The Past

Christine slept the first of many nights in prison badly. Her cell was small and dirty, with only some straw on the floor. The cold bled through the dirt and stones and straw and her thin blue dress, and several times she had to bite back a scream when a rat scurried past. She was fairly certain that the straw on her floor had been the home of a family of rats before it was hers, and they didn't seem to be taking her intrusion well. In addition, the smell in the prison was horrible: a cross between sweat, human waste, dampness, and rot.

Worst of all, though, was the man on her right. He would yell and scream or talk or sing to himself at alternate intervals. When Christine had finally begged him to stop, he'd looked at her as if he couldn't see her at all.

"He's mad, you know," the man on her left said. He had been in prison for at least a few weeks, judging by the length of his beard.

Christine blinked at him in surprise. "What?"

"Lost his mind. It only took him a night or two. It's the rats," he continued conversationally, threading his arms through the bars between their cells.

As if the name of their species was a summons, several rats emerged from the straw behind Christine and scurried to other cells. The man on her right let out a scream and started rocking, tucked into a tiny ball.

"What are you in here for?" Her sane neighbour asked casually, as if nothing had happened.

"Existing, I suppose," Christine sighed, pulling her knees to her chest protectively.

The man beside her let out a hearty laugh. "The worst crime of all," he agreed, wiping his dark eyes with filthy fingers.

"How about you?"

"Accused of plotting to overthrow the king," he said with a shrug.

"Did you?" Christine asked, staring at her toes. They had taken her shoes the night before, and her feet were already freezing.

The man snorted. "No, but the bloody king is paranoid. Just trying to teach me a lesson. I'm sure I'll be back at court within the month."

Christine let out a shriek as whiskers brushed against her leg.

"Oh God," she moaned, jumping to her feet. "I can't... I-"

Her sane neighbour looked her over. "You'd better learn to deal with that, or you'll turn into our friend there in no time," he nodded towards the rocking man, now muttering very quickly and inaudibly to himself. "I'm Gavin."

"Christine," she said weakly. "How do you... um... deal with this? You aren't mad."

He grinned. "I just befriended my enemy, so to speak. I christened all of the rats, made up their life stories, that sort of thing."

Christine was definitely rethinking her assessment of Gavin's sanity.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he added as if reading her mind.

A rat skittered across her bare foot and she closed her eyes, doing the first thing that came to mind.

"Rose, Rose, Rose red,

Shall I ever see thee wed?

I will marry at thy will, sire,

At thy will."*

Even the man to her right seemed to quiet down to listen to her soft singing. She repeated the song multiple times until she felt relatively calm. Gavin nodded his approval afterwards and Christine smiled grimly. It looked as though she'd found her strategy, and she hadn't even had to resort to befriending rats.

Over the next few days, some prisoners became brave enough to request certain songs. If she knew the songs, she always obliged, filling the dark space with melancholy tunes that often enough moved the other prisoners to tears. Even the jailer and guards would pause to listen.

She estimated that she had been there for just over a week when the man on her right fell silent. Christine tried to coax him into eating his meagre daily delivery of bread, but he just stared at her blankly. He died several days later, and the cell next to her became sadly empty.

Christine sang several songs for him as a makeshift funeral service and shed a few tears, but the next week she became grateful for the empty cell next to her when she became sick. She was able to push the vomit-soaked straw over into the next cell, which at least made things more bearable. The illness went on for over a week, and Christine began to feel horribly sore and weak.

On the ninth morning she woke Gavin up with her retching, he looked at her appraisingly.

"What?" She panted, leaning her head against the metal bars.

"I'm guessing congratulations are in order," he commented drily.

"To the rats for inevitably getting their straw back?" She muttered, thinking of how much fun the rats would have with two empty cells.

"No," Gavin said, sounding amused. "To you, mother."

"What in the bloody name of-" His words sunk in, and she felt her queasy stomach drop to her toes. "Bloody hell," she groaned, resisting the urge to slam her head repeatedly against the wall.

Gavin raised his eyebrows at the string of curses that followed, looking impressed.

"Of course, I could be wrong, but if I'm right... do you really think that's appropriate language to use around an unborn child?"

In response, Christine improvised a song about how she would graphically murder Gavin if the bars were to spontaneously disappear, earning her loud laughs and shouts of approval from the other cells. She felt bad about it afterwards, but she supposed that she could now blame her irritability on pregnancy.

