DISCLAIMER: I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.
This is a what-if story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…
In the shadow of the toll bridge
Magic Mirrors
Philip and Lucas were to stay at Agrabah through the entire summit, concluding with a grand victory banquet where the interim ruler chosen would officially be recognized as the prince of Lochmere. Philip had been authorized by his father to recommend two candidates: Andrew, Grand Duke of Rumbasa and Eric, Marquis of Kincanaan. Both were feudal lords in Braemar and had earned the respect of King Hubert's high council. Rushdi of course had put forth his own candidates, but it hadn't taken Philip long to convince the old sultan that young Eric was the clear choice. Though only a Marquis, far below the rank of Grand Duke and both of Rushdi's Mirzas, Eric had proven himself an effective ruler with honorable ambitions, earning both the respect of his class and – more importantly – his tenants. If anyone was going to succeed in easing the minds of Lochmere's war-worn citizens, it would be Eric.
Negotiations, therefore, had been as much a formality as both he and Lucas had expected, and – knowing the Sultan's intentions of trying to force a union between Jasmine and Lucas – Philip was looking forward to exploring some of Agrabah's more…exotic attractions. But an express messenger from Braemar changed everything when, just hours before the banquet, Philip was urgently summoned home.
Now, less than an hour from the city gates of Rosebriar, Philip still couldn't believe how drastically his life had changed in so short a time. Only a few weeks ago, he'd been living the life of a carefree bachelor; the court of Braemar and the pressures of ruling a kingdom, so stagnant in its development and far too rooted in its boring traditions, held no excitement for the young prince who much preferred gallivanting through the counties and carrying out his royal duties when it suited his otherwise adventurous schedule. Now, he was headed for Stefan's palace, dreading every moment he was away from Braemar…for each moment was one less that Philip had left with his father.
Words couldn't convey the prince's sadness upon hearing the news from his own mother that King Hubert's heart was failing, but this was nothing compared to the depth of despair brought on by the realization that Hubert's health had been in a steady state of decline for almost two years – that all those lectures about taking on more responsibility and learning better how to run the kingdom were not the words of a despot seeking to "spoil his fun" but rather the desperate pleas of an ailing king. How much time he had wasted! How much he had taken for granted that his father and mother would always be there. What a spoiled, selfish royal he'd turned out to be –a stereotype that, Philip realized, owed itself entirely to his own cavalier behavior.
No more, he'd instantly resolved, upon being so brutally thrust into this personal hell. He would waste no more time in convincing his father that the kingdom was in good hands, that he intended to take his duties seriously and would endeavor to honor the throne of Braemar as all generations of their family had done before him. No more would he waste any time parading himself through the Badlands and picking fights with gypsies and highwaymen, risking his and others' lives for the sake of country brawling. And no more would he put off that which he had been dreading…since he was seven years old.
…
Aurora's lady's maid had woken her quite earlier than usual this morning on account of their having received word express that Prince Philip would be paying Rosebriar a rather impromptu visit today. She, of course, did not mind the earliness of the hour, for it allowed her more time to prepare for the arrival, to ensure that the staff will have prepped the proper number of guest chambers and an appropriately grand meal will have been planned. As Rosebriar was a small kingdom, and the family estate far inferior to the much grander castles of Braemar and Ebonshire, such concerns were actively monitored and managed by the princess herself. But Aurora didn't mind; she enjoyed the work. And especially in anticipation of seeing a certain of Philip's traveling companions, news of his arrival had put an extra spring in her step today as she busily prepared the castle for visitors.
By midday, all had been prepared and she waited out on the veranda, peaking every so often over the stone balcony overlooking the gardens. This vantage point allowed her the best view of the lane that Philip and…anyone else would be traveling. And it wasn't long before she spotted said prince, cantering along atop old Samson. Her heart fluttered in anticipation, watching impatiently for Philip's cousin to emerge over the ridge, but it was soon obvious that Philip was alone – entirely alone. Her heart sank. Today would not be the reunion she so longed for after all.
…
Philip dismounted and Samson let out an exasperated sigh, as if the burdens weighing so heavily upon his rider's shoulders weighed equally upon his own. "Good boy, Samson," said Philip tiredly as he reached inside his satchel and pulled out a handful of chopped carrots and fed a few to his horse, then handed the rest to the stable boy rushing towards them. "These are his favorite," he said as the boy grabbed Samson's bridle. "See that he—"
"We remembered, Your Highness." The boy grinned proudly as he held the rest out for Samson to gobble up. "We stocked the stable troughs full o' carrots and cauliflower 'soon as we received word o' your arrival. We love havin' Samson."
Philip smiled gratefully. "Thank you…umm…"
"Benjamin, Your Highness," he tipped his hat as Samson nuzzled up against his chest.
"Benjamin." The prince nodded, then glanced over the boy's shoulder. "Where's Caleb?" he asked, realizing why the boy was so unfamiliar.
"That's my Pa," he replied. "He's down in the stables preparin' the cribs. He likes to send me up the hill to greet our guests now's I'm old enough."
Philip started in surprise, regarding the boy in a new light. "Benji?!" he cried. "You're little Benji?"
The boy was beaming. "Yes, Your Highness."
Philip shook his head. "Last time I saw you was—"
"The night my sister took sick, yessir. Long time ago that was. Still remember how you and the duke and Miss Aurora helped save her. Is the duke coming to—"
"Benjamin," came a stern voice emerging from the palace doors. It was Reginald, Stefan's trusted majordomo. "I believe you've taken up enough of the prince's time," he glared narrowly at the boy whose smile immediately faded as he retreated back down toward the stables with Samson in tow. "My apologies Prince Philip," Reginald bowed his head in professional embarrassment as he greeted the prince, as if the boy's casual familiarity with a royal were a blot on his own record of propriety and decorum.
Philip shook his head and chuckled. "It's quite all right, Reg. Can't believe how much he's grown."
"And quite impertinent, I might add," Reginald replied as he gestured toward the castle entranceway and bowed more completely before his royal guest. "Though I suppose as the princess insists that the staff call her Miss Aurora, I have no cause to be reproachful." Philip did not miss for a second the stodgy old butler's bitter tone, clearly sign of his objection to Aurora's now quite renowned dismissal of formality within her own home. The man had had the care of King Stefan's estate for as long as Philip could remember. In fact, he and Aurora had spent a good deal of their time together as children playing tricks on the household staff, just to get a rise out of "old Reggie" and see those graying whiskers of his stand on end.
Reginald led Philip to the throne room where King Stefan was finishing up discussions with one of his local farmers. Reginald had advised the king to reschedule the appointment given the impending arrival of such a distinguished guest, but the farmer had requested this audience over a week ago, and Stefan hated to disappoint. Philip watched patiently as Stefan expertly addressed the man's grievances and assured him that he would speak to the landlords who held the farmer's deed and resolve the situation. An expression of immense relief and gratitude split across the man's face as he bowed, clutching his hat to his breast, turned, and hurried out of the room, seeming not even to notice Prince Philip in his rush to run home and report good news to his wife. Philip sighed as Reginald stepped forward and announced his arrival. He only hoped it wasn't too late for his father to teach him how to rule with such kindness and dignity as Stefan did.
"Philip my dear boy!" cried the King as he stepped down from his throne. "We were quite surprised by your express this morning, though we are of course delighted to have you."
"Thank you, your Majesty," Philip nodded, meeting Stefan halfway. "I apologize for such late notice but—"
"Not at all, son. You're practically family here, you know," said the king. Philip didn't miss the less-than-subtle emphasis of the word family, which for once in their long history, was all too timely.
"You're too kind, your Majesty—"
"Please, Philip. You're a grown man now, and heir to a kingdom far greater than ours here," he clapped a hand around the young man's shoulder and grinned. "Please call me Stefan."
"Impossible, your Majesty," said Philip, shaking his head with a smile. "You're a far greater man than I'll ever be."
The young prince's subdued tone did not escape Stefan's notice, but he could hardly guess at the change in Philip's countenance from his last visit. Where was the spritely, energetic youth about whom Hubert used to joke constantly would be the ruin of his kingdom? He didn't have time to ask, however, for Philip wasted no time in requesting an audience with his daughter.
"Is Aurora at home, your Majesty? I'm afraid I left quite too soon to await a reply to my inquiry."
