A/N: Possibly my most sincere and very much overdue apology for the time taken to update a fic! Life was getting away from me a little for all sorts of reasons, and I made the decision a few months ago to work on finishing my fics one by one as I was losing so much of the time I'd set aside to write just reading through previous chapters to keep up with each story. I finally completed ALL THINGS COME TO THOSE WHO WAIT (SwanQueen) a little while ago and have since been working on Stitches (House), but as that story revolves around an aggressive airborne illness, I decided I'd leave it for the time being in light of current events and switch over to tackling this beast! So, I'm back at it, and hope you enjoy this update and those to come :)
Thanks for sticking with me if that's what you've chosen to do, and please enjoy! Reviews would absolutely make my day :)
"Saviour..."
The Queen repeats, taking care to keep her apprehension from her tone as she stalks slowly through the darkness. Every now and then her lip pulls back in a snarl to expose her teeth as the toe of her boot comes in contact with something unseen and thus as unsavoury as her mind sees fit to fabricate.
It's just debris. Just twigs, leaves, glass and the fragile bones of a doomed little bird.
She strives to remind herself, a sour taste finding the back of her throat as she recalls how indulgently she had allowed the troublesome Sheriff this analogy before awakening the true darkness that resides within the Saviour.
From somewhere behind her, she catches a low chuckle, but there is no hint of amusement to the noise and she knows that the blonde will have only allowed such an utterance to make it clear that she's not alone.
"A rather childish hand, don't you think, dear?"
She snaps as the oppressive blackness seems to curl up into her nostrils with each breath while tainting her tongue with the queer, dry taste of soot.
No response and she simmers, although she supposes she shouldn't really consider herself surprised.
Always hated that... Always!
Yes, as while she would hardly credit the Sheriff with seeming unfazed by their longstanding rivalry, Emma's frequent choice of opting to turn her back rather than bite to wound is something she- and her lesser-half- have nevertheless always taken rather personally. The denial the Saviour's cool approach imposes is simply offensive!
Is that really the truth? Having so recently suffered a rather savage attack of her proverbial teeth...
She doesn't know, which only serves to infuriate her further as she feels a fool creeping around her own damned castle with her hands held nervously out in front of her; a visual display of her unease.
She can see... I don't know how, just as I don't know what trickery she's used to cast these shadows, but the bitch can see me, I'd bet anything on it, and she's loving this. Fuck her, she's loving this.
"What are you hoping to achieve, Miss Swan?"
She demands, seething when again, she receives only silence; pure and dangerous. The only sound is the grossly uncertain tread of her boots on stone and the soft whisper of her breath. The Sheriff seems neither to move nor to breathe, yet the Queen is certain that the blonde stands close behind her.
Certain that if she reaches back- reaches out- her fingers will brush against stiff leather and soft curls.
She does no such thing, and instead trusts her internal compass and continues to head for what she hopes is the door.
She can't keep this trick up outside... Can't shroud the grounds with her vengeance. She lacks the knowledge. Lacks the power... Surely...
Another light breath of laughter- purely sinister- before the Queen stumbles backwards with a cry as a soft puff of air tickles her cheek. Clawing at the shadows in search of her assailant, she comes up empty, and she swallows as she tries to regain her bearings.
"Really, dear. Rather immature, no?"
She grumbles, but her disdain is now wholly an act as she touches her fingers to her cheek where moments ago the blonde's breath had cooled the flesh.
She doesn't like anything about this, not one bit.
True, in comparison to Emma's cruelty in the stables, an uneasy trek through unprecedented darkness hardly matches up, and yet...
Her savagery with the whip was all dominance; all fury... This... This is a softer threat, and perhaps all the more ominous for it.
She's afraid. This realisation surprises her, as the fear she feels is raw and completely out of character. She replays the Saviour's promise uttered in the kitchens; the blonde's calm death threat.
She means it this time...
She's sure of it, and while she strives to convince herself that she is by no means finished with the younger woman and that she will best her yet, her stomach knots with a mounting sense of unease.
"Surely you can think of a more interesting punishment than this?"
She goads as her boot crunches down on a shard of glass, and finally, she is awarded a response as cold fingers brush against her jaw before finding her throat. Freezing instantly with an involuntary noise of surprise, her blood thrums wildly against cool flesh and she reaches out; this time succeeding in dragging her nails across skin to elicit a hiss that doesn't strike her as wholly displeased.