Fortunately, the sickness eventually passed. Christine spent her days singing to her growing mid-section so that she could forget her fears of giving birth in such horrible conditions. If she forgot about that part, then it was easy for her to daydream about her baby.

"I hope you look like your father, but have your mama's brains," she cooed softly, rubbing her hand over her front. Gavin snorted.

The first time she felt the baby move, she almost cried. Then she sang it a song, as she was now in the habit of doing. If she thought too much, it was just too difficult to function. That was why she didn't think about what had become of Connor or Edward or Sari, but instead just thought about each meandering melody line as it floated through the oppressive jail. It also helped to relieve the constant boredom and discomfort. By the time the baby moved inside of her, it was summer. Now, instead of shivering her nights away, Christine sweated, too hot to barely even move.

By the time she turned eighteen, her torso had swelled massively. Christine imagined that it wouldn't be much more than a month before the baby came, a thought that both thrilled her and terrified her.

Of course, having no calendar in the jail, she would have had no idea that it was her birthday at all if not for the unexpected visitor who delivered her dinner instead of the regular jailer.

"Sari?" Gasped Christine.

The woman shrieked, then started crying.

"Oh my God, Christine!"

Christine bit back a teary smile. She wondered what in particular had caused her sister's exclamation. She imagined she was quite a sight after months and months without a bath in a filthy jail cell, but, then again, perhaps it was the surprise of seeing her with child that had caused Sari's tears.

"What are you doing here?" Christine demanded, suddenly afraid. She reached her hand through the bars to grasp her sister's, needing the physical contact more than she could fully express.

Sari blushed slightly, avoiding her eyes. "Well, since I last saw you, I sort of... got married."

Christine's jaw dropped. "I suppose you couldn't let me get married before you," she eventually managed to joke. "Who's the lucky man?"

"Well..." Sari's voice trailed off in embarrassment.

"Yes?" Christine prompted.

"Your jailer!" Sari blurted, biting her lip.

Christine closed her eyes. "You didn't."

"He's not such a terrible man, at least not to me. He's drunk most of the time. And, now, I'm able to see you to wish you a happy birthday. And maybe I'll be able to get you out eventually, once I think of how to do it, and then I won't even have to lay eyes on him again," Sari spoke very quickly, looking as though she expected a harsh rebuke.

"Oh, Sari, you shouldn't have done that," Christine whispered, tears filling her eyes.

"Well, I had to do something. You're my sister. And now, I'm doubly glad that I did. At the very least, maybe I can help you when you go into labour."

Sari proceeded to tell her what she knew of Edward. Apparently, Lord Alasdair had told the king of Edward's plot, although how he found out, Sari was uncertain.

"They shipped him off to an island prison. They left the same day you were arrested," she finished sadly.

Christine swallowed hard. "At least if he's there, he wasn't executed. That means he's probably still alive." It felt as though a significant weight had been lifted off of her shoulders with the realization.

"I can't linger here too long, or my husband will become suspicious. I'll come as often as I can, though," Sari promised, squeezing her sister's hand in a reluctant farewell.

Sari kept her promise, and, as much as Christine hated the thought of her sister sacrificing anything for her, she fully appreciated her sister's presence during labour.

Her son arrived just over two weeks later, on the seventh of December, 1793.

The Present

"Are you alright, love?" Killian paused to ask.

Emma had to take a moment to think before responding. "Yeah. I'm just feeling... lucky, I guess."

Since meeting Henry, Emma had thought back to her own pregnancy far more often than ever before. It had certainly not been a pleasant time for her, especially because she knew that there was no way that she could keep her baby. Her childhood made the idea of putting her own baby up for adoption appalling, but keeping the baby would be unbearably selfish when she knew nothing about parenting and had no one to support her. Hell, she didn't even have a job.

Oddly, hearing about Christine made her realize just how good she'd had it. Yes, she was alone and pregnant. Nevertheless, her living conditions were fine, she had a release date, she had enough to eat, she had medication to help her through labour, and she had the option of giving her child up since she couldn't provide for him.

Christine had been even younger than her when she gave birth, and she did it in horrendous conditions with no medical staff or painkillers. The thought made Emma feel almost guilty.