"She is," Stefan nodded, leading him toward the courtyard. "Reginald, would you please fetch Princess Aurora?" he called after Reggie, then turned back to Philip. "Is everything…all right?" he asked cautiously.
"Quite alright, your Majesty. I just…well I think it's just time to—"
"Princess Aurora, your majesties," announced Stefan as Aurora appeared in the great hall.
"Philip," she smiled warmly, walking right over to the prince. Philip dutifully kissed the back of her hand and bowed. "It's been far too long, I think. Don't you father?"
"Indeed," said Stefan, nearly bursting at the seams with the anticipation over what Philip had just hinted. "Last spring's equinox festival I believe. Aurora," he turned to his daughter and clasped her hand in both of his. "Philip has requested a…private audience with you. I thought you might show him your most recent work in the gardens?"
Aurora's stomach flipped over. "Umm…well surely we all have much to catch up on and—"
"I will have tea sent out to the courtyard. Philip, you are of course staying for dinner? Leah is having tea with some of the new courtiers and their mothers. I'm sure she will want to see you."
"Thank you, your Majesty. I would be honored." With that, Stefan cleared his throat and beckoned Reginald to follow, leaving Philip and Aurora standing before the courtyard.
"I um," he cleared his throat after a few rather long moments of awkward silence, "You're looking…lovelier every year, Aurora," he managed at last, offering her his arm which she took on instinct, though staring at him as if he'd transformed into a troll.
"Th-thank you?" she said as they headed through the courtyard, past the small stone fountain adorned with stone sculptures of Briar Rose, her father's great-grandmother and namesake of their kingdom. They walked in more silence as they reached an even quieter, more secluded area of the gardens, and at last, Aurora tugged on his arm and turned to face him. "Philip," she said, quite stern. "What's wrong?"
He looked down but didn't reply.
"Tell me," she implored him. "Did something happen? Is it…" she hesitated, not wanting to appear too eager, but unable to help herself, "is it Lucas?"
His head shot up, "Lucas?" he asked, startled. But of course, she would worry about Lucas. They'd been childhood companions for years. It must seem odd to her for him to have arrived without their third 'musketeer.' "No, no, Lucas is fine. He's on his way here, actually. He'll probably arrive by morning."
Aurora fought desperately to contain the elation welling inside her heart, tempering it with the genuine concern she felt for her friend. Lucas was coming after all. "Why the delay?" she asked as casually as possible.
"He returned from Agrabah very late last night. I wanted to allow him the rest before…well he'll be coming here to help coordinate…" but he let the mysterious matter drop and looked down once more. "Aurora," he said gravely, gesturing towards a small stone bench that glittered in the sun. "Please."
She did as he asked, looking up at him warily, wondering what could have befallen the poor prince to have touched his handsome features with such anguish, such pain. "What is it?"
Philip debated with himself where to start. How could he unload this burden on her so abruptly? How when they had spent years teasing each other, denying the inevitable, going as far as promising each other and swearing to their parents that this day would never come? "Aurora, I know this sort of thing isn't…easy for those in our…position," he mumbled, starting to pace before her.
Aurora swallowed back a mammoth-sized lump in her throat. "W-what sort of thing?"
He glanced down at her, gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands for support. "Our…arrangement."
Panic consumed her. "Our…oh, Philip what are you—"
"I know that I've kept you and your parents waiting for far too long—"
"Please, don't—"
"And for that, I am truly sorry, but I'm here to settle things at last. To do right by you and your father." The words rushed from his mouth, powering through the terribly clumsy speech that he swore sounded far more eloquent in his head while riding Samson.
Aurora sprang to her feet, hands clasped over her chest. "Y-you can't mean—"
But Philip was already falling to one knee and taking her hand in his, trapping her beside the bench. "I've come to make it official, Aurora. To consent at last to our betrothal and formally announce our engagement to your kingdom."
"Philip!" she cried, wrenching her hand out of his, unable to contain herself any longer. "Are you crazy?" she skirted out from the bench and backed away from him. "You…we…we always said—"
Philip, not at all surprised by her reaction, remained stoically upon his knee, staring straight ahead and looking almost…ashamed. He heaved a heavy sigh. "I know this isn't…ideal—"
"Ideal!" she scoffed, simply beside herself. "You swore it would never come to this. We promised each other we'd defy the betrothal. You said we'd never allow our parents to make the kinds of decisions that they themselves were—"
"We were kids, Aurora," he glanced up, finally rising to his feet.
"Kids?" her eyes widened in shock. "That's a direct quote Philip! From last year—"
"I know!" he snapped, pinching the ridge of his nose; his sharp tone startled them both for an agonizing silence settled between them. "I know, Goose," he said at last, this time softly, regretfully. "But we can't ignore our responsibilities forever."
Hearing her old nickname gave her pause and somewhat deflated her hysteria; years ago, before they'd even met Lucas, she and Philip had been playing down in the village square. He'd broken his ankle that summer and she'd taken to calling him 'Gimp' for the season on account of his lopsided walk. He'd decided to even the score by calling her 'Goose' on account of her 'lanky neck and squawking voice'. Goose and Gimp were inseparable that year, deliriously unaware of what their parents had in store for them (and a good six months away yet from the soon-to-be-teenager's first encounter with an exotic Arabian gypsy).
"Responsibilities, Gimp?" she rebuked him, though she softened her tone. "You?" she offered a gentle, teasing smirk, one she hoped might shed some light on this rather alarming (and quite unsettling) change in her old playmate. "That sounds more like your father." She'd meant it in fun, the way they always teased after their parents' stuffy old ways. But her quip had the opposite effect from what she'd intended. Why the sickly, ashen expression stealing over his face now revealed a side of the prince she'd never thought existed let alone seen. "Philip," she whispered, approaching him once more. "What is it? What's happened?"
Philip closed his eyes and turned away, though he didn't shudder or retreat when she settled her hand on his arm. "It's…my father."
Aurora turned too, every second finding it more and more difficult to breathe. "So this is him, then. He finally convinced you—"
"He's dying."
The pronouncement dropped in her gut like an anvil and she sank back to her bench, clutching at her stomach. "No," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. King Hubert. Warm, caring, kind-hearted old Hubert. He'd been like an uncle to her, almost a second father on holidays she'd been invited to spend (chaperoned of course) at Braemar Castle. "What does he…I mean…how long does he—"
"A lot less time than he had when he first found out, that's for damn sure!" Philip couldn't help the words from pouring out as he clenched tightly to his holstered sword, still turned from her. He bit hard on the inside of his cheek, immediately cursing himself for speaking ill of his father.
Aurora closed her eyes. "He…didn't tell you right away then," she said.
Philip shook his head. "No," he turned back. "And neither did Mother."
"Oh Philip," whispered the princess, and without thinking, she went to him and pulled him into a hug, wishing with all her heart she could ease his pain. After all, she cared for Philip deeply…she just couldn't marry him! "Isn't there anything that can be done? A spell? A potion?"
"He won't hear of it," replied the prince, clenching his fists and shrugging out of her embrace as again he fought against his anger. "He says we have a responsibility to respect and protect magic – whatever the hell that means." He turned back to her, looking more helpless than she'd ever seen him. "He says magic is for healing nations and maintaining peace…not cheating death."
She looked down and shook her head, recalling a time when another dear friend of hers had lost a parent. What was it about all kings and queens of old? Queen Ava wouldn't hear of magic spells or potions either, and King Leopold would not defy her. The result had left poor Snow mother-less with the most wicked of step mothers on the way to challenge her dreams.
"He's known for over a year," Philip muttered. "A year! Almost two!" he scowled and stepped further down the path, taking them deeper into the gardens. She fell into step beside him. "He knew long before Luc and I left for the Badlands. Before we'd even defeated the Snow Queen."
"He didn't want to worry you—"
"He didn't want to guilt me into staying, Aurora. There's a difference. He felt that a son should want to stay in his kingdom. Not go off carousing with the gypsies and fortune tellers of Antiok."
Aurora gasped, tugging on his arm and bringing them to a halt. "H-he said that to you?"
Philip paused, then kept walking. "N-no…not exactly. But I know that's what he was thinking."
"You don't know that—"
"I do though. And he's right," he shook his head, blinking back red hot tears threatening to fall. "All that time I wasted away from home, all that time I spent, being…a disappointment."
