#and (sighs) i also have. kind of wanted to revisit royal. it's been nearly three years since i played it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drwcn · 3 years

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concubine/sleeper agent!wwx and prince!lwj bullshit continues:

[story board 1] - The two empires and the Imperial Lan Family [story board 2] - WWX, Qishan Wen’s sleeper agent [story board 3] - The inner court (harem) of Hanguang Manor, prior to WWX

→ [Story Board 4] - “A-Xian”, the attendant of Jiang Yanli

Wei Wuxian lived with the Jiangs for 2 years. After he came to Gusu as a 16-yro, he charmed/scammed his way into the Jiang manor, won the favour of Jiang Fengmian, the affection of Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng, and waited. For a long time, no further instructions were given to him from Wen Ruohan. Then, one day, he saw Zhao Zhuliu on the streets of the Capital. Zhao Zhuliu was the head of Wen Ruohan’s intelligence bureau and incidentally, was also Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang’s shifu.

— “Shifu, does bixia finally have an assignment for me?” — “He does. Jiang Yanli is set to marry Lan Wangji. You are to find a way to accompany her to Hanguang-fu and get close to him.” — “Close to him as in...?” — “Any means necessary. He has a harem already, so you will not be the only one vying for his attention. Do think you can handle it?” — “Well I don’t know, shifu,” responded WWX coyly. “ Word on the street is that this Hanguang-wang prefers pretty men. His ce-wangfu Jin Ziyan is famous for his handsomeness, and that mianshou Mo Xuanyu he keeps around is a looker too. Do you think I’ve grown pretty enough?” — “You seem very aware of his household, I’m surprised.” — “Bixia sent me here to observe and learn; I’ve not been idle.”

Wei Wuxian knew Jiang Yanli was set to marry Lan Wangji before she even knew herself. This was not a coincidence. Originally, three years ago, when Lan Wangji was first choosing members of his harem, Jiang Yanli had been considered, but at the time Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan were already engaged to be wed. Jin Zixuan had promised Jiang Yanli that as soon as he passed the imperial scholarly exam and secured a position for himself in His Majesty’s court based on his own merit and not on the influence of his father Jin-guogong (Duke Jin), that he and Yanli would marry. It was a marriage that his late mother had arranged with her best friend Yu Ziyuan, and both Yanli and Zixuan were amenable to it. However, when Jin Zixuan finally passed the exam and ranked 6th in the national polling, he chose to take a position far away from the capital and left without a word of affirmation regarding the engagement. The position was an important one given to Jin Zixuan by Emperor Lan Xichen himself and so in some ways, it was understandable that he could not refused. After Jin Zixuan left the capital, Jin Guangshan went to his “old friend” Jiang Fengmian and “apologized” profusely on his son’s behalf, spewing all sorts of words about how a young man ought to make his way in this world and such. However, this left the Jiangs in an awkward position. Jiang Yanli was 21 yrs old, already older than any unwed noble lady should be. The Jiangs were angry with this outcome, but given the politics of it, they could not say much...and that was when Lianfang-jun Meng Yao revisited an idea that had been put aside three years ago. — “Hanguang-wang...desires to marry A-Li?” Jiang Fengmian was somewhat flabbergasted. “But...” — Meng Yao smiled, “Jiang-houye*, three years ago I came on behalf of er-di to broker a marriage between our two families, but you and Yu-furen both refused on account of her engagement with Jin-xiao-gongye. But I must say ling’ai* is a fine young woman, eloquent and mild-mannered and would make a fine wangfei* some day.” — “Wangfei? but -” — “Yes, Hanguang-wang did say he would choose his own princess or prince consort, but as you can see, even with Jin Ziyan as he ce-wangfu, Qin-fu’ren and Luo-fu’ren at his side, our prince has not shown any desire for any of them to be his legal spouse. He is still waiting, searching, and who’s to say Jiang-gu’niang is not equal if not better than the lot of them?”

What the Jiangs didn’t know was that Jin Guangshan was a traitor and had already sold his loyalty to Wen Ruohan, who promised him to make him a fanwang* when Qishan eventually annexed Gusu. JGS was a mole inside Gusu’s government secretly helping to further Wen Ruohan’s agenda. Nevertheless, Wen Ruohan wanted Wei Wuxian to get close to Lan Wangji, because as helpful as Jin Guangshan was, he was never fully trusted by the royal family and did not know their inner workings. Breaking Jiang Yanli’s marriage with Jin Zixuan was just a matter of convenience. Jin Guangshan was not fussed regarding a simple marriage when the reward would be much greater. As per WRH’s instruction, he used his influences in court to maneuver Lan Xichen into giving Jin Zixuan a position far away from the capital, thus removing his son from the dangerous political atmosphere and freeing up Jiang Yanli as a potential concubine for Lan Wangji. Then, Jin Guangshan sat back and allowed Meng Yao to finish the game that he started. Meng Yao was not a willing participant. He loved Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue but Jin Guangshan held the secret to his past and thus a noose around his neck. Everyone in court knew that Lianfang-jun Meng Yao was once a lieutenant in Nie Mingjue’s army and later became his personal secretary. He was known for his wit and silver tongue and the charming dimples on his cheeks whenever he smiled. However, not many knew that Meng Yao was the bastard son of Jin Guangshan and a prostitute. Meng Shi’s hope was that one day her son would be legitimized by his father, but alas her hopes were in vain. A child born to a whore would be condemned to a live in the “jian” caste unless otherwise freed. It was Nie Mingjue who chose to raise Meng Yao above his station and respected him as a person for the first time in his life. When Nie Mingjue and his long-time sweetheart the crown prince Lan Xichen were set to marry, Meng Yao thought his days of freedom would be over. To his surprise, Nie Mingjue opted to bring him back with him from the borderlands where Nie Mingjue’s battalion was stationed and introduce him to court and to Lan Xichen. It seemed almost impossible that Lan Xichen would love him as unapologetically as Nie Mingjue, but somehow he did. Meng Yao became the only concubine person in Lan Xichen’s harem other than Fengjun Nie Mingjue. Life was perfect, so perfect in fact Meng Yao even entertained the idea of coaxing Lan Xichen to take on a lady or two to be his concubine so that the palace could be filled with little ones. Of course he’d be a little jealous...but they would have children...and Lan Xichen loved babies. Then of course, Jin Guangshan found out who he was, and from that point on, Meng Yao was no longer a free man. Every single moment of his life, his father threatened him with exposure. If anyone were to find out just how unseemly his origin had been, how not only was his mother a prostitute, but he himself had been nearly no different (given to the Nies as a gift by a stupid pandering official), his life would be over. At the very least Lan Xichen would be forced to banish him, at the worst, he��d be dead. Oh there would be no public announcement of course, but it would be said that he had taken ill and succumbed to his frail health, and with his death the smear on the Lan imperial family would be cleansed. Meng Yao didn’t want to die, so he did as Jin Guangshan asked, even when the ask became Nie Mingjue’s life. (But NMJ isn’t really dead...Meng Yao was nothing if not a fighter. He could not let the father who’d cursed him to a less than hellish existence take away from him the first man who’d ever shown him love and kindness.) — “Jiang Yanli must marry Lan Wangji.” Jin Guangshan instructed. “And you must ensure that when she does, the boy goes with her.” — “What boy?” — “The ward of Jiang Fengmian: Wei Wuxian.”