If Killian knew how she was feeling, which he most likely did, he didn't say anything. Instead, he offered her a small, understanding smile and carried on.

The Past

Her singing teacher at boarding school had told her that most opera singers had an easier time with labour because they used the necessary muscles on a regular basis to sing. Christine shuddered to think of what a difficult labour would be like if hers was "easy".

"I love you, Liam," she whispered to her new baby after Sari had left, cradling him gently to her chest.

"Good name," Gavin commented from beside her, a smile distinguishable from underneath his now very long beard.

"It was my grandfather's," Christine explained softly. "The name of a king."

"He's a homely little fellow," her companion chuckled, peering through the bars.

"All newborns look a little bit strange, but I think that he's quite handsome considering he was inside of me just yesterday," she smiled gently, pressing a kiss to the infant's head.

Soft lullabies replaced her previous songs now that she had her son. She rocked him and fed him and, for the first time since coming to prison, didn't feel quite so alone.

"Considering that all you do is cry, I honestly can't see how I love you so much," Christine muttered several weeks later, absolutely exhausted. Liam looked up at her with eyes that were far too intelligent, and even that coaxed a sunny smile out of his mother.

The next change in her routine came when she estimated Liam to be a month old.

She was humming quietly to her son when loud footsteps echoed from down the hall. Tension automatically ran through her body, and she clutched Liam closer to her chest. What if someone was coming to take him away from her?

It turned out that they had come for Gavin.

"The king wants you back at court," one guard informed him in a bored voice.

Gavin looked startled. "He does?"

When the guard nodded, he suddenly looked at Christine frantically.

"Take care of Martha? I think she's going to have babies soon," he murmured, glancing towards his pile of straw that he tended to share with one fat rat in particular.

"Yes, I will, but, Gavin... wait!"

He paused as he was leaving, even as the guards shot her a dirty look.

"I don't know if you're familiar with the king's advisor, Lord Alasdair, but I need you to do something for me. Please, I beg you, try to find his wife or his daughter and inform them that I have given birth to Edward's son in prison-"

"Enough!" One of the guard's hissed, knocking his sword loudly against the bars of her cell, prompting a loud wail from Liam.

"I'll do what I can, my dear," Gavin promised with a kind smile.

Christine watched him go with a familiar sad ache in her chest. She was going to miss her friend. However, she thought that the rats would miss him more. Perhaps she was imagining it, but she could swear that Martha had a sad droop to her whiskers.

"I guess it's just you and me now, love," she whispered to Liam, soothing him to the best of her ability. "You don't count," she added, giving Martha a dirty look.

The rat squeaked indignantly.

She groaned. "Fine. I guess it's you, me, and however many rats."

A week passed.

Then a month.

Then another month.

Christine's songs became sadder and sadder, in spite of Sari's visits. Gavin's replacement wasn't nearly as amiable as he had been, and every day that he was gone caused her to lose more and more of her little remaining hope.

Then, one day, Sari appeared in a frenzy.

"Christine! My God, you'll never believe it," she whispered feverishly. "I received a letter today from Gavin. It seems that he's spoken to Lord Alasdair's wife. She's agreed to help you get out... Gavin told her about me, and she said that if I drug my husband's ale with this-" she waved around a small vial excitedly "-she'll meet us outside the prison tomorrow at midnight and give us as much assistance as she can. Do you know what this means?!"

"We're getting out of here," she breathed, eyes filling with tears as she hugged Liam. "And the guards?"

Sari's eyes glittered mischievously. "I know just the thing."

The next night, Christine stepped outside for the first time in almost a year while the guards were busy vomiting up their dinners.

"They always dine with us on Tuesdays," Sari explained, stifling a giggle.

Christine didn't ask for more details.

As she stepped beyond the prison doors, Christine decided that there was nothing more beautiful than the sight of millions of stars glittering in the sky. They somehow seemed brighter since she'd last seen them. The sight almost made her laugh. Perhaps the prison had driven her mad after all.

Waiting at the end of the road, illuminated by the stars, were three horses and a petite woman in a deep red cloak. Her hair was the same dull brown as Jayne's, her nose small and turned up, and her lips thin and turned down. Her eyes, however, were a striking kaleidoscope of greens and blues. They darted around nervously even as Christine approached. She looked younger than Christine had anticipated, but she was unmistakeable nonetheless.