Aurora gulped, unsure of what to say. For there was an unfortunate degree of truth in what he said – Prince Philip was notorious throughout all the realms for his rather cavalier attitude toward king and country. Lucas himself had on more than one occasion confided in her his concerns for his cousin's rather reckless and oftentimes dangerous antics out and about in their land. "Philip," she managed at last, shuffling her feet. "You…you're not a disappointment—"
"Not any longer," he said with sudden resolve. "At least," he stopped and turned to her, "not if I can help it. For whatever time my father has left, I intend to show him. To do whatever I have to do to make sure that he—"he paused and then again took her hands in his own. "That he needn't worry about the fate of his kingdom…or his friends."
Aurora's hands turned cold and clammy, her face pale. "Philip, I—"
"Look," he gave her hands an affectionate squeeze. "I know this isn't…what either of us really wanted. And I know that I've made a somewhat…less than wholesome reputation for myself—" he cleared his throat with a forced chuckle, though he actually seemed quite embarrassed now by the bachelor life he'd so often flaunted to his fellow royals. Aurora felt her neck growing hot. Could he really be so blind? — "but I promise I will be a good husband."
He'd stopped them beneath a budding cherry blossom in the most secluded area of the gardens. Ordinarily, she enjoyed getting lost amongst the beauty of the trees, brooks and flowers that Flora had helped her cultivate over the years. But at the moment, the branches and brambles seemed to be closing in, as if ready to suffocate her. "I-I know you would, but—"
"I mean it. I'll be true to you, faithful. You'll want for nothing in Braemar, and Rosebriar will prosper from all my father promised Stefan years ago."
"Philip, please just listen to yourself," she pleaded, pulling her hands from his. "You know that I love your father as if he were my own, but this won't heal him."
"I know that—"
"A-and what about everything we've always said? That we wouldn't be like our parents. We wouldn't marry out of duty or obligation?"
"We don't have that luxury, Aurora," he argued, hardly able to believe how he'd somehow ended up on the other side of this debate. But his time at home had shown him much about the real world. They couldn't afford to be naïve anymore. "Deep down, you must have known that all along. Our subjects have the good fortune of being able to marry for love. We don't."
"And what about Snow White?" she countered, fisting her hands upon her hips. "What about her and Prince James? They've been to hell and back for each other! And Thomas? I hear he's convinced King Christopher to let him marry a commoner!"
"Those are exceptions. Not the rule. Can you honestly tell me you would deny the people of Rosebriar the protection and prosperity that is to come of this merger?"
"Oh, so marriage should be about profit now?"
He huffed, suddenly impatient. "Don't do that. Don't pretend you don't understand—"
"What does Lucas have to say about any of this?" she snapped, unable to stop herself.
Philip reeled backwards. "Lucas? What does it matter what Lucas—"
"He's your best friend, isn't he?" she pointed a shaky finger at her, determined not to reveal that which she was dangerously close to revealing. But she was desperate. "What does he think about your decision? Did you inform him of this brilliant plan of yours before you came? Does he know you've decided to marry someone you don't—" she gasped, remembering what Philip had said only a few minutes ago – that Lucas would be here to…'coordinate' something…surely he wouldn't—
"Of course Lucas knows why I'm here!" was Philip's exasperated retort, though he hadn't realized she'd gone completely numb. "He'll be my liaison in Rosebriar when I return to Braemar to prepare for the wedding!"
The princess's throat went dry, and her hands fell limply to her sides.
"Aurora?" Philip approached her cautiously.
"L-lucas…approves?" she asked, barely above a whisper. "H-he didn't…try to talk you out of it?"
Philip shook his head, brow creased in confusion. "Why would he? Lucas knows what's at stake here. Besides, of the three of us, he was always the one going on about honor and duty. You know that."
She gulped hard as Philip's words sent an icy chill through her soul. Yes…she knew that. She knew that far too well. It's why they'd never told anyone. It's why Lucas had insisted Philip never find out. She'd just never imagined…she could have hardly believed he'd go as far as…Of course Lucas knows why I'm here…He'll be my liaison in Rosebriar…Gods and demons, he was coming here to…help plan for this wedding?
"Aurora?" Philip asked again, this time forcing her to turn around. When she did, he started at the deflated pallor of her face. "What is it?"
Finally, Aurora managed to shake herself out of her stupor and attempted to salvage what little bit of decorum she could muster. "Nothing, I'm fine…I'm just…I wasn't expecting—this." She stepped forward and folded her hands in his. He was surprised, but waited patiently for her to continue. "You're right of course," she managed a tone that was formal, yet warm. "I'm just…being whimsical."
Philip was accustomed to the strange and irrational shifts in mood of the female psyche, but nothing so abrupt as this. Then again, he knew that Aurora always valued his cousin's advice and considered Lucas quite as much kin as he had. Perhaps cousin Lucas's "approval" – if she wanted to call it that – was the last little bit of convincing she needed? In this respect, he supposed it made sense. Lucas had been quite a brother to them both. "Sooo," he treaded carefully, "you…will consent?"
"Yes, Philip," she rasped, dying inside, "I will marry you…
By the time Snow had closed the cover of Henry's book on this pivotal chapter of Aurora's story, she felt as though she must have been reading for hours. In reality, it had only been a few minutes since picking up the book and leafing through its pages, biding the time as they all waited in agony for more of their allies to reach the cottage. James had gone to the 'Nolan' house hours ago yet still had not arrived with Abigail. Belle had gone to fetch her father, but neither she nor Adam had heard a word since despite everyone spending shifts on the surface with their cell phones, waiting for anyone to call. And perhaps most disturbingly of all, her daughter – who when last they saw her was intending to pay Rumpelstiltskin a visit – had not contacted her once.
In truth, Snow shouldn't have been able to concentrate on anything right now, much less the surprisingly complex history of King Philip and his 'sleeping beauty.' But in spite of the trouble brewing in Storybrooke, she couldn't help but get swept up in a tale far more intense and dramatic than the princess in question had ever led Snow to believe. Aurora had of course confessed long ago to spending a few summers of being helplessly infatuated with Philip's cousin, but she'd always chalked it up to girlish fancy. And though privately Snow had always believed it was probably a bit more than just a girlhood crush, she had never imagined Aurora and Lucas were ever actually in love. Nevertheless, Henry's book confirmed that the girl had endured true heartbreak that day. Thank the gods it had all worked out in the end, for who could forget news of Philip's heroic triumph over Maleficent and the rescue of Princess Aurora by true love's kiss?
"Something troubles you?" came a deep, tense voice, startling her from reverie. Snow shifted in her window seat and glanced back, rather startled by Prince Adam having actually come inside the cottage.
"Why do you say that?"
Adam nodded to Henry's tome as she set it aside. "Belle is the same way with a book. I can tell from across the room whether she feels charmed or excited…or disturbed by its contents."
"Oh," she replied with a light chuckle. "It's nothing really. Just…discovering something new…about a friend of mine."
"That is the book then, I presume?" he was staring at it gravely, as if it were a magical talisman to be wary of.
"It is," she reached for it. "Would you like to see?"
"No," he said tersely; she froze. "No thank you. There are…elements of my past I would rather not see recounted from another's point of view."
"Ah," she smiled, wriggling her nose. "Afraid you don't come off very well?"
"On the contrary, Snow. I fear what it leaves out," he said, and started back towards the door.
"What do you mean?" she called after him, placing the book once more on the seat.
He stopped and glanced back. "No one ever knows the whole story. Not even Rumpelstiltskin."
Snow sprang to her feet. "You think that's who wrote it?" she asked. She had had her own suspicions of course. And 'Stiltskin was one of them.
"I think whoever wrote that book would have to be incredibly powerful to contrive a child's storybook out of literally hundreds of intersecting fates…and incredibly stupid to write them all down for anyone to see," Adam scowled towards the gold embossed letters gleaming from its cover.
Snow bit her bottom lip. She'd never thought of it that way. But of course, he had a point. Then again… "You know this book helped us convince Belle of who she really was." It wasn't meant as a challenge, though she couldn't quite temper the element of argument from her tone.
Adam sighed. "The book…in your hands, Snow. That's what helped restore Belle. And for that I am eternally grateful to you," he paused and pointed back to the heavy volume, "not that."