She tries once again to conjure a light source to illuminate her foe.
"Ah!"
She clutches her hand to her chest, cradling it with a wince as agony flares up her wrist and her fingers feel singed as though they've been pressed against a hotplate.
"How did you...?"
She snaps, aware that this might not be the most sensible response, and yet unable to keep her confusion at bay; struggling to understand how the younger woman is pulling off her deviant tricks when it is she- she and her lesser-half as one- that have taught the Saviour most of what she knows of the ways of magic.
"How did I do that?... Oh, Your Majesty, a good magician doesn't reveal their tricks."
The blonde whispers; so close that her lips brush against the Queen's cheek, before she steps back, steps away, and is once more lost in the darkness.
"Magic is a gift, and the crass comparison to your world's birthday parties makes a mockery of both my talent and yours."
The brunette snaps, continuing her slow journey across the cavernous entrance hall with the fingers of her uninjured hand stretched out, reaching desperately for the door.
"Magic is the reason you're afraid right now."
"My dear, if you think a little chase with the lights off is going to render me petrified, I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken."
The Queen lies, because it's more than that. It's the tension thick and deadly between them as she feels her way blindly through the impossible shroud of the blonde's creation; vulnerable, uncertain and hunted. There's no way of telling if and how Emma might mean to next pose a threat, and she finally understands how the peasants living close to the castle must have felt when she'd suffer her destructive mood swings; trapped animals at the mercy of a greater power.
"Is that so?"
The younger woman challenges, now sounding as though she's moved a little to the left, and the Queen offers her a derisive laugh as though she finds the fact that the Saviour even needs to ask the question utterly ridiculous; the sound dying on her lips when another, terrible sound joins in.
Panting; heavy and wet.
There's nothing human about that noise, and the brunette grimaces as claws clatter against stone; the unseen beast behind that terrible predatory breath running towards her through the darkness.
Knife-like teeth glitter impossibly in the shadows and hot breath bathes her face as the creature pounces to kill.
"No!"
The Queen cries, throwing her arms over her head in a doomed attempt to protect herself from certain death, but the beast passes through her and disappears into the void.
"Boo."
The blonde smirks; her own teeth illuminated momentarily by a curious green light cupped in her palms. The effect is eerie, and while the childish remark and mischievous trickery are very much what the Queen has come to expect from the younger woman- what Regina has come to expect from the younger woman- there is no humour behind the bitter fury in green eyes, and no sign of mirth in the minacious spread of bruised lips.
"Smoke and mirrors."
The brunette accuses the blonde hoarsely, but she knows she's not fooling either of them.
Emma knows she's afraid.
"Just play your hand and be done with it!"
She snarls, waiting for the Saviour to take her up on her demand, but silence draws out between them once more, before finally, much closer than she'd anticipated, the door is pulled open to let in a pink sliver of dawn.
"As you wish."
And the blonde slips through, out into the brisk, early morning air, allowing just a momentary sigh of the scent of rain before she pulls the door closed behind her; plunging the brunette into total darkness.
"Bitch!"
The Queen hisses, her heart hammering painfully fast in her chest, and she grits her teeth as she takes a moment to ground herself; focusing on regaining her wits.
It's just trickery, and if you wished to do so, you could figure out how to replicate the Saviour's little stunt in a matter of minutes, but you have better things to do than play games in the dark. That's all that this is, after all; just darkness. Just an illusion cast in a space you know perfectly well... You let the wretch get to you for a moment, and that's something she's going to have to pay for, but don't lose your head now... Don't allow her that victory.
Easier said than done, as when the brunette reaches out for the door, she finds nothing but stone. Panicking, she presses her palms against the unyielding surface; feeling around blindly for one of the handles, the hinges, anything, and coming up empty.
"Oh, you little..."
She hisses, curling her hands into fists as she feels her rage threatening to boil over.
There's been a shift in the game, in power, in the Saviour, this I know... But I will find a way to make her pay. I will find a way to make her pay dearly for all of this.