So when Meng Yao came to speak with Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, naturally he brought up the subject of Lan Wangji’s “preference.” “The Qin family did very well in this regard. They were quite clever in allowing Mo Xuanyu to serve Hanguang-wang; the boy is too low-born to be of any threat. Even if Hanguang-wang’s harem of today becomes the imperial harem of tomorrow, Mo Xuanyu would not be more than a mianshou. His success, on the other hand, would ensure that Hanguang-wang’s favour stay with the Qin family. As we can see, their effort was not in vain. Qin Su became with child rather swiftly. Little Kaisong was born more no later than three months after Jingyi.” Meng Yao explained the delicate nature of the situation to the Jiangs. “If Jiang-guniang is to marry Hanguang-wang, forgive me for my boldness, but she would be wise to bring a male attendant of her own. Wangji is kind and would honour her as his concubine, but the man cannot control his inclinations, as none of us could.” Yu Ziyuan exchanged a look with Jiang Fengmian. Yanli was older now; waiting for Jin Zixuan to keep his promise had delayed her and possibly ruined her prospects. If this marriage to Lan Wangji were to succeed... he is an honourable man who treated all his concubines equally and with respect. If he grew to like Yanli enough to make her his legal spouse as Meng Yao seemed to think is possible...then one day she would be Empress. — “Hanguang-wang’s preference is men. Would he not prefer to have a wangfu instead of a wangfei?” Jiang Fengmian was still hesitant. — “Indeed I’m sure he would, but politics being what it is...” Meng Yao sighed. “I’m sure Wangji understands that having the mother of his heir be his wangfei and his future empress is the best course of action to ensure the stability of the nation. We certainly have no shortage of examples to learn from in history: a shuchu prince with competing shuchu brothers walks a perilous road.” — “Lianfang-jun is wise.” Yu Ziyuan nudged her husband. “Which young man do you suggest we include in the bridal party?” — “That I have not decided, which is why I’ve come to see you today. Jiang-fu is a large manor, surely there must be some servants worthy to catch the eye of our Hanguang-wang. Yu-fu’ren, why don’t you assemble them, and we can have a pick?” — “Lianfang-jun, that is a delightful idea.”

Wei Wuxian was not surprised at all when all the young men of Jiang-fu under 21 and above 16 were assembled in a courtyard. He scanned the crowd; there were about 20-ish of them. One by one, they were beckoned forward, and when it was his turn, he walked with his head bowed towards the man sitting under the eave on a luxurious wicker chair, holding a fan. The fan was very expensive, drawn by an artist in the previous dynasty. An antique. This must be Zewu-di’s* only concubine, Meng Yao. — “Greetings to Lianfang-jun.” — “Raise your head, boy, let me take a good look at you.” — Wei Wuxian obeyed. Meng Yao looked him over once, appraising and evaluating, before making a pleased little noise. “Hm. Your name?” — “Wei Wuxian.” — “Wei...Wuxian?” Meng Yao gave a pretty laugh. “A rather boastful name for so young a person. My, but you are a lovely thing. Tell me, what is your age?” — “Eighteen.” — “Eighteen, excellent. It’s unfortunate that your name isn’t something a little more humble. What does your family call you?” — “My family calls me A-Xian, dianxia.” — “Well A-Xian, if I were to tell you that you’ve been chosen to accompany Jiang-gu’niang to serve Hanguang-wang, what say you?” — WWX thought *I’d say Lan Wangji better sleep with one eye open*, but said with a gracious and deferring bow of his head, “That would be my honour.”

[next]

Note:

houye - marquess ling’ai - a formal way to address someone else’s daughter wangfei - princess consort fanwang - a type of high-ranking prince with their own region/land to govern and possibly even their own army to command under imperial rule. Zewu-di - emperor zewu.

#cql #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #concubine!wwx #assassin!wwx #prince!lwji #cql ficlet #corie fics #without envy

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slow-smiles · 5 years

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The plan to tell Emma’s parents about her relationship with Killian gets derailed when she is kidnapped by the Dark One. Captain Duckling. Revelations, reunions, adventures, and smut ensues. ~8.7k

The grand finale to the My Princess, My Pirate series. This is part two of four. Also just… ya know, screw the canon timeline, use your imagination.

Read on AO3. Read on tumblr Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

The Swan of Misthaven. Part Two.

Emma awakens with a sharp gasp on the floor of a massive chamber with no windows. The stones are cool under her back, but her skin feels hot, her heart racing. She sits up slowly with a groan. She feels hungover, but multiplied by seventy. A sharp headache makes her feel like her skull is being split in two, oppressive fogginess makes focusing on anything nearly impossible, and a pressing, cloying nausea pushes insistently against her gag reflex. How did she—

The last thing she remembers is the clearing, making the deal with Rumplestiltskin to keep Killian alive, and now here she is. Wherever here is.

The empty chamber is massive, even bigger than the ballroom at the palace, with several support columns evenly dotting the floor in fifteen foot intervals. The air feels dank and heavy, and Emma wonders if this is an underground dungeon of some kind. The stone making up the walls and floor is dark, rough like limestone, and the space is dimly lit by sparse torches along the walls. She doesn’t notice any doors.