Snow's mouth curled into a half smile. "Fair enough," she said. Adam always did have an almost clinical aversion to any kind of sorcery. And after Circe, well…no one could really blame him. She was about to say something on the subject when Grumpy came rushing through the grand archway between Snow's corner and the main room.
"Snow, Adam!" he cried, rushing over to the princess and grabbing her elbow. "You need to see this."
Grumpy led them both to the great room where all seven dwarfs had long since ceased their reunion merriment and had started converting the country cottage into a solid base of operations. Gone were all the huge, clunky pieces of furniture, replaced by dozens of modest looking chairs surrounding a giant wagon wheel they'd found in storage. Doc had helped Dopey craft four table legs while Bashful cobbled together a few wooden planks to lay over top, and very soon, Snow had watched her seven friends recreate their war room table, in the center of which Happy laid a map of Storybrooke. Of course, Snow had seen all of this earlier. What in the world was Grumpy—
"Citizens of Storybrooke!" came a loud, piercing voice, so shrill that Snow was physically knocked backward. Adam came up behind her, his whole body even more tense and alert than it had been in the agonizing wait for Belle's return.
"Where's that—"
"Shh!" Grumpy held a finger to his lips, supporting his princess with the other hand and then pointed toward the corner. "There."
Snow followed his gaze to the one remaining piece of furniture in the room the dwarfs hadn't touched: a large, oval mirror, covered from view with a muslin cloth and practically camouflaged into the wall. "No," Snow whispered, "No. She…she wouldn't."
…
It could not end this way. This could not be happening. How much more hell were two people to endure before they could be allowed to enjoy more than a few moments of happiness? Such bitter, spiteful questions raced through Thomas's mind as he stared helplessly from the couch at the site of Ella's insidious stepmother inching toward his daughter's playpen. Ella stood across from him, wracked with the same dread as her stepsisters further blocked the path between mother and daughter. "What do you want, Rodmilla?" she spat, determined to keep the fear from her voice.
Rodmilla paused and curled her fingers around the soft bar of the playpen. "I should think that would be obvious by now, my dear. You've been a thorn in my side quite long enough."
"Why?" she spluttered. "Because I didn't want to be your slave anymore? Because I dared to attend a ball I was technically invited to in the first place!?"
"Well, well," sneered Drizella. "Just look who thinks the world revolves around her?"
"As if we care about that stupid ball anymore," added Marguerite. "Your happy ending threatens Mummy's. And we can't have any more of that!" The two women were practically cackling as they backed Ella into the corner near the fireplace.
"Leave her alone!" cried Thomas, wrenching against the dead weight of his useless legs, straining himself up from the couch but to no avail.
Marguerite glanced over at the crippled prince and laughed. "And just how are you going to stop us, your brat-ness?"
"Now now, ladies, there's no need to be boorish," tsked the wicked matron as she bent down and stroked her wrinkled hands over Alex's soft head.
"Don't you touch her!" Ella bellowed with such ire in her voice that baby Alex startled awake and almost immediately started screaming, which caught the daft stepsisters off guard. Ella wasted no time. She grabbed for Christopher's fire poker, wrenched it away from the stand that fell to the stone hearth with a loud metal crash, and swung it around with all her might. Drizella shrieked and ducked out of the way but Ella managed to strike Marguerite across the arm.
"Why you little—!" screamed the girl, clutching her arm to her stomach. "Mummy! She just—"
"Get away from her!" Ella thundered towards Rodmilla, racing towards her crying child. "You get back—"
"Ella watch out!" Thomas yelled, but Drizella had already leapt back into the brawl, seized a heavy, marble bookend from one of Christopher's shelves and struck the girl at the back of the neck with a violent blow. "Noooooooooooo!" screamed Thomas as he watched his wife crumple to the floor like a ragdoll, the fire poker dropping from her lifeless grasp. "You fucking bitch!" he roared, twisting and writhing on the couch, his horrified gaze darting back and forth between his unconscious bride and wailing daughter.
"Such language!" Rodmilla tsked, as if likening Drizella's crippling blow upon her own stepdaughter to the sight of a cat swatting at a fly. "Silly girl, she needn't have bothered," she glanced back up at Thomas who had managed to shift his body enough to face her head on, but still clearly had not the ability to do anything more than watch his family fall apart.
"Mummy, just look at this!" Marguerite was still shrieking as Drizella went to her sister's side. "The sleeve is ruined!" she sniffed, fingering the blood-stained tear in her silk blouse.
"Shall we drag her to the car, mother?" chuckled Drizella. "Make sure she pays dearly?"
"Silence ladies," Rodmilla held her hand up, though rather patiently, and smiled at the seething prince. "We are charged with taking only one thing precious tonight." She looked back down at the screaming child and grinned. "And I think Regina would agree that a helpless baby is far less trouble than an impudent scullery maid."
Marguerite nodded as did Drizella who shoved Ella's leg aside with the heel of her red leather boot as she stepped past her and headed for the foyer. Rodmilla bent over the playpen, lifted the tear-stricken Alex from her blanket, and turned toward the door to join her daughters. How perfectly it had all worked out. If Ella died from her nasty head-wound, it would the icing on the cake of this phase of Regina's plan. How nice of Gaston to have injured Thomas so badly as to be of no use to his wife or daughter. How silly of Regina to have even suggested that she need more than her own daughters to accompany her on this errand. Why taking a baby from a wench and paraplegic was like taking candy from a—
A sharp pain twisted in her gut and expelled the breath from her lungs. Her eyes bugged out of her sockets as her two daughters turned back to her in alarm.
"Mother!"
"Mummy!" they cried together, pointing at her stomach, and something hot and wet oozed from Rodmilla's mouth. She looked down, confused by the pain, her mind not quite processing this strange prickling sensation in her belly until she shifted little Alex to her right shoulder…and stared down at the iron fire poker protruding from her gut. She tried to scream, but her throat made no sound save for a breathless, dying gasp as she turned her head in shock upon her attacker. "Im-im-possible!" she wheezed.
But there he was. Thomas…standing behind her, his right arm shaking with the pressure of supporting most of his weight upon the bar of the playpen. His other hand – his injured hand…steady as a rock, gripping tightly to the handle of the fire poker that he'd plunged clean through her with the skill of a knight. Thomas – Prince Thomas – standing.
"Impossible," she whispered again and her knees buckled. Slowly, she slunk to the ground, baby Alex slipping from her grasp. Thomas dropped his weapon and seized his daughter around her waist, plucking her from Rodmilla's arms as the woman sank to her knees, the carpet below pooling with her blood. "You…will…pay…" she coughed and rasped, blood trickling from the corners of her lips as she glared up at him, but the life soon went out of her eyes and with one last wheezing gasp, she stilled.
Alex's cries ceased as she curled into the warm, comforting cradle of her father's shoulder. Thomas raised his steel gaze to Tremaine's daughters wracked with horror by the broken doorframe, clutching to each other as they beheld their mummy, kneeling dead before them, her eyes frozen open in shock. "Get. Out," ordered the prince, and the two women scampered away like frightened squirrels.
With both threats neutralized, Thomas's legs finally gave way and he stumbled to the floor, Alex still cradled against his hip. She started crying again when Thomas collapsed with a thud, but she was all right. She was safe. "Ella," he gasped, staring across the room at his still lifeless wife. "Ella!" he cried again, but he'd spent every ounce of strength and adrenaline he and the gods could summon to save his daughter, and his body simply refused any further cooperation. "Darling, please – wake up!"
"Thomas?" he heard someone yelling as the sound of heavy footfalls raced up the front walk. "Thomas! Ella!" he called again. The prince turned his head just in time to see Christopher rush inside, with Marco right behind him.
"Pop," Thomas gasped in relief.
Christopher's jaw fell open at the scene unraveled before him. His son sprawled on the floor beside Alex's playpen with Alex herself, crying softly beside him. Rodmilla Tremaine seemingly speared through the gut, and Ella— "Ella!" Christopher cried.
"My God," whispered Marco as the two men raced through the foyer to the living room.
"Help her," pleaded Thomas as Marco fell beside them and Christopher went straight for his daughter-in-law.
Marco nodded as he picked Alex off the floor and settled her back in the playpen. "What happened?" he asked, glancing over at what appeared to be Lady Tremaine.