Taking in a sharp breath through her nose, the Queen pulls herself together and focuses her energy on finding the door beneath the blonde's ill-mannered cloaking spell. Once she's gathered herself, she finds it with ease, and she grits her teeth as she has faced up against the younger woman enough times now to have learned not to celebrate this small victory preemptively.
This is no longer part of her game...
No, she finds it more likely that Emma's trick with the door was merely a stalling tactic, and once she's slipped out into the frigid air of dawn, she's certain this is the case as the younger woman is nowhere to be seen.
"What on earth now, dear?"
The Queen sighs, spying footprints in the dew trailing away from the palace, through the rose garden, and further into the grounds. Weighing up her options, she offers a nearby bloated bush- once clipped to resemble a dolphin- an irritable glower, before taking the bait and following the younger woman's tracks through the mist.
As with the topiary garden, the rest of the grounds have become overgrown during their abandonment, and the brunette walks with care to avoid the snarl of roots crossing the path that takes her towards the jousting list. As she approaches, she feels uneasy, but the list appears deserted save for a collection of branches piled against the northern bank that appear to hide the entrance of some beast's home. A lance lies forgotten in the sand; half-buried by countless storms and gales, but there appears to be nothing ominous about the place where she had once watched several men perish.
"Saviour?"
She calls, the word escaping her lips in the form of mist, and answered by several birds busy with their morning hunt.
No reply from the blonde, but the footprints the younger woman had left through the dew have been replaced by bootprints in the sand, and the Queen sighs as she continues to follow her foe through the relics of her reign.
"Must we keep playing this game? Aren't you a little old for hide-and-seek?"
She demands irritably.
"Hide-and-seek?"
The blonde replies cooly, and the darker woman follows the sound of her voice before coming to a halt at the top of a set of crumbling, shallow steps.
"Is that what you think we're playing?"
Emma challenges, stood at the far side of a strip of land that appears unnaturally well-kept in comparison to its surroundings.
"So, you are capable of gardening, then?"
The Queen mocks, gesturing towards the freshly-mown grass of her mother's croquet court.
"I'm capable of lots of things."
The blonde agrees, standing with one hand resting on the shaft of a mallet while the other clutches several silver wickets.
"Really, dear... Croquet?"
The brunette raises a brow, moving her hands onto her hips as she stares the younger woman down. Evidence of the blonde's bloody feast still tracks her jaw, and she offers her opponent a sinister grin as she beckons for the Queen to come and join her on the grass court.
"Worried I'll win?"
Emma asks as the Queen stalks over stiffly; the latter's brow furrowed as she spies just one mallet. She supposes the blonde must have conjured the one in her hand but doesn't follow suit just yet. After all, she very much doubts the Saviour's move has anything to do with croquet.
"Depends on the game..."
The brunette replies tersely.
"Clever girl."
The younger woman nods, earning herself a dark glower as the brunette hisses
"Don't you dare call me that."
"Why not?... You say it to it me. You call me a girl plenty! So does Regina..."
"Using the term loosely, I'm sure... It is not a term fit for a Queen."
"It's also not a term especially appropriate for an adult woman."
"Not one of status, no."
The Queen agrees, meeting the blonde's frown with a small shrug.
"I deserve a lot more respect than you've ever granted me, you know..."
Emma informs the darker woman coldly.
"Really? How do you figure, dear?"
"Because you offer me none!"
"And that surprises you?"
"No..."
Emma admits, green eyes flashing when the Queen oversteps considerably given that she currently stands empty-handed.
"I'm not the first, Saviour. Not by a long shot! It's almost sad, I will allow you that. Of the many disposable wretches I've encountered over the years, I will concede that you seem to have a gift for resilience and self-control. You've done a lot in your time, I know that now more than ever, and yet here we are; my refusal to offer you the recognition you so pathetically desire hardly anything out of the norm."
"Shut up."
The blonde orders icily, and when her demand is met with a quiet titter, she opts for a more physical approach.
"Ah!"
The Queen snarls; landing roughly on her back on the impossibly mown grass. She finds that where she touches the ground, she struggles to move, and she glares up at the younger woman furiously as the latter folds both hands over the top of the mallet and leans in to study her silently. It's a stance the brunette distractedly notes would ordinarily be appealing, but she suffers too much rage to appreciate the blonde's form as she remains imprisoned under her curious spell.