She rolls herself to her knees, and at that point the nausea wins the fight and Emma throws up. As she heaves against the floor, her mind is spinning, barely able to pick up a thread of thought aside from where am I and how did I get here.

“There’s no way to avoid the physical aftereffects of having a suppression hex removed, I’m afraid.”

She wishes she could say that when she heard Rumplestiltskin’s voice behind her, she leapt to her feet and demanded to know where she was being held. She does try, but as soon as she gets to her feet and turns, a wave of dizziness and nausea knocks her back to her knees, her hands bracing on the floor. She can’t help the miserable whine that escapes her at the feeling of illness and discomfort running through her.

“And unfortunately for you,” he continues, the click of his boots against the stone ominous in the quiet of the chamber, “the more powerful you are, the more severe the side effects.”

She wrangles enough clarity of mind to say, “What are you talking about?” before her body starts to heave again.

The ringing in her ears doesn’t drown out the sound of him saying, “I must admit, I was surprised to find one on you. The fairies have never dabbled in hexes before to my knowledge, and it was surprisingly well-crafted.”

“What?” Emma chokes out again. Gods, she feels awful. (Even worse than the last time she’d drunk whiskey and blacked out for the entire night. To this day, she doesn’t remember going to sleep or waking up; she had come to, still drunk and vomiting with her pants laying nearby, behind a blacksmith’s forge. Thankfully, Killian had awoken behind the shop next door, doing only mildly better than she, and found her in her sorry state, and they mutually assured their hungover partner got home. This had been relatively early in their courtship, and it was strangely freeing in a way, to see each other essentially at their worst and most stupid.)

“Ding-ding-ding, dearie,” he chirps, so close to her ear, she nearly falls sideways in surprise. How did she not hear him get closer? “You’re a lucky winner.”

“Of what?” she asks, hopelessly confused and desperate for someone to just explain what the hell is going on.

She turns her head to finally look at him directly. His smile is predatory. “Magic.”

Emma barely hears him, or registers his meaning exactly, because her body has quite suddenly decided it’s had enough. Her head drops, she sees white sparkling at the edges of her vision, then sparking across her hands, and before she can say anything in response, she passes out.

***

It’s just over a day’s-worth of hard riding from the palace in Misthaven to the village just across the border where the former Queen Regina lives, and given that they set out in late afternoon, the time comes to set up camp sooner rather than later.

The quiet cooperation between the three of them is not as awkward as Killian imagined it might be. The King and Queen move around each other like a well-choreographed ballet. He’s quietly amused by the two royals in travelling gear (that is far too nice to truly blend in) who are extremely well-versed in camp craft. He fills in where necessary, and by the time the darkness settles, when the light from the moon and stars are barely enough to see by, David volunteers to take first watch. Snow thanks him, collapses into her bedroll, and is asleep in minutes.

Killian finds himself staring at the orange flames next to Emma’s father in silence.

Emma is supposed to be with him for this part, he thinks. Emma is supposed to be here to guide him. And he--

He’s not supposed to be this person anymore. This person whose every waking moment is consumed with thoughts of how he wants to watch the life drain from a man’s eyes. With Emma, he likes to think he’s become someone worthwhile. Someone who is a part of something. Someone who he’s proud to say he will be for the rest of his life.

When they decided that it was finally time to tell her parents, come out of the shadows, he thought he’d be able to be that person. That honorable man worthy of care, worthy of note, worthy of their daughter’s hand in marriage, someday.

“You should get some sleep,” David says, startling Killian out of his reverie.

He looks over at the King, the details of his face made sharper in the shadows cast by the flame. He looks every inch a man of royalty--classically handsome, even in his age. A regal bearing, even when seated on a log in the woods. The crow’s feet around his eyes and the smile lines around his mouth only serve to make him look sage and wise, perhaps even kindly.

Killian answers him honestly, “I’m not certain I could if I tried.”

David looks away into the flames, and a heavy beat passes before he says, “You are the absolute last person I ever pictured Emma with.”

“Pardon?”

David chuckles lightly. “I know Snow doesn’t want to acknowledge anything is real until we have Emma back, but I don’t have the same restraint.” Another chuckle, this time deprecating. “Of all the people in the world, of all the potential romantic suitors she’s met, and it’s you.”

Killian doesn’t appreciate the direction this conversation is going. “What we became was up to her as much as me.”

“Sure,” David says, but it doesn’t sound precisely like agreement.

Despite knowing ( hoping ) that he’s a better man now than he was, he can’t change the fact that he can be a bit of a snarky asshole. “There’s clearly something you’d like to yell at me for,” he says, fully prepared to regret his words but unable to stop them from spilling out, “so why don’t you get it out of your system now.”

The King snorts softly. “Which part do I yell at you for? You’re a murdering thief who is apparently over a century old--yeah, I didn’t forget about that--and somehow you’ve managed to capture my only child’s affection.” He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.

There’s a part of him that says I don’t know how I did it either (which is only true in spirit, as he still doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve her love, but knows that Emma’s heart was only won when he consistently proved that he was in this for the long haul.) The part of him that speaks isn’t so keen on sharing that vulnerability, so he replies, “Well, give me time, I might just grow on you.”

David grunts. “Like a wart. Or an infection.”

Killian grits his teeth before giving the King his most winning smile. “I suppose it’s a good thing Emma’s feelings for me aren’t up to you then, isn’t it?”

Emma’s father grimaces, and there’s that honest voice deep down, the one beneath the arrogant, brash exterior, telling him that Emma is going to be quite cross with him for trying to get under David’s skin like this.

“Were you ever in the military?” asks David then, the segue so unexpected Killian is momentarily disarmed.

“Yes,” he answers, surprised, but quickly buckles down again. “Can you instinctively sense when someone’s had a stick thrust firmly up their arse?”

David barks out a laugh and steals a glance over at his sleeping wife to ensure he didn’t wake her. “You sometimes stand like someone who was military. And you certainly commanded attention in the Council room.”

“Be careful, Majesty, that almost sounded like a compliment. Might give the wrong impression.”