"You must be Edward's mother," she greeted softly.

"And you're the woman who led my son to ruin," she replied coolly, eyeing her up and down. "The singer," she added with a sniff.

"Christine," she replied with a small wince. She was aware that she couldn't be much to look at right now. Her dress had long ago faded to grey, and dirt clung to almost every inch of her. Any pregnancy weight she'd managed to gain on a prison diet had been lost long ago, leaving her even thinner than usual. Straw was in her unwashed hair, she was fairly certain that she had lice, and Martha - who had hitched a ride in her pocket - suddenly seemed very visible. Christine cleared her throat, eager to distract Edward's mother from her intense scrutiny. "And your name is...?"

"Evelyn," Edward's mother answered, although the look she gave her implied that being on first name terms was not something she would enjoy. "And my grandson?"

"Liam," Christine told her with a soft smile.

Evelyn approached her with a slight look of disgust, wrinkling her nose, but she reached for Liam nonetheless. Christine resisted for a moment, but reminded herself that just because Liam had barely left his arms since her birth didn't mean that any harm would come to him.

"Aren't you a handsome boy," Evelyn murmured, seemingly able to overlook the dirty cloth around Liam if not the dirt on his mother. "He looks like Edward when he was a babe."

That comment brought a smile to Christine's face, although Sari looked skeptical.

"Now, allow me to make something quite clear." Evelyn's voice returned to its earlier haughty tone as she handed Liam back to his mother. "I despise you. I think you're a selfish temptress who is almost certainly doomed to suffer and die, thank God. However, you and I unfortunately find ourselves on the same side in this. I want my son and grandson to not die in a prison cell, and I'm hoping that your objective is similar. That is why I did the job my son failed to do and got you this."

She pulled a letter out from her sleeve and held it out to Christine. "Release orders with the king's seal for my son. I sent that foolish court astronomer off with similar ones for your brother, since he seemed to think it necessary. Yes, Gavin knew who you were."

"Thank you," Christine whispered, blinking back tears. "Even if you do despise me as much as you say. Perhaps you wouldn't if we got to know each other better-"

"Even if this doesn't get me executed for treason, I sincerely hope never to see your filthy face again," Evelyn snapped, before moving closer to hiss words that Christine could just barely hear. "Alasdair would have put him on the throne eventually, but then you came along."

Hearing that Lord Alasdair had aspirations towards the throne didn't surprise Christine in the slightest. Instead, she just hardened her gaze.

"Then, I sincerely appreciate your help. And I pity you, because I imagine you are perhaps the only person in the world who misses Edward as much as I do."

A sneer twisted itself onto Evelyn's face, but her eyes filled with tears. "Much more, I assure you. And yet you somehow get him."

"I love him very much," Christine assured the woman, reaching out a comforting hand.

Evelyn moved out of reach, scowl deepening. "That's not enough. You are a foolish girl who doesn't understand a thing about love. If you had truly cared for him, you would have let him be."

A twinge of guilt coursed through Christine as Sari shot the woman a venomous look.

"Come on, Christine, we have a ship to catch," she prodded, brushing past Evelyn towards the horses.

Christine clenched her jaw and moved past her as well, forcing herself to keep her head held high. Once she reached the horses, she paused to look back at Evelyn, who was still frozen in place.

"You claim that you understand love, yet I'd wager that your marriage was arranged. A betrayal like this would surely not occur in a compatible marriage; you're working directly against your husband by helping me. That means that the love you know is a mother's love, which is something I have become well acquainted with recently. In that case, our knowledge of love is the same, and I know that I would only want Liam to be happy, regardless of who he chose to love. If you don't want that for Edward, then who is it who truly doesn't understand love?"

Christine stared the woman in the eye as she spoke, and, for a moment, she thought she saw a small shift. Sadness? Understanding? Respect? She couldn't quite put a finger on what it was, but it was there for a fraction of a second before it gave way to the now familiar look of loathing on the woman's face.

"Send my son my love, since I'm never to see him again thanks to you," she said bitterly.

"I will," Christine promised, nodding at Evelyn as she clumsily mounted the horse one-handedly.

She nudged the horse into a walk, carefully cradling her son.

"Let's go get your father."

*English Trad.