"Touched a nerve, dear?"
The darker woman growls, before flinching when Emma swings the mallet at her. The blonde allows the heavy head to skim through the air an inch over the Queen's nose; driving with enough force to elicit an eerie whistle.
"Don't!"
The brunette implores breathlessly.
"Worried about losing your looks?"
The younger woman scoffs, earning herself a frown as the Queen bites back honestly
"Of course!... And don't pretend it's not a fear you share, else you would have followed through with that little threat rather than spare me my face."
"I'm not fearful of taking you down a peg."
"But you would rather play your hand with my aesthetics as they are."
The brunette insists boldly, aware that she's playing with fire, but also certain she speaks the truth. She imagines Emma might find perverse pleasure in taking her looks away from her, but a remnant of the blonde's tie to the Mayor still remains. It's frayed since the Queen's foray into her mind- likely irreparably, not that she cares- but the brunette can tell by the younger woman's pensive assessment of the mallet that the blonde doesn't have it in her to destroy her so viscerally when she is still enamoured with what she sees.
Unwillingly enamoured at this point, certainly, but that changes nothing when it comes to the facts of our little situation. Oh, she'll do me harm, and she'll enjoy it, but she'll do so while keeping me more or less in one piece, that much I know.
The Queen smiles up at the Saviour arrogantly; her scorn hiding her unease as she knows the younger woman has every intent to kill her before this is all over.
"Something funny?"
Emma hisses, and the brunette shrugs as best as she can in her current position.
"Only that for one so dedicated to perfecting her poker face, I've always found you deliciously easy to read, dear."
"Yeah? So you'll be able to intercept my next move, then?"
The blonde raises a brow, waiting a beat to allow the Queen a chance to snap back at her, but the darker woman seems not to have all the answers as she claims.
"Saviour!"
The Queen cries as Emma places one of the silver wickets over her wrist before stepping back to drive the spiked ends deep into the soil; the enchantment she's placed on the innocuous-looking hoop keeping the brunette firmly in place.
"Hmm?"
The blonde replies, repeating her trick as she hammers a second wicket over the darker woman's other wrist with little care when she over-exerts herself to earn a pained yelp from the brunette.
"This is ridiculous..."
The Queen mutters as the younger woman's previous hold on her has been lifted, leaving her solely at the mercy of enchanted silver with her arms secured vulnerably out to her sides. She is once more free to move her body, but the only way she can find of doing so is to thrash helplessly against her bonds, and she comes to an abrupt stop when she realises how she must look to her opponent.
"Done?"
Emma asks sweetly, driving in the knife, and the brunette narrows her eyes as she considers the Saviour venomously; silver curls appearing almost bloody as they catch the pink hue of dawn.
"Spread your legs."
The younger woman demands, receiving a look of pure loathing from the Queen.
"Well, I asked nicely..."
Emma sighs once she bores of the brunette's anger, sinking down onto her knees and pushing at the darker woman's thighs in a bid to get her to comply.
"Stop that."
The Queen hisses, allowing her legs to fall apart just enough to accommodate having the blonde knelt between them. The last thing she wants to do is allow Emma the continued victory of going against her will, and she supposes that if she is going to be shackled in such an appalling manner, she would at least like to invite the opportunity- however unlikely- that the younger woman might add a little pleasure to her play.
"Better?"
She sighs once Emma has trapped each of her ankles beneath the remaining two wickets, and the blonde moves to straddle her hips heavily as she looks down with her jaw clenched.
"What now?"
The Queen asks as a murder of crows explodes overhead and a light mist of rain greets the sky's fade from pink to grey. For a moment, she imagines she is to be treated, yet again, to the Saviour's silent treatment, before the blonde growls at her angrily
"...Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you have to go and do this? All of it?!... I was finally happy!"
"... No, you weren't."
The Queen replies finally, eyes dark and full of knowing as she looks up into pale features she has seen twisted in rage, in anguish, in pleasure.
"You weren't happy, Saviour... Not at all."