“Just an observation,” David says. A beat passes before he asks, “So what made you turn pirate?”

Killian doesn’t miss a beat and answers, “The dismal pay of a Navy man can’t hold a candle to looting a ship for treasure.” He winces at the automatic defense mechanism. This is the father of the woman he loves, his future father-in-law if he has his way.

David doesn’t miss the wince, and a thoughtful expression crosses his face. “You’re a piss poor liar for a pirate.”

“On the contrary, I’m actually quite good,” Killian answers.

“Is it really such a bane for you to tell the truth?”

Killian sighs, trying to quell the urge to deflect with a lie or a glib jibe. “It’s not a time of my life I care to revisit often, even in memory.” He looks over at Emma’s father, whose silent, probing gaze prompts him to continue. “Fighting for king and country means nothing when your king is a corrupt, underhanded, immoral man who’d sooner throw his loyal men into a meat grinder than even sniff something honorable.” Killian looks down at his hook, idly dabbing the point with a finger. “My brother trusted him. It was the last mistake he ever made.”

“I’m sorry,” David offers.

Killian smiles tightly. “My brother was the best man I knew. A good captain, honorable to a fault, as stubborn as the day is long. The king didn’t care that he’d died. Probably didn’t even remember Liam at all. I refused to serve any monarchy from that day forward. They took everything from me,” he says, voice hazy with memory, “so I was going to take everything from them. At least among thieves, there was honor.” He turns to David again, “No offense, mate.”

“None taken,” David replies, then chuckles a bit. “Kind of ironic that you went and fell in love with a princess, then.”

“No one is more aware of that than me,” Killian says. “I suppose that gives us something in common--falling in love with women far above our stations.”

David huffs a laugh, but doesn’t respond for a long while; the only sound is the crackle of wood in their fire, and the distant song of crickets. Killian almost wonders if the King had fallen asleep when he speaks again. “Emma must mean a lot to you, if you’d go through the trouble to rescue her.”

“She means everything to me,” Killian gently corrects. “I’d go to the end of the world or time for her. Anything if it means she’s safe.”

“And she for you, I take it?”

Killian smiles. “Yes.” He looks back over at David. “I know that I’m not the ideal you envisioned—”

David waves a hand and interrupts, “No, you’re not. And I’m—” he sighs and tips his face skyward. “Given the lengths that you’re going through to save her—coming to us, getting arrested, potentially almost getting executed, throwing yourself back into this feud with the Dark One—” David looks back at Killian. “Looking at it from that perspective, it’s crazy for me to not approve. Snow and I married for love in spite of the circumstances, and I always hoped for the same for Emma.”

Killian feels like his chest is about to burst. Despite everything, could it be that Emma’s father really can forgive his past mistakes?

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” David quickly says, but it’s without heat.

Killian laughs.

David continues, “If you really want to earn my approval,” he points across the fire to the empty bedroll, “you’ll go to sleep.”

Killian rolls his eyes and replies, “If me having a lie down means that much to you—” Killian mock bows from his seat and then makes his way over to his bedroll. “Then I’m much obliged, Dave.”

“Do not call me Dave.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you over the sound of all the sleep I’m getting.”

David grumbles, but doesn’t say anything further.

Killian stares up at the stars, his thoughts a barely cohesive mess. He wishes Emma were next to him so he could tell her about them, try to make sense of everything that’s happened today. Gods, and it really has all been today. He started off this morning with Emma on his ship, not a care in the world and a tremendous weight removed from their shoulders.

Now, here he is, sharing a campsite with the King and Queen of Misthaven, trying to find his footing with his love’s royal parents, and hoping dearly that he doesn’t make a mess of things.

But that itself seems so trivial in the face of Emma being in the clutches of the realm’s greatest evil, and them having no idea why he’s taken her.

Killian’s never been much for spirituality or worshipping deities. He’s been on the sea long enough to know the superstitions, to know about Poseidon and Ursula and Calypso, and all the other gods and goddesses of the sea to whom many crewmen give offerings and pray in hopes for a safe voyage.

But Killian has seen too much, lived through too many years and too many crews to believe their feeble oils and branches, foodstuffs and whispered words make any difference. A strong wind may fall upon murderers or travelers, a storm may wreck a peacekeeping mission or slavers. The sea is nothing if not fair.

But in the darkness, he prays to any deity that might listen that the world might be unfair in Emma’s favor.

***

Killian awakens with a jolt, the taste of a bitten off shout in his throat and he sits up. The sky has lightened from pitch black and lit with stars to a deep purple, lightening slightly toward the eastern horizon. Early, and not late enough to say that it is yet dawn. He hadn’t been planning on falling asleep, didn’t think it would be possible with the unrest in his mind, but after a few hours of silence, it appears his body made the choice for him.

His heart is racing in his chest, the lingering images from the nightmare scattering but leaving the fear as a gaping maw in his chest. He runs a hand across his face, trying to gather his wits, but he still feels strung out and uncomfortable. Like all of his defenses have been stripped away.

Perhaps he should take a walk. There was a small creek nearby, and perhaps splashing some water on his face will remind him that the nightmare was just that—a nightmare. A garish, twisted vision from his mind that has been stuck on a fear-anger cycle for far too long.

He wishes again for Emma, to speak to her, to have her set his mind at ease, but she’s—

A shudder goes through him as one of the nightmare’s scenes comes to the forefront of his mind again, Emma without a heart, Emma lying on the deck of his ship, Emma crying and begging for him to save her—

With a frustrated, flustered huff, he sits up to find Snow White staring at him. The former bandit princess turned conquering queen has a thoughtful expression on her face, as if he were a particularly interested puzzle.

His breath is still coming in pants, and his heart is still racing in his chest, but Killian is still able to manage a realization. “I missed my watch.”

“You didn’t miss it,” Snow says. “I didn’t wake you. I figured it was the least I could do after I had you thrown in prison and then threatened to have you executed.”

Trying vehemently to turn his manner to conversation rather than lingering on the dream, Killian shakes his head and says, “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Were I in your position, I’d’ve done the same thing.”

Snow smiles. “I appreciate that. You seemed like you needed the rest, at least—” she shifts a bit before she can meet his eye again. “For the last few minutes, it sounded like you were having a pretty bad nightmare.”