"We were ambushed," Thomas coughed, pushing himself up to a semi-sitting position with his now free arm. "Th-they tried to take Alex. H-how'd you get here so fast?"
"Mitchell—er Christopher sensed something was wrong, my friend. From your voice on the phone. As soon as I arrived we drove straight here in the tow truck. The two young ladies we saw fleeing," he pointed toward the window in the vague direction of the driveway. "Were they—"
"With her, yes," Thomas nodded, pointing at Rodmilla. "How is she?" Thomas called to his father, watching as Christopher gently swept Ella's blonde curls to the side, inspecting the wound.
"She's bleeding. Marco, I need a few cloths and some cold water. There's stuff in the kitchen!" he said. Marco went at once as Christopher leaned back over the girl. "Ella? Ella dear, can you hear me?"
Thomas watched in agony, straining to inch himself forward on the carpet, but despite his herculean efforts before, he was completely drained, again feeling helpless. "Is she—"
"No, she's breathing son. It's gonna be all right," he said quickly as Marco returned with a pan of cold water and kitchen rags. Christopher soaked one and applied light pressure to the cut Marguerite had made. "Here, hold that," he muttered to Marco, then grabbed another damp cloth and gently sponged the cool water across her forehead. "Come on, dear. Wake up." And after a few moments, she did.
"Alex," she moaned, as Christopher coaxed her back to consciousness. "Alex," she said again, this time more panicked, and then started fully awake. "Thomas! She's gonna—"
"Shhh, it's all right, Ella. Alex is safe," said Christopher as Ella fully came to. She blinked and juddered her gaze around the room, Marco following her awkwardly as he tried to keep pressure on her wound. Vision still blurry, she turned toward the mechanic, brow creased in confusion. "Marco?" she asked. Then turned, "Your Majesty! Where's—"
"Here," Thomas called to her, relief washing over him as he stretched out his good arm.
"Thomas!" She went instantly to his side, barely noticing the expired stepmother whom gravity had finally overwhelmed and had collapsed in a crumpled heap on their floor.
Marco followed her over and handed her the damp cloth. "Here, dear," he said softly and placed the cloth back at her neck. "Keep pressure on it."
Ella nodded and reached back with one hand, smiling gratefully at her husband's boss and then turned back to her prince. "How did you—where—" she ran her gaze up and down his injured body, wondering how and when he'd gotten off the couch. But it was clear from the position of the fire poker and Tremaine's body what must have happened.
"I couldn't let them take her," he said, nodding behind him where they could see Alex squirming in her playpen, giggling and rolling around in her blanket.
Ella looked to her daughter then back to her husband. Of course, she thought, tears welling in her eyes. She reached down and laced her fingers with his.
"What happened, son? Why was she here?" asked Christopher, rinsing off his hands in the bowl of water that Marco had brought.
"They came for Alex. Almost right after you called," he explained as Ella drew his arm up to shoulder his weight and Marco moved to help him with the other side.
Christopher glanced down Tremaine. "Did she say why?"
"The same reason she does everything," said Ella, venomously. "To destroy our happiness."
"No," Thomas shook his head, squeezing tightly to her hand as they settled him into the recliner near the playpen, moving the group even further away from Tremaine's body. "No she said something about Regina. About needing to take something…precious."
Christopher started. "Something precious?"
"Yeah," nodded Thomas, glancing up at his father. "Does that mean something to you?"
"It…I don't know," he scratched the back of his head, as if straining to remember something. "It might, I—"
But a loud, shrill voice interrupted them from the other end of the room, sending a palpable chill through the house. "Citizens of Storybrooke!" they heard.
Ella was the first to see. "Look!" she pointed up at the mirror above the fireplace mantle. And there, in the 'Hermans'' living room, smiling through the looking glass, was Regina.
…
Storybrooke's Health and Fitness Center was perhaps the only place Jade Pilfer truly felt herself anymore. Her house had become a store of bitter memories; regardless of how many pictures she took down or trinkets she pitched, the place still reminded her of her failed marriage. Fisk's place was no better, for the mild comfort she'd found in her father's doctor paled in comparison to the persistent feeling that she was still betraying Shane somehow. And since Shane had returned to his sordid father's way of doing things, Jade never did feel truly at ease about town, feeling somewhat tainted by her association with some of Storybrooke's seediest characters.
So the young trainer had taken to finding sanctuary in her gym, often heading to the fitness center hours before her classes started or clients ever arrived. Inside, surrounded by mats and weights and exercise apparatuses, a quiet serenity of spirit overwhelmed her otherwise chaotic jumble of emotions and allowed her the freedom to breathe. For some reason, for as long as she could remember, she'd only ever been able to achieve total calm when in a state of the deepest control, discipline and meditation required to practice martial arts.
Jade breathed in through her nose and out her mouth, eyes closed as she stepped through a series of positions and movements that gradually ebbed the stress from her body. There were too many things going outside these walls which frightened her – Graham's disturbing visit yesterday, her father's steadily declining health, news that her ex-husband was somehow involved in that incident behind Garcon's the other night. In here, she could tune them out. In here, as she thrust and parried invisible adversaries, she could fool herself, at least for a couple hours, that she had any sort of control over her fucked up life—
"Still dropping your shoulder, I see," came an intrusive voice, startling her from her drill.
Jade stumbled forward and whipped her head around, stunned by the very sight of her ex-husband leaning against one of the center's white concrete pillars. "What are you doing here?" she muttered, turning away immediately. Not fair, she thought. This was her place. Her one place—
"Came to see you," he replied, arms crossed, still not budging from the pillar.
Jade looked down and shook her head, pulling at the support tape wrapped around her wrist. "Hiding from the sheriff, more like it," she spat.
Aladdin flashed her a half grin, but she didn't see it. "Actually I went to him."
"He said you beat up Sean Herman behind Garcon's the other night," she said, still not glancing up.
His smile faded. "You really believe I did that?"
Finally, she lifted her gaze to his own and sighed. "No," she admitted softly, though she looked away again right away, and an awkward silence followed. Shane was capable of many things, but ruthless violence was not one of them. "So why are you here?" she asked, eventually.
"I told you. I wanted to see you."
"Well I don't wanna see you." Jade kicked her gym bag open and threw the wadded up support tape inside.
"Jade—" he started forward.
But as she straightened up from her bag and hoisted it across her shoulder, she stubbornly shook her head and held out her hand to stop him. "No, Shane? I'm serious. Unless you're here to pay back any of the money your father stole from us? I'm not interested ok? It's over. You made that pretty clear when you walked away. And now you have to let it be over." With a sharp tug, she yanked the zipper on her bag closed and turned towards the locker room.
Aladdin practically leapt toward her (not that her disappearing into the ladies' locker room would have stopped him). "What if I don't want it to be over?" his hand closed around her wrist and turned her back around. But she quickly shrugged away from his grasp.
"Yeah, well it's too late. I'm with someone else."
He stumbled back, unable to keep from gritting his teeth at the mere mention of his wife's unfortunate entanglement with Rushdi's insidious vizier. He knew deep down that were Jasmine awake, she could never even stomach the very thought of an affair with Jafar. But it made his blood boil nevertheless to see her throw it in his face as if she were proud of it. "Oh yes, I heard. The good doctor, Fisk," he said, folding his arms over his chest.
"Yes, in fact," she stared him down. "The good Doctor Fisk. The one who's actually been with me as my father gets sicker, or did you forget that I have a dad whose problems are actually beyond his control?"
"Jade, Fisk is the reason—"
"Did you forget that while you were out helping your father deal drugs—"
"There were never drugs—" he rolled his eyes.
"My father's been lying in a hospital bed? Getting worse every day?" She skirted by him, refusing to let him get close as she rushed back out to the gym floor.
"Jade," Aladdin tried again, rubbing the back of his neck. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. Waking her would be easy if he could only get close enough. "Look, I know I've put you through a lot, but—"
"A lot?" she whirled on him, dropping her bag back to the mat with a clunky kerplop. "A lot?" her hands came to her hips. "A 'lot' is where you park cars, Shane. Try hell. Hell is what you put me through."
"Jade—"
"Hell is when your husband leaves you in the middle of a fight and never comes back," she wagged her finger toward his chest, advancing slowly.