"I-"
"-How on earth could you be? Living a lie and playing pretend. Pretending not to dislike a damned baby of all things. You can't stand how you feel about your sweet little brother, and you don't know what to do about that hate, that sadness you feel seeing the way your parents hold him, because you know the way you feel would be considered wrong. Abhorrent. Evil... You're not happy, even though you finally have what you thought you wanted; a home. A house all of your own; not an apartment on a six-month lease- although, sometimes it would be as little as three months if you got your way, wouldn't it?- not a friend's sofa or a curious stranger's spare room. You have a house, yet you treat it as a palace to your guilt; a tomb of secrets beneath your floorboards. How could you be happy? You're in a relationship that fails to satisfy you. Hook's good to you. He treats you well; better than most have. He's even ingratiated himself with your parents. Henry likes him. He just about worships you, but, contrary to your current position in our deviant roleplay, you don't want to be worshipped... Do you?"
The Queen asks silkily, allowing her dark gaze to travel stiff leather and the dominant spread of the blonde's thighs.
"No, it's not what you want, but you're not sure how to admit that, are you, Saviour? Not to the others, and not to yourself. Because, to look at, you are finally happy; you have so much going for you, and that's not a way you've ever been perceived before, is it? It feels nice not to have others worry about you, or question your choices and shortcomings... Yes, to look at, you've done well for yourself, you've finally done things right for a change... But it's not what you want.
You want the one thing you know you can't have, and worst... You hadn't quite figured that out until meeting me.
You say you mean to kill me, and I believe you. What's interesting is that you haven't already, and I believe it's because you've had a taste of what you want... Just as I had you dead to rights cuffed to your bed, you now mean to kill me, but a part of you- and let's not pretend it's your head when we both know it's somewhere much, much lower- isn't ready to make that move just yet, because you know that when you do, you'll figure a way out of here eventually. You'll figure a way home to your big, doomed house, your lacklustre relationship, and your confused conversations with a woman you've imagined touching, teasing, tasting, that you know you'll never have."
She smirks smugly, relishing the tension she can feel in the way the blonde holds herself and the telling tic to her jaw as she looks out over the grass court and the disarray beyond.
The truth hurts, doesn't it, Princess?
Yes, which is why she suffers a hint of confusion when Emma finally looks back down at her; the blonde's expression unnervingly calm.
"Is that the truth?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you've played your games and forced confessions out of me regarding Regina... Now I want the same. Tell me- truthfully now- what does Regina- what did you- think of me? What would she like to do to me?"
"What good would knowing that do you now that you're the Dark One? Now that you've realised she and I are one of the same when it comes to the reasons fuelling your rage?"
"I asked for an answer, not a debate."
"Well, then it's a pity you're a novice beneath your wrath and lack the knowledge of how to mix up a little cocktail to extract such information."
"Oh, I don't need a potion."
The blonde warns, bearing down on the Queen as her hands find her throat.
"What does the Mayor truly think of me?"
"... Are you sure you want to know?"
"Show me."
Stepping out into her long-ago bedroom, Regina lets out a low breath of trepidation. She can feel the curious bind of her spell like a singular puppet string attached a little below her nape; a faint sensation, yet strangely reassuring in a world where little else is.
"Ugh."
She sighs, looking around with an expression of disgust as her tastes have evolved drastically since she had last called her palace home. Deciding to deal with the most pressing of matters first, she inspects the broken flesh of her forearm before placing her hand over the wound and sealing it shut. Pulling her palm away, she frowns at the ghostly line of scar tissue that remains in spite of her attempt to heal herself.
All magic comes with a price.
A saying she has heard from Rumplestiltskin many times, but right now, the words come to her in her mother's voice. A warning from long ago; injuries incurred as the result of either a curse or as part of a spell having an annoying habit of sticking around after the fact.
"Could be worse."
She murmurs, uncertain that any but herself might even be able to see the remarkably fine blemish unless expressly informed of its whereabouts.
"Still, another favour in the bank, dear."
She smirks at the Sheriff's expense; sure- hopeful, even- that when she tells Emma what she'd had to do to get this far that the blonde will offer her the expression of shocked surprise she has come to secretly find rather endearing as it juxtaposes curiously with the younger woman's more public mannerisms.
I'm sure Miss Swan has been shocked and surprised plenty during her time spent with the Queen.
She grimaces, recalling several of her less appealing traits. She just hopes the Sheriff has given back as good has been dished out to her.
I don't think that's a wish too far outside the realms of possibility...