Killian stiffens. “I hope I didn’t disturb you,” he replies, and moves to stand, do something with his body that could help alleviate the intense feeling of vulnerability under scrutiny now skittering across his skin.

“You didn’t,” Snow says, a kind warmth in her voice and manner that seems like it should calm him rather than rile him.

“That hasn’t happened in a long time,” he says, as if that explanation should be some sort of comfort. To her, to him, he doesn’t know. His heart still races. He refocuses, remembers how to calm himself. Just because he hasn’t had one in a long time, doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how to get over a particularly intense nightmare.

He shifts on the bedroll so that he faces the flames of the fire. A bit burned down from what they were the night before, it’s mostly charcoal now, but it functions well enough. The slow, steady motion of the flames makes his breathing wind down, and he focuses on the beat of his heart. Draws a breath in deeply, and then lets it out slowly. He repeats this until his body doesn’t feel like it’s about to leap out of his skin.

“If I may ask,” Snow says after the long silence, “who is Milah?”

Killian immediately tenses, his jaw subconsciously clenching; this isn’t the same kind of stress he felt when he awoke. It’s the same kind that came along with David asking him questions about his past last night—and Killian’s about tapped out of defense mechanisms at the moment.

Snow says, “You said her name and Emma’s name a few times before you awoke.”

Perhaps it’s not so much that he’s exhausted his energy to defend his vulnerabilities after the nightmare, perhaps it’s just them. Snow and David, Emma’s parents. They’re the ones who made her, after all, so everything that Emma is came from them. He’s not good at refusing Emma, and her mother seems to hold the same sway over him.

“A long time ago, before Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One, he was just a man. A man with a wife named Milah.”

Gods, but centuries have passed, and it still feels like someone’s pulling his heart out every time he says her name.

Killian continues, “She and her husband had a son, who she loved very much, but couldn’t fix the deep sadness she carried with her. She used to tell me that sometimes it felt as though she were born during a long night, and that darkness lingered with her no matter how often she bathed in the sun.

“And she decided to leave her husband and her son and come away with me.” A knife of grief goes through his abdomen. “We loved each other, and she didn’t see another way out of her unhappiness. So when I left port, she came with me.”

“And her son?” Snow asks.

“We made plans to go back for him that never came to pass.” She’d often confided her insecurity about her motherhood, but had gone no further than that. Privately, he thinks that Milah had been afraid to see her son again, to admit to him that he hadn’t been enough to make her happy where she was.

But that is too intimate a memory to share.

“Later, when he was the Dark One, he found us; accused me of stealing her, as though she were some bauble to be passed around.” He shakes his head, and has to blink a few times to control the wetness at the corners of his eyes. “Milah was brilliant, but she had a bit of a temper. And she just… let the Dark One have it on the deck of my ship. Her words were sharp, and she knew exactly how to hurt him. He didn’t really care for that.”

He tries to be as clinical as possible with the next bit, “So he lashed me to the mast, pulled her heart out, and crushed it. He cut my hand off that day, too, but the pain of that was nothing compared to losing her.”

Snow silently stands and comes to sit next to him, and reaches out to take his hand. Killian doesn’t remember his mother much, but he imagines that being comforted by her might have felt like this.

He blinks harder against the moisture in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “I understand now, why you were so afraid.”

“Oh, I’m still afraid, believe me.”

“Not like that. We’re all afraid for her, but for you… You’ve already seen this story play out once, and it ended horribly for you.”

“Is this the part where you tell me to have hope that it will end well?”

Snow laughs a little at that. “Yes, because if we don’t have hope that something will work out well, then what’s our motivation to do it in the first place? But beyond the hope, you should hold onto that fear too. The most insane, amazing acts of courage happen when someone is the most afraid,” Snow looks into his eyes with a startling intensity, “and we’re probably going to need some really insane, amazing acts of courage to get Emma out of there.”

As soon as dawn breaks, the trio are on their way. They ride until early afternoon, when they slow their horses to a walk and enter the small village. It’s along a bustling trade route, located between the sea and the next nearest inland city, so it’s well on its way to becoming a full-fledged town.

Snow leads them to a small estate just at the edge of the village. A modest home sits to the left of the front gate, and beyond that is a truly impressive equine complex consisting of several pastures that are clearly well-kept, a large A-Frame barn that could likely house dozens of horses based on the size, and a few dirt and grass arenas for competitive riding purposes. It is a spread that is certainly only rivaled by the royal stables, and those might be found wanting compared to this place.

A youth of possibly fifteen or sixteen years is leading a stocky gray mare out of one of the pastures when he spots them. “Greetings!” he calls out. The mare he is leading seems to protest the quickened pace as the boy strides toward them, but he does not slow. “My name is Henry Locksley. Welcome to Riverside Farm.” The lad seems to have a practiced gaze for horses as he takes stock of their three mounts. “If you’re looking for nightly board, we are happy to accommodate.”

Snow dismounts and turns to the young man. “No, we’re actually looking for your stablemaster.”

Henry looks a little surprised. “Oh, okay. She was in the stable with Roland last I saw her. If you’ll follow me, I’m heading there now.”

“Thank you,” Snow says. Killian and David dismount as well and the trio begins following the young Henry towards the stable.

David asks, “So, Henry, does your family live in the village?”

“My family owns the farm, so we live right there,” Henry answers, pointing towards the home at the front of the property.

Snow’s small “oh” of surprise is almost unnoticeable, but Killian glances over to find her face the picture of shock. She quickly schools her features to neutrality once more. “So your family—they work the whole farm by themselves?” she asks, the epitome of polite interest.

Henry nods, an eager tour guide. “My mother is the stablemaster, my father mostly does maintenance and sales and then whatever else my mother tells him to,” he says with a laugh. “My older brother Roland is a whiz with numbers, so he does our bookkeeping. My little sister Eliza is a hand just like me, but she’s also studying to become a blacksmith, so she’s at the forge in town right now.”

“It’s nice that your family is so tightly-knit,” Snow says, her tone changing to barely-constrained curiosity.

Nodding and smiling, Henry doesn’t seem to sense any odd mood from the group before him. “My mom says that love creates happiness, so keeping those you love close to you is the best way to make yourself happy.”

