Table."

"Where do you think they were?"

"I don't know. Probably somewhere well-armed and ready to appear at any moment in case we prove to be a threat. Robin and I have been checking for them the whole night, I'm sure we weren't wrong."

The idea of a small army ready to jump on them doesn't exactly appease Emma's nerves. But knowing that it was that, and not anything more intimate or affectionate, what they were whispering to each other during dinner ignites in her a small and absurd hope. She restrains herself from smiling, especially worried about how to explain it. She agrees to Regina's words, who addresses her again.

"Are you ready?" This time her voice is a whisper, and Emma isn't sure if that softness is her way of avoiding being overheard or her way of trying to reassure her. It doesn't matter, because that whisper slides down her back and erases most of her doubts.

"Sure," she mutters.

Regina's eyes narrow in discontent. "But?"

"Nothing," she sighs, raising her hands in protest. Regina is against the wall, using it as a makeshift backup, and watching Emma suspiciously from there. "But I don't want to fail," she finally adds before those watchful eyes.

"Emma, trust me. You can handle this; this magic is nothing compared to the Savior's."

Emma allows herself to enjoy her words. That tone of voice that feels reserved only for her. Regina's way of pronouncing her name. That blind faith that floods her body with warmth and security. But the doubts return mercilessly while the echo of that last word is repeated in her head.

Savior.

What if she's no longer just that? What if the skin on her arm is proof that there's no going back? What if the power that runs through her body is no longer born from white magic?

She swallows deeply and whispers, "We have put so much hope in this. What if it doesn't work? What will we have left?"

"It will work," Regina says bluntly, as she folds her arms and frowns, and Emma feels a little laugh creep up and out of her. "I'm sure," she adds more gently. "But if it didn't, we would move on, as we always have. Together." The last word sounds slow, savory and vibrant.

"Ok," Emma whispers, taking a deep breath and trying to allow herself to be invaded by her certainty.

"Emma." Regina uncrosses her arms and turns towards her. "Is it because of the magic? Do you not feel safe using it?"

"I..." She can't find the right words. Is that it? Yes, maybe. Is it many more things? Definitely. "I don't want to become a crocodile," she sums up so simply that Regina's eyebrows raise, and she has to press her lips together to keep from laughing. "You know what I mean," she says, clicking her tongue.

"I don't know, huh? Maybe a look based on shiny scales will look good on you," she jokes. Emma tries to laugh, but her hand instinctively rests on her forearm, where her skin stops being smooth and soft, and she can't hide her worry. "I'm not serious, sorry; it was a very silly joke."

The effect of her words, and especially that low tone, has an immediate effect on Emma. Even with the knot of worry and fear tangled in her stomach, she takes a step closer to her, giving her a grateful smile.

"You don't need to apologize for anything. Right now, I don't feel very confident when it comes to my magic," she admits, moving her fingers as if loosening them up. "But with you by my side, I know I'm safe," she adds with more embarrassment than calm, but she won't stop and lets out a small, shy smile. "And this goes wrong, I'm glad to know that you think the look will suit me."

Before her, Regina breathes again, smiles and looks at the ground with a certain amused shyness. For a moment, they exchange a couple of smiles, a small laugh, and a moment of calm and complicity.

"Emma, I…" Regina clears her throat, not looking at her. She takes a breath and tries again, this time with a searching look in her eyes. "These last two days..."

"Yeah?" she asks, her heart racing against her chest, her mouth dry and her nerves alight. She silently begs her not to stop, her body screams silently for her to enter that swampy and shocking place. She's terrified. And yet she's dying for Regina to keep talking.

"We haven't been able to stop for even a minute and…" she stutters.

"And?"

"I really want to. To stop and talk. With you, without haste. No intrusive friends and family. No fatal injuries. There's so much that…"she responds at full speed, playing with a lock of hair, nervous and unable to hold her gaze. "I just want to be back..."

"Back home and... talk," Emma ends for her with a shaky voice.

"Yes."

"So do I. Desperately," she nods just as uneasily, just as excited.

"All right," Regina breathes out, smiling. "As soon as Lancelot returns, we can… Wait," she stops abruptly, all trace of joy disappearing from her face. She puts back on her mask of cold control and frowns. "Where's Lancelot?"

Emma takes some time to come back to reality, to even remember who Lancelot is, and she feels like an idiot. She was so absorbed, that she forgot what they were doing, who they were waiting for. And then she realizes how much time has gone by.

"How long can it take to make a round?" She asks, infected by Regina's restlessness.

"Certainly not that long," she mutters. "Do you hear that?" Emma sharpens her ears and, although she cannot identify it, she does notice it. A murmur, a noise that doesn't belong to the night, that squeaks and breaks the stillness, and that keeps growing, weak but unstoppable.

"What the fuck?"

"Take this." Regina orders, giving her last of the ingredients, with the tiny bottle containing her own tears, and leaving it in her hand.

"What do you want me to do?" she asks, grabbing Regina's hand to keep her from walking away.

"You wait here. If I'm not back soon, start the ritual and don't stop. Understand?"

"No! I'm coming with you, Regina."

"Emma, don't argue with me, please. Just do as I ask, Merlin is our priority."

"No!" she protests again. "My priority... My priority is you," she adds awkwardly, the noise ahead of them becoming louder.

"Emma," Regina mutters, lovingly squeezing the hand that's still holding hers. "You said you trusted me, right?"

Emma swallows deeply and answers, unable to lie to that. "I do."

"Well, wait for me here, please, I won't be long."

To be continued...