"Just hear me—"
"Hell is spending every night in that empty, crummy little house, wondering if you were even still alive."
"Jade—"
"Hell is finding out that not only are you alive, you're actually helping your father run his gambling operation, and eventually dabbling in drugs!"
"Uckgh! There weren't drugs!" he pulled at his hair in frustration, but she was on a roll.
"Hell is coming home one night and finding my television missing. My television Shane! And no signs of breaking and entering which means you took your key," she inched toward him, jabbing her hand in a key-like motion as she approached, "waltzed right into our house so you could pawn it to pay off more debts! And now you're, what? Looking for yet another second chance?" she spread her arms off, shrugging helplessly toward the ceiling. "How many more do you think I have in me Shane?"
The way her voice cracked when she said it silenced him, and for a split second, Aladdin could feel the inklings of shame creeping into his soul, but he dismissed them almost immediately. He wasn't at all interested in feeling guilty about something that some psychotic mad woman with a god-complex cooked up two realms away. Their fractured identities were a by-product of this rather brilliantly constructed curse, a curse he was certain even Genie would be impressed by. And besides, 'Shane's' decision to go rogue, to live under the radar of Storybrooke's most watchful villains, had everything to do, he was certain, with his own magical status and ease of awakening. As 'Shane', he'd gained some very valuable information about those in Regina's closest circles, and he wasn't about to lament his alter ego's almost prescient awareness that there was much to discover beneath the surface of this town. Besides…Jasmine was the strongest woman he'd ever known. She could handle just about anything, and she would quickly recover from this. In fact, he thought amusedly to himself…he shuddered to think what would become of the "good" Doctor Fisk once Jasmine got hold of him. "One more," he said quietly, dropping his hands casually into the pockets of his suede jacket.
Jade started. "What?"
"One more second chance," he said, closing the gap between them, the corner of his mouth lifting in an almost coy half-grin. "That's all I'm askin' for."
Jade's jaw tightened and she clenched her fists, glowering at her ex-husband, incensed by the way he appeared to think he could simply charm his way in again. Well not this time. Never again. "Please leave," she said icily, and turned to the side, crouching beside her bag on the floor.
"Can't do that," said Aladdin, still moving closer.
"Oh yeah, why's that," she muttered, not looking up as she rummaged through the bag, looking for nothing in particular.
"Rule number three."
She froze, an odd sensation prickling at the back of her neck. "What?" she gasped, glancing up at last.
Aladdin paused beside her, holding her gaze and not quite smiling as he nodded toward one of 'Jade's' motivational signboards posted on the wall beneath the roster for her self-defense class. And there it was, in bold blue lettering: Never run from a fight you know you can win. It was an odd edict for a self-defense class, one Aladdin doubted very many women in this world would truly ascribe to since as far as he could tell, self-defense in this world amounted to putting oneself in the best position to run away. Then again, Jasmine was no ordinary teacher, and his heart swelled with hope at the sight of such an obvious echo of their past here in Jade Pilfer's gym.
Jade's head turned as she slowly rose to her feet and read the board, but she scoffed as soon as her eyes glossed over the old poster. "This is what you call winning?" she turned back, seized her bag, and spun on her heel once more.
"I do," Aladdin called after her, following her to the door that led to a small office for her training staff. "Because I know that in about 10 seconds, you're not gonna care about any of that stuff. The television, the money, my father, the gambling, none of it."
Jade's eyes flashed with anger. "Not gonna care? If you seriously think that I could possibly just forget about you abandoning me then—"
"None of it, Jade," he persisted, backing her against the office door. "I guarantee it. Because I am literally not the same man who walked out on you."
Her heart was pounding now with rage. Had he lost his mind? "Are you actually doing the drugs you're selling now?" she spat, fighting to maintain her resolve.
"Oh for God's sake!" Aladdin threw his hands in the air, shook his head and then grasped her by the arms. "A- there were never any drugs. That's a bullshit rumor and you know it. B- your precious doctor Fiskis the same man who agreed to hurt your father if I didn't confess to beating up Sean Herman, and C—" he took a deep breath, his gray gaze dropping from her emerald eyes to her lips, "—shut up."
Jade's breath hitched in her throat as her mind told her to spin away, or hell even hook his knee and drop him right there. Too many times she'd allowed herself to believe that this time would be different. This time, he would change. It was an age-old routine and she'd vowed to never again let herself fall for it. Then again…Shane typically came to her full of self-loathing, guilt, begging for forgiveness. The Shane that stood before her now evinced not a trace of shame or remorse. In fact, he seemed downright cocky. Jade should be furious. She was furious! So why, she asked herself, didn't she move?
"F-fisk agreed to…w-what?" she stumbled, trying to wrap her mind around something concrete, but she felt her resolve ebbing away the closer he drew.
"Seriously, Jade," he chuckled, lifting one hand from her shoulder to cup her cheek. "Shut up." It had been far too long since he'd kissed his wife. Almost four years, he thought, if his math was right. And before that, Aladdin knew the memories had been fake. So as he darted his head down and slanted his lips over hers, working his fingers through her loose black braid while wrapping his other hand around her waist, it felt not unlike the first time he'd kissed her in their tower, with ages of frustration pent up inside them both, ready to burst free. He felt her shoulders relax almost instantly as she stepped into the kiss, her hands snaking up his chest and around his neck, pulling him toward her. Brazenly, she parted his lips with her own, urging him to go deeper, letting instinct guide her as she pressed herself up against his chest, settling into an all too familiar embrace. God, she felt good. Aladdin tightened his hold at her waist, wrapping both arms around her, a tacit promise never again to let go, and when at last she drew breath, dipping her head back and allowing him to kiss and nibble along her jaw line, finding that sweet spot just below her ear, he whispered her name – her real name – and waited to hear his in reply.
Jade froze, her muscles tensing up almost immediately as she wrenched her head backward and glared at her ex-husband. He was flummoxed to say the least, and had the gall to look totally ignorant of his idiotic blunder. "And just who may I ask is Jasmine?" she seethed, her voice low and unforgiving.
Aladdin gaped down at her, eyes popped out in utter shock. "Wh-what?" was all he could manage. She wasn't awake! Why wasn't she awake? True love's kiss, right? Wasn't that supposed to—
"Shane!" she cried in alarm, her expression abruptly changed as her eyes darted over his shoulder. But her warning came too late, and he hadn't even fully turned before the blunt, silver knob of a cane came down like a hammer at the back of his head and sent Shane hurling toward the ground.
Jade watched him fall as if in slow motion and stood momentarily petrified by the sight of his crumpled form on her floor. His bulky jacket fell open and she noticed something strange peeking out of the inside pocket. But her view of it was soon blocked and she found herself staring into the eyes of Shane's assailant, gasping as her gaze ran up and down the figure of a very tall, very gangly man-in-black clutching the silver handle of a long black cane.
"Hello princess," said the man in a voice that almost crooned. Yes, this one thought himself very smooth.
"What the hell—"
"So sorry to interrupt your little reunion, my dear," spoke the man, his thin lips curling into a devilishly creepy smile. "But I'm afraid your husband's awakening must be short lived." Swiftly, he raised the cane over his head once more, turned to Shane and swung down.
"No!" she yelled, springing into action. She lunged toward him, closing her grip around the cane and yanked hard, throwing the slick creeper off balance just as he was about to deal Shane another blow. The weapon narrowly missed and she stumbled backward, cane still in tow and twisting it behind the attacker's back.
"Well," said the man as he released the cane and dusted himself off. "So the rumors are true. A princess with a punch." He certainly didn't look to be one of Clive Pilfer's loan sharks come to collect. As he regained his balance, he fastidiously took the time to adjust his crisp pin-striped vest and black tie. In fact, if he hadn't just attacked her husband, Jade might have found the man quite charming.
"Who are you?" she demanded, flipping the cane over in her hands. The feel and weight of it was familiar to her as she locked her stance, preparing to strike again. Why did this position feel so comfortable? So controlled?
"The name's John. Honest John, if you like," John tipped an imaginary hat, paused, then shrugged. "Although, it's Honest John even if you don't like, I suppose. And still, to some people, I have been known as Ol' Foulfellow. To others, just Foul—"
"Whadyou want with my husband?" Jade barked impatiently, clenching tightly to the cane. She was frightfully aware that while she'd prevented what could have been a fatal blow, this John person was now standing between her and the unconscious Shane.