Killian can’t read the expression that crosses Snow’s face then. “Wise advice,” she replies.

They reach the stable doors, and Henry swings them open. Inside, it looks as tidy and clean as the rest of the farm. The center aisle is made of brick, an exorbitant expense that gives the barn a high class sensibility. The brick is flanked by wood-planked stalls, and the low ceiling plays host to a few small swallows in the support beams. A pair of mangy barn cats roam around, but the central focal point at the moment is the woman with her back turned to them.

She stands bent over next to a mid-sized black gelding, his front left hoof propped up between her legs. She’s softly muttering to herself when Henry calls out, “Hey, Mom, there are some people who want to see you.” Killian, Snow, and David all halt by the entrance, but Henry keeps walking, placing the gray mare into an open stall on the right hand side.

She doesn’t turn yet, still bent over the hoof. “Henry, you’re going to have to ride into town and get Eliza home, because Lady Gerhardt’s horse is going to need a new set of shoes.”

Henry groans. “But I was going to take Blizzard on a training run!”

The woman drops the hoof and straightens, and begins to turn. “You can still do that later this aftern—” Her words abruptly drop off when she sees just who her visitors are. The former Evil Queen quickly composes herself and finishes, “This afternoon. Before you go, can you run and get your father? Tell him to meet me at the house.” And with a quick nod of her head, “And make sure their horses get properly hitched and watered.”

The sorceress who once terrorized thousands of people over a dozen kingdoms is dressed in riding breeches and lace-up paddock boots, with a thin, brown leather vest over a red button-up shirt. Her long hair is pulled back in a simple braid. The raven-black locks that once held crowns, and had been so famously, elaborately styled, is shot through with gray streaks. She looks like any other stablemaster across any of the dozen kingdoms where she’d left heartless bodies strewn across the lands.

Henry glances between Regina and their visitors with poorly-disguised confusion, but Regina gives him a look that quickly has him agreeing and scurrying off to do what she asked.

As the stable door closes behind Henry, Snow steps forward. “Regina.”

“Snow. You’ve aged.”

Not rising to the bait, Snow observes with a noticeable amount of strain in her voice, “You have children.”

“I do.”

Killian meets David’s gaze behind Snow’s back, trying to convey confusion. What should we do?

David just shakes his head imperceptibly.

Snow continues, “And a husband.”

“Yes. I noticed you brought yours along. Hello, David.”

“Hello, Regina,” he replies, managing a polite tone the just verges on chilly. A shepherd David may have been once, but Killian knows that’s a politician’s voice right there.

Regina’s dark eyes then flit over to Killian, taking him in with a detached air. “This would be a lovely family reunion if you hadn’t decided to bring the Handless Wonder along.”

“Good to see you again, Majesty,” Killian replies, acidic.

Both Snow and David look over at him. “How do you know her?” David asks.

“Former villains support group,” he answers without missing a beat, not wanting to delve into the thorny history he has with the old queen.

“Not important right now,” Snow mutters, and strides forward so that she’s only a few paces from Regina’s side. “We need your help.”

Regina’s mouth purses. “I could hardly be your first choice, unless we're already scraping the bottom of the barrel for help,” she says with a pointed look at Killian before she reaches for a bristled brush in a box next to her. “Why come to me?” She begins to brush the black gelding.

A heavy beat passes before Snow answers, “Rumplestiltskin took our daughter.”

The brush pauses on the horse’s flank.

“How long ago?” Regina asks quietly, then resumes brushing the horse.

“Yesterday,” Killian answers. “We won’t be able to get near him without you.”

Regina snickers, “All those years hunting the Dark One and still can’t perform under pressure?”

“Oh darling, I perform under pressure just fine.”

Regina turns an acerbic eye on him. “Not when I asked you to kill my mother.”

“What?” David exclaims, looking between the two of them, but Killian rolls his eyes.

“Still on about that, are we?”

“This isn’t helpful,” Snow snaps. “He knows what can kill Rumplestiltsken,” she points a finger in Killian’s direction. “and you can get us into the vault where he keeps all of it.”

Regina looks mildly surprised at Snow’s outburst, but ultimately settles on impressed. “Why did he take her?”

“We don’t know,” David says.

“He said that he had use for her,” Killian says. “But that was all.”

Regina looks contemplative for a moment. “Product of true love could be useful,” she murmurs. She turns fully to Snow, seeming to warm to her topic, “When did Emma start manifesting magic?”

“Manifest—Emma doesn’t have magic.”

Regina snorts. “Believe me, she does. I could literally feel her magical signature exploding across the land when she was born.” She begins brushing the horse again, but it looks more like a reflexive movement than with any real purpose. “Either she’s a very late bloomer or there’s—” Regina freezes a moment, her lips parted. A furrow appears between her brows.

“There’s what?” Killian prompts.

Regina gives up on the futility of brushing the horse and drops the brush back in the box and steps fully into their conversation with her arms crossed over her chest. “A suppression hex.” Regina laughs, acidic. “Oh, classic Blue. Didn’t want to get her hands dirty herself.”

“Regina, what are you talking about?” Snow asks.

“After I gave up on casting the Dark Curse, but before I was banished,” Regina explains, “Blue came to me while I was imprisoned. I was—” she clears her throat before she continues, “—I was under the impression that I’d used up the last of your mercy, even if you believed me about stopping Rumplestiltskin’s plans. She asked me for a favor, and if I did it, she would counsel you to grant me clemency.”

“But Regina, you—” Snow tries, but Regina holds up a hand.

“It doesn’t matter. She asked me to create a suppression hex. Easy enough, so I did it. I just had no idea who she wanted it for. I’d always thought it was for an unruly fairy she wanted out of her ranks.”

“But she used it on Emma,” David concludes.

“So it would seem,” Regina says. “Maybe to hide her potential from Rumplestiltskin, or even from me. I doubt she ever really bought my change of heart,” she finishes with a scoff.

“Is he going to ask Emma to finish what you started, then?” Snow asks quietly.

Regina purses her lips. “Hard to say. Maybe he’s found a different avenue.”