Regina grins, having received her own spite back in spades once upon a time.
No. Not spite. It was never like that for her... But hell knows the woman was a pain in my backside, and I think that's a trait Her Majesty might find infinitely worse!
Highly likely, as they are, of course, one of the same, and Emma's previous habit of simply annoying her to counteract her rather cruel intentions had driven her just about mad.
No way to behave towards a Queen.
She smiles, pulling her phone from her jacket in order to set the timer for six and a half hours from now. A warning message flashes across the screen to let her know that she's out of range of receiving service and she stifles the urge to laugh. It just feels so insane to look down at the currently all but useless technology in her hand and back up at the opulence of her reign, and she isn't sure which is weirder.
"Something to discuss with Miss Swan next time we grab a coffee."
Yes, and Emma better believe she's buying for the foreseeable future!
She muses as she slips the cell back into her jacket, before once again being accosted with the uncomfortable likelihood that things aren't just going to return to normal as soon as she gets them home. Touching the broken cuff in her pocket, she sighs.
Things haven't been normal for quite some time now...
"Please, when have things in Storybrooke ever been normal?!"
She snaps to try and divert her thoughts away from her true meaning with an irritable shake of her head.
There's a lot more to think about just now than, well... Us.
She thins her lips, running her hands self-consciously down her sides before freezing mid-action as her attention falls on the chair that centres the room.
Oh.
Its placement is odd, but this fact barely registers as alarm bells go off in her head and she stares at the ropes strewn around the chair legs with something akin to horror.
No...
Of course, coming across any bindings given the current circumstances would render her highly concerned, but her mouth feels dry and her stomach ties itself into an uneasy knot as she recognises the thin white ropes for what they are.
And how they work.
"Why would she use those?"
She groans, supposing she no longer needs to skirt around the question of whether the Queen will have made things awkward between herself and Emma with her shameless behaviour.
Wouldn't a more pertinent question be where is Emma, and how did she get loose?
"The ropes are old; they probably no longer work as they once did."
She tries to convince herself without much success. Feeling increasingly uneasy as her cheeks burn crimson, her brow furrows deeper as she considers a series of peculiar gouges in the stone in front of the chair. A strange and acrid smell accompanies those worrying marks when she edges a little closer, and she reaches out her hand before flinching back; rubbing her fingers fretfully together to rid herself of the sensation of magic.
Emma's.
Darkness.
"What's gone on here?"
The brunette whispers, and she bites the inside of her cheek as she spies an empty glass bottle on her nightstand beside crumpled covers. Picking it up to give the rim a cautious sniff, she isn't certain what concoction was once contained within, but she can spy several droplets still running around the base of the bottle and deduces whatever it was will have been ingested recently.
I doubt that bodes well...
She frets. In fact, she doubts anything about the scene she's walked in on bodes well; the enchanted rope she doesn't want to think too deeply about and the singed gouges in the stone hardly instilling a lot of confidence.
Find her. Find them both. If ever there was a sign that time is of the essence, it's everything staring back at you in this room!
Stalking anxiously for the door, she pulls it open with a grimace as a sooty scent- a sooty taste- fills the hallway; getting thicker as she makes her way cautiously towards the doors that lead out into the main body of the palace.
"What in the world?"
She breathes, stepping over shattered glass and time-ravaged relics until she stands at the top of the sweeping staircase that had played the feature point at so many long-ago parties. Here, the air is hazy; a queer smog that seems to lessen slowly in front of her very eyes filling the cavernous entrance hall from floor to ceiling.
"What have you done...?"
She demands silently of her doomed counterpart, but an uneasy voice in her head replies
This... This isn't me. Isn't her. Isn't us... This isn't the Queen...
Swallowing nervously, she makes her way downstairs and across the room; suddenly desperate for fresh air as the settling fog feels heavy in her lungs.
Wrenching open the large wooden door, she takes in several deep breaths as she surveys the derelict remains of the gardens. A cloak of sadness settles itself around her shoulders; a sense of grief for a life that could have gone so differently if she'd only known then what she knows now.
It doesn't work that way. It doesn't-
But she stills; her knuckles blanching as she grips the wood of the door, as somewhere out on the grounds a scream startles a dozen blackbirds into flight.