"Ah, yes, well," John cleared his throat, darting his gaze back and forth between the sultana and her prince. "That depends on who you ask." Slowly, he backed up closer to the street rat, eyeing the special bit of tin peeking out from his jacket. "You might say I was sent here to take something precious from you, Jasmine," he gestured toward her with an almost stately bow.
Jade started at hearing the strange name again, but took care not to reveal her surprise. "Something precious?" she drew back the cane as if winding up to strike.
"Yes," he nodded, getting ever closer. "In which case, I simply need to throw this old street urchin over my shoulder and be off, provided you do me the courtesy of staying unconscious once I knock you out."
Jade clenched her jaw. As if! "And what makes you think—"
"Ah-ah!" John held his hand up as he crouched and reached slowly toward Shane's jacket. "But if you ask me, Regina's is a tired agenda. And frankly, that dog just won't hunt."
Jade blinked. The idiom meant nothing to her, but there was no mistaking the object that John pulled from Shane's coat: an old, dusty, copper-plated lamp.
"So," John flipped the antique up into his hands and rose to his feet. "Seeing that I'm currently under new management, if you'll just content yourselves to be rid of this rusted old thing, I'll leave you and your precious Aladdin alone and the two of you will be free to romp all over these sweaty floors together to your hearts' content." He flipped her a mocking salute and turned toward the exit.
Jade's head meanwhile was spinning. First 'Jasmine'. Then Aladdin? And now there was this oriental-looking lamp? So this guy wasn't some underground rival of Shane's father. He was just certifiably nuts! Still, he was leaving, and of no further threat to her or Shane. So if he wanted to indulge in some deluded fantasy that he'd just stumbled into an old Disney movie, that was his problem and—
"Jasmine," croaked Shane, picking his head up off the floor and reaching toward John. "Don't…don't let him take the—"
Jade shrieked as that bit of prickling she'd felt at her neck before started burning and something white flashed before her eyes. A vision seemed to overlay itself before the scene – a vision of Shane, laying just as he was now, arm-outstretched, reaching in the same direction toward John. But it wasn't John! Another gasp. The man towering over her husband was laughing maniacally, his red, serpent-like eyes trained on her—
"Now you will see how ssssssnake like I can be!" cackled Jafar, splaying his long, thin fingers around the precious lamp and raising it above his head. Red smoke brewed beneath his feet and rose from the floor as, from toe to crown, a hideous transformation begun to unravel before her. Jasmine clutched tightly to her rattans, glanced at her fallen tutor, then lunged toward the lamp—
"Cheerio, all!" laughed John as he lifted the lamp as Hamlet might raise a skull before his famous soliloquy. Jade took one more look at Shane, then broke the cane over her thigh into two pieces, clutched them close with the newly splintered ends aimed at the villain and lunged toward the lamp—
"Not so fast, princccccccccess," Jafar hissed as the tail end of his mutated body slithered toward her and swiped at her feet. But the sultana was much too quick for the old vizier. She leapt over the tail, rolled along the floor and sprang right back up without a second's interruption to her rhythm—
"Now, now, I've never hit a woman," said John, bracing himself for what he was certain would be an easy deflection. "But that doesn't mean I—"
Jade wasn't listening. Old-Honest-Johnny- Foulfellow, or whatever the hell his name was, didn't exist. He wasn't a person. He was, a target—
Jasmine was nearly there, dodging every swipe of Jafar's tail with ease, allowing herself even a moment's worth of amusement at how the old man couldn't possibly have selected a less effective creature to transfigure into. Honestly, a snake? No feet, no legs, and both hands occupied by keeping hold of the lamp – piece of cake for Aladdin's finest pupil. Using one ill-timed swipe of his body to gain footing, Jasmine leapt atop the middle portion of Jafar's lengthy tail, sprung towards his torso and swiped cleanly at his exposed neck—
Jade knew she only had one shot at this, so it had to be precise. Luckily, John didn't seem to take her very seriously, so while she barreled for the lamp, keeping her eyes glued to the curious looking object, she also closely noted the way his body shifted, preparing quite obviously (and stupidly) to shield it from her attack rather than himself. Amateur, she thought, and before John knew what hit him, Jade subtly shifted directions, aiming her rattans at his bread basket and swiping clean across his gut. The effect was exactly as intended. John reeled backward, caving in on himself as the breath went out of him and the lamp flew out of his hands. The man cried out in agony, clutching his stomach and muttering obscenities. The lamp clattered to the mat, falling with a faint plop by Shane's feet. The threat was neutralized…but the woman was just getting warmed up.
"Y-you wretched little—" John started to say but he was abruptly silenced when the silver handle of his own cane crashed down on his back. Jade smacked and ducked and thrust and jabbed at absolutely every vulnerable spot on his body until at last, she spun towards him, both sticks whirling towards his face and knocked him to the ground. And there he lay, unconscious and sprawled unceremoniously on Jade Pilfer's gym floor.
Aladdin coughed, bracing his forearm on the mat and propping himself up to get a good look at what was left of Honest John. He almost didn't believe the man had lost at his own con…almost. He did make the mistake of going up against Sultana Jasmine, after all. Even if she still didn't remember who she—
"Aladdin?" she said, her voice shaking as she stood before him still clutching the shattered cane, her eyes piercing through his soul.
Aladdin glared at her, searching her emerald gaze for renewed recognition, and realized beyond a doubt that she was back. She was whole again. She was Jasmine. "I shoulda known," he shook his head, his shoulders heaving with chuckles. Wincing, he reached back and massaged the nasty bump just below his hairline. "True love's kiss, pfft," he laughed and pulled himself up into a sitting position. He peered up at his wife, resting his forearms atop his knees and then pointed up at her. "You were never really gonna be yourself again unless you got to beat the crap out of someone."
Jasmine dropped her sticks to the floor, still gaping, still a bit off balance from the wave of memories crashing back into her mind. But her husband's voice kept her grounded and his teasing quip struck a familiar chord. Finally, a wide grin split her face and she dropped to her knees. "Aladdin," she said again, breathless with relief. His arms parted and she threw herself into them, laughing outright as she tackled him back to the floor. "Long time no see," she mewed, resting her arms on either side of his head, pressing him back against the mat. Lovingly, she sifted through his wild, black hair, then grazed the backs of her fingers down his cheek. "Missed you, Professor."
Aladdin slid his palms all the way up her back and over her shoulders. "Missed you, Princess," he whispered as she dipped her head down and kissed him, long and sweet, relishing in the taste of him, appreciating the reunion far more than her overly dramatic Storybrooke counterpart whom she already detested for holding anything against her husband. Genie had prepared them for this. When news of the coming curse reached Agrabah, Jasmine and Aladdin sent Genie to New Gaia right away to help James and Snow discern what they might be in for. When the 'big blue guy' (as Aladdin affectionately called him) returned, he had warned them this could happen: false identities, missing memories, a prison unlike any other – the worst kind really: the kind from which no one even realizes the need for escape.
"Tell me," said Jasmine as she drew back, letting his head fall gingerly back to the mat. "Was it really 28 years?"
Aladdin sighed, smile fading as he nodded. "Definitely seems like it. The girl's name is Emma. And she did look to be about 27-28."
"Gods and demons," she murmured, gazing off to the side as she untangled herself from his arms and sat back on her haunches. Aladdin pulled himself upright again and tucked one leg beneath him as he sat staring at the still unconscious con man in the corner. "Almost three decades," she whispered. "Can you believe it?"
He shook his head, lacing his fingers through hers and lightly kissing the backs of her fingers.
"Oooh!" she grunted, yanking her hand back suddenly and springing to her feet. "When I get my hands on Jafar, I'll—"
"Uh-uh!" he held waved his hand at her and stood up as well. "Not if I get there first."
She threw him a sardonic grin but then shuddered in disgust, almost as if trying to rid herself of the memory of having been with the treacherous vizier. She crossed her arms and let out a huff and a sigh as Aladdin came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle.
"Hey," he murmured against her skin as he rested his chin at her collarbone. "It wasn't you all right?" he kissed her shoulder, then her neck, and she relaxed back into his chest as he tightened his hold at her waist. "Besides, if I were married to a rat like 'Shane Pilfer' I'd a gotten a divorce too."