“How do we get her back?” Killian asks impatiently. His mind has been conjuring worst case scenarios since Rumplestiltskin appeared in the clearing, and as salacious and shallowly entertaining as it might be to watch Regina snipe at the King and Queen, he’d much rather get on with finding Emma.

Regina examines him a little more closely this time, head tilting in a way that, unsettlingly, reminds him of the Crocodile. “You love her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he answers plainly.

Regina seems to take it in as information, categorizing it in some list in her head before nodding. “We should take this to the house.”

***

When Emma awakens again, the hangover-like symptoms have mostly faded and left behind a strange feeling of sensitivity. Everything is too bright, too loud, too sharp. Like scratching a sunburn, it’s raw and a bit painful. She’d been in and out of consciousness since that first time she’d awoken, but she has no concept of how much time has passed.

At least she feels a little less scattered, the fog she’d felt hanging over her completely gone.

She’s still in the same chamber, but she’s alone this time. Her ability to stand has returned, but she takes it slow. Thankfully, no strange symptoms make a reappearance.

She looks down at her hands, and turns over Rumplestiltskin’s words in her head. He said that she has magic.

There’s not—there’s no way.

There’s absolutely no way he can be right, and yet—

“Deep down, you know I’m right.”

She whirls around, hand flying to where her sword would normally rest before cursing.

“No weapons for you, dearie. Not after last time.”

Now that she can properly focus on his face, Emma can’t find any evidence that she’d put out his left eye with her knife. “What, you looking for an apology?”

Rumplestiltskin’s answering smile is chilling. “Of course not. Apologies are fool’s sentiment. No, no, I usually prefer something more concrete.”

Emma grits her teeth. “Like what?”

He tuts lightly. “Not just yet. We need to wake you up first.”

Before she can ask what he means by that, he makes a few quick gestures with his hands, and she notices the red, filmy mist that she knows is his magic rising around him. With another quick gesture outwards, the magic explodes from him, whooshing around Emma like a sharp gust of wind off the sea, but ripping through every support column in the chamber.

Several of the ones closest to them immediately collapse, the sound like a dozen cannons going off at once. The rest are evenly cracked through at the base and begin to shake perilously, the entire structure around them trembling. Emma braces her knees through the shaking, and looks furiously at Rumplestiltskin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Fix the columns, Emma,” he says.

“Are you fucking crazy?” she exclaims, eyes darting upwards. The shaking has increased, and visible fissures are appearing on the ceiling where the columns are starting to crumble away. “You’ll kill us both!”

He giggles. “Oh, it won’t kill me. Just you.”

“I don’t have magic! I can’t do this.” Rubble is starting to fall from the ceiling, massive chunks of stone plating crashing to the floor. Emma yelps and jumps to the side when a sizeable piece crashes to the floor not three feet from her.

“Oh, but you can!” he says. “This should be child’s play for how much power you have.”

“This is insane,” Emma says, quieter this time, frantically trying to find an exit. True to her first observation, there are no doors to this chamber. She’s stuck.

Fear burns in her throat, I can’t die, not now, I can’t die, Killian is waiting for me, I can’t die now, we have plans, not now, not when everything is starting to fall into place—

It happens between one heartbeat and the next—another column collapses, this time falling straight in her direction. She dives away from it, tucking and rolling to stand again. The column hits the floor right behind her, the concussion rattling her teeth and throwing her forward.

She falls.

She rolls, tries to get up as quickly as she can, but then there’s a stone from the ceiling falling straight at her.

No time to dodge. No time to run.

Either Rumplestiltskin is right, or she dies.

She thrusts her hands out in front of her, hoping for magic but all she can think of is how badly she wants to get out of here, of how badly she wants to see her parents again, see Killian again, by any and every god, she does not want to die today—

She closes her eyes.

She takes a breath, thinking that this could quite likely be her last.

And then she takes another.

And another.

She opens her eyes.

The stone hangs above her, suspended by a white mist that flows like liquid from her hands. She spares a look around her. Everything is frozen by the white mist, the columns held up, the falling debris stuck midair.

It’s unlike anything Emma has ever seen before, and it’s all coming from her. She can feel it, a strange pull against her heart, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s more like the excitement she felt as a child on the morning of Yule, the anticipation she feels when she hasn’t seen Killian in a month, the physical reaction of joy and love made manifest.

Emma laughs, and with a snap of her fingers, everything is fixed. Like time flowing backwards, the damage is swiftly undone. The stone effortlessly knits back together, leaving no trace of the damage that was done to it. The plating from the ceiling that fell and shattered against the floor pushes back together and floats easily upwards, slotting back into the architecture.

When the last column is standing once more, Emma finally drops her hands.

“What did I tell you, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin says. “Child’s play.”

***

Snow isn’t sure what to expect when Regina says they’ll meet her husband at the house. She only has vague recollections of what Daniel looked like, and even less of an idea of what he’d been like as a person, so to say she doesn’t know what Regina’s romantic tastes are like is a severe understatement. She imagines that Regina’s partner would be a high-born person like herself, a bit prim and classist, maybe abrasively rude in that way rich, egotistical men can sometimes be.

To say that she is shocked to find that Regina’s husband is the one and only Robin Hood of Locksley would be an even more severe understatement than the first.

He is surprisingly warm and welcoming, the friendly dog to Regina’s aloof cat, and something in Snow feels settled, satisfied, happy even. She’d always hoped Regina would find happiness, would find forgiveness and redemption in her own way, and it would seem that she’s found it; more than that, she’s also found someone to share it with who seems to be her perfect complement.

Robin invites them to sit, and offers to put a kettle on so that they can have some tea. While it warms, they all take a seat in the dining room.

It’s hardly the expensive setting Regina grew up with, but it’s certainly nicer than most homes in the village. Solid construction, a fine, tile floor covered in warm rugs, and furniture that runs more along the function line than the style.

They fill Regina in on the particulars of their plan--in as much as their plan has particulars--and Snow takes it as a positive sign that she doesn’t dismiss it outright. “As long as Hook knows what we need to grab, I should be able to get us in,” she says. “But there’s the possibility he’ll see us coming.”

“His visions have never been precise,” Hook points out, but Regina shakes her head.

“When it comes to his own death, I’ve found he has uncanny accuracy.”