She snorted an inaudible laugh but her eyes were still glued to the con man lying in a heap in the corner. "Did you catch what he said before? 'Bout taking something precious?"
Aladdin took a step to the side and angled his gaze around her. "Something precious?" he nodded toward the lamp lying a few feet away.
Jasmine shook her head. "No," she said pensively, stepping out of his embrace to retrieve the antique. She handled it carefully, as if it were made of fragile china rather than a sturdy tin. "No, he wasn't talking about this. He was talking about you." She turned to meet his gaze.
"Me?"
She nodded. "Said all he had to do was haul you over his shoulder and," she paused and glanced back at John, "he'd have completed his agenda."
Aladdin closed his fingers around the cherished item and tucked it safely in the crook of his arm, very careful not to brush off the dust or smooth his palms too slowly around its base. "Then why'd he go for the lamp?"
"I don't know," she shook her head, looking back at her husband. "But he mentioned something about Regina's agenda being…old o-or tired or something. That he was under new management."
"New management?"
"Yeah. Like he'd just…changed allegiances."
Aladdin scoffed, glaring down at the mat. "That doesn't surprise me. John Foulfellow always plays to the highest bidder. If he's decided Regina's errands aren't worth pursuing anymore, that means someone out there is willing to pay him a lot more."
"Someone…who wants the lamp?" she asked warily, stepping toward it,
"Yes," he said gravely, glancing down at her with sudden clarity. "And I'm pretty sure I know who."
Jasmine looked up at her husband and shivered at his dark, worried gaze. She was about to ask, when they heard a sudden, piercing cry.
"Citizens of Storybrooke!" bellowed the voice of Regina Mills. Both royals of Agrabah jumped at the sound and turned toward the large wall of mirrors on the far wall of Jasmine's gym. And there she stood – the queen, or rather multiple, full-length, towering images of her plastered all over the wall.
…
Snow and the rest of those gathered in the cottage stood before the covered mirror, staring at it and quite scared to move. But Regina's voice soldiered on: "For most of your sakes, I strongly recommend that you don't try to figure out how it is that your mayor is appearing to you this way. In fact, if you value your sanity, you will convince yourself this is a dream and go back to your peaceful, uneventful lives in our quiet little town. Those of you out there for whom this message is truly intended? Well…you know who you are."
"Lift the cover!" whispered Sneezy.
"Are you kidding?" Snow hissed back. "She'll see into the cottage! She'll know it still exists."
But Adam shook his head, stepping out from behind them. "She's projecting her image into every reflective surface she can. Look," he muttered and pointed toward the dwarfs' kitchen where twisted, upside-down images of Regina were already peeking out of Bashful's collection of silver spoons. Adam reached for the muslin covering and yanked it off, revealing 'Mayor Regina' in all her splendor before them. Some in the room gasped, but no one dared contradict the warrior prince. "Trust me," he said gravely, his piercing gaze aimed at the image of the odious queen: she who was to blame for his near-thirty-year incarceration. "I know a few things about magic mirrors. With that many projections? We can see her, but she can't see us."
Grumpy opened his mouth to reply, but Snow held her arm out to stop him as Regina continued. "You no doubt think you've won," she said as she stepped down from what looked to be a makeshift pulpit. "Restoring a few pitiful happy endings, relishing in how you think you may have fooled me." Regina dismissed each point with a casual wave, and Snow gulped hard at the cruel familiarity of her step-mother's airs and graces. There was nothing subtle in her walk – she moved just as righteously and without mercy as she always had as queen – how strange to realize now how different her persona as mayor had truly been; for though Mayor Mills' countenance couldn't exactly be mistaken for warmth, she had never, in this world, appeared so…evil.
"Your Highness!" came a breathless call from beyond the dwarfs' front door. It was Frederick returning from the surface with Archie. "We've got a message from King Christopher," he said, holding up his cell phone. "They've—"
"Shhhh!" came the collected response as both he and Archie noticed Regina's unwelcome presence in the cottage.
"Allow me to put an end to that wretchedly naïve supposition," the queen continued, and all who watched held a collective breath as she stepped into view of a very large, golden chest, with one of the drawers already opened. Regina reached inside and withdrew a glowing, pulsing heart.
"No!" Frederick cried, launching himself forward. Archie clapped his hands down on the knight's shoulder and held him back from the mirror. After all, what did the poor lad intend to do? Shatter it?
"I imagine you all know what this is? But I very much doubt you can guess among the hundreds I have who this one might belong to."
"She wouldn't," whispered Doc, whose sage old face, for the first time in as long as Snow had known him, looked completely petrified. "Not in front of the whole of Storybrooke. All those confused, frightened people. She'll have a riot on her hands!"
"She doesn't care about them," Snow said darkly, arms folded over her middle. "She never did."
"Now for those of you out there thinking that I'm about to play some sort of massive bluff, I beg you to ask yourself: do you really believe we wouldn't have planned for this? Do you honestly think I would have left Storybrooke and its most…famous residents in the hands of fate alone? At this very moment anyone even suspected of having allied themselves with you are being rounded up, and those who run will be hunted…like wolves. And in case you think there's strength in numbers, I want to remind you that I am the one running this show. I am the one running this town…and I can wake people up too."
Happy glanced up warily at his princess. "W-whatdya think that means?"
It was Adam who answered. "It means we now have far more enemies than we have friends," he growled, looking about ready to drive a hole in the wall with his fist.
"You may stay in hiding if you wish, but I will not rest until every last one of you is in my grasp. And since you know you cannot exist beyond the borders of Storybrooke…you have very little choice. Either turn yourselves in…or wait to be captured. Let the games begin." She made as if to turn away from whatever magical contraption was, in a sense, recording her. Then she paused and turned back toward the surface of the mirror, some poor soul's heart still gripped tightly in her hands. "Oh, and one more thing. I. Want. Emma. Swan."
Snow's agonizing cry echoed through the cottage as she held tightly to Grumpy's arm.
"She is after all the key to your undoing. If you value your own lives, you will get her to sacrifice hers. And for every day that she does not come to me?" she paused and brought the heart before her audience, watching it pulse helplessly between her fingers. "Well…" she tsked. Then she squeezed, hard.
"NO!" Frederick wailed, wrenching free from Archie's grasp. "Murderer!" he leapt back toward the door, ready to barrel up the stairs.
Adam grabbed hold of his wrist and yanked him back. "Don't be a fool!" he bellowed.
"A fool?! Let go of me!" he struggled to break away from the warrior's grip but Adam was far too strong for the noble knight. "She's got Abigail's heart! That could be Abby's!"
"Even if it is, you'll never get to her in time! Look—" he cried, though his own imposing voice cracked with the horror of watching Regina crush the life out of the innocent's heart…then slowly crumble it to ash.
"Noooo!" screamed Frederick, simply beside himself, half of the dwarfs and Archie rushing over to the poor knight to contain his rage. But not Snow. Snow could only stare at Regina. The queen let the dust breeze away from her palms, staring at what was left with an odd look on her face. In the spine-chilling silence that followed, all that could be heard was the shuffle of her feet along the floor of her treasure chamber as she stepped slowly up to the golden chest and closed the drawer. "You have 24 hours," she said. And then she was gone.
…
***All right, so – how've you all been? Sorry 'bout the very long hiatus. I'm currently in the middle of staging two separate high school musicals AND trying to get my poor flag corps ready to perform in Florida over spring break (oh and not to mention all the essay-grading and crazy shenanigans that go along with my day job as an English teacher)! None of which are really valid excuses for taking such a LONG break and leaving you with such ridiculous cliff hangers as the last chapter! (my bad)
So I tried to ease your mind about a few of them here. I truly hope you enjoyed Thomas's little burst of adrenaline and Aladdin and Jasmine's hook up (they're quickly becoming two of my favorite peeps to write, so I hope you're liking where their adventures have led them thus far).
And no worries, I'm not about to leave Emma and the newly discovered Tillman alone any longer – they're coming up. As well as Belle, Matt and a reveal of what exactly is going/about to go down with Circe at the hospital.
Shout outs to all my usual suspects – and congrats to sgcycle for completing Mermaid's Tail! Finishing that story is my very next stop! So you should all go check it out! It's what Once and Ariel fans everywhere have been waiting for!
-Nikstlitslepmur***