“So we split up,” Hook suggests. “He knows I’m coming. If we can manipulate his visions so that he doesn’t know you three are coming with me, we’ll have the element of surprise.”

“Not to barge in,” Robin says, “but as someone with experience breaking into the Dark One’s palace, I may have a solution for you.”

“Experience breaking into his palace,” David repeats.

Robin nods. “I still have the glamour.” He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small green clover. “When Regina told me what was going on, I figured this might come in handy.”

“Oh good, a plant. Emma is good as rescued,” Hook says.

Robin doesn’t seem annoyed by the sarcasm. “It’s a six leaf clover, mate. Not only capable of casting a powerful glamour spell, but hides one from magical sight, including--”

“From seers,” Hook realizes.

“It was how I managed to sneak in last time,” Robin explains. “Would’ve worked like a charm had I not been captured. But,” he pauses to wave a hand, “that’s neither here nor there. The magic is still good. It could hide all of us.”

“Us?” This comes from Regina, who is looking at her husband like he has two heads.

Robin just smiles at her. “For better or worse, my dear.”

“How did you escape?” asks Hook, who is leaning forward, gaze intense on Robin. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Admittedly, it was luck. I would have died painfully had it not been for Belle.”

“The heir to the Southern Reach, correct?” Hook asks.

“Yes,” Robin answers. “Both fortunately and unfortunately, she left him many years ago. I helped her get to DunBroch, and last I’d heard, she happily married the queen there.”

Hook sighs deeply. “So she is no exit strategy.”

“No, she isn’t. She’s been out of his grasp for decades now, and I’m not eager to ask her to throw herself back in.”

“Not suggesting she does,” Hook replies. “We’ll just need to be careful with how we plan to get out.”

The kettle whistles from the kitchen, and Robin excuses himself to go fetch it.

“What about Emma?” Regina asks, standing; by some wordless agreement with her husband, she goes to the cabinet near the wall and removes several teacups, saucers, and collections of tea leaves. As she places them in front of her guests, she says, “If Rumple wants her for her magic, then she’s probably strong enough to hurt him.”

“She already did,” Hook says, and that draws their attention.

“How?” David asks.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says. Robin renters with the kettle and pours each of them a serving as Hook explains, “We were in a meadow, where you used to teach her to shoot,” he says to Snow, and she feels her breath catch.

Despite accepting Hook’s story as truth, the fact that her daughter loves him doesn’t feel real. It seems more like a story, a fiction recorded in pages for entertainment’s sake. But small things like that—that Emma showed him that field, an intensely personal and special place for their family—say that this is an undeniable reality. Something real that Emma kept perfectly secret all these years.

“Neither of us were armed. Why would we be, it was just—” Hook stares down at his tea, tipping the cup and watching the liquid move. “It was just supposed to be a nice day out. He appeared in the clearing and froze me as soon as I tried to charge at him, but Emma had a knife in her boot.”

“That’s my girl,” Snow says softly.

He looks up at her words, and his answering smile is wistful. “She’s a marvel.” It’s said with such softness, such tenderness, that Snow feels an ache rattle in her chest. It might not feel real in a lot of ways, but with each passing time she hears him speak, she starts to understand a bit more how Hook feels about Emma. She knows David doesn’t quite approve, and she wouldn’t say that she does, yet, but she can’t say in moments like this that she disapproves either.

Hook continues, “Now, this is just a regular knife, right? But Emma threw it and put out his eye. He bled. I’ve hunted the Dark One for nearly three hundred years and never have I seen him bleed. No legend or story or recounting has ever said anything about him bleeding either.”

“He’s vulnerable to her,” Regina concludes.

“He won’t tolerate having a weakness,” Killian says.

“No,” Regina agrees, “but he isn’t so short-sighted that he won’t try to make use of her before he kills her or traps her or permanently imprisons her or takes her heart or—”

“Enough, Regina,” David says. “We get it.”

“And she’s shown no signs of magic at all?”

“Not that I can remember,” Snow says.

“They might not be obvious,” Regina replies. “Maybe when she was a child, she leapt out of a tree and landed poorly, but came away unscathed. Perhaps she was exceptionally good at getting her way, past the point of reason. She likely wasn’t doing it on purpose, or with any sort of finesse.”

“She always had an affinity for injured animals,” Snow says, remembering. “There were no miraculous recoveries or regrown limbs or anything, but even the wild animals seemed calm around her and were willing to let her handle them while injured.”

Regina nods. “Could be a sign of strong light magic. Was there possibly a time when she accidentally set fire to anything? Not like that,” she says at the alarmed look that crosses Snow’s face, “but just a candle lit while she was particularly emotional? Happy or excited or perhaps angry?”

Hook shifts in his seat, a contemplative look crossing his face at that. “I think--” he starts, but he cuts himself off.

“What is it?” Regina prods.

“Nothing,” he says, and Snow can’t help but notice the tips of his ears going red.

Regina doesn’t look amused. “Save me the trouble of deducing and just tell me what you think you saw.”

Hook clears his throat, looking pointedly anywhere but at the current company at the table. “I might have—uh—noticed a lamp lit that I thought I’d put out. After an—” he reaches up to scratch behind his ear, the blush spreading from his ears down his neck and to his cheeks, “intimate moment.”

David makes a choked noise beside her, and Snow elbows him. “Not now, Charming,” she whispers.

Regina blessedly doesn’t press or make any quips. “Strong light magic,” she repeats.

“What does that mean for Emma?” Snow asks, happy to move on from dwelling on her daughter’s sex life.

“It’s the safest kind of magic--drawn from positive emotions, has never caused any recorded emotional spirals, with no known physical detriments. Acts of True Love are made from it. Not much is known about it because of its rarity, but from what I do know,” Regina looks directly at Snow, assurance in her posture and tone, “Emma isn’t like me.”

Snow lets out a breath. It’s a startling statement of personal clarity from Regina—something that Snow never knew her former step-mother would be able to have. To know the damage her own actions caused, to be able to tacitly admit that those actions weren’t something to aspire to, were something to be feared, even… it’s more than Snow ever expected or hoped for.

“So what can Rumplestiltskin do with her power?”

Here, Regina’s expression sours. “If she’s as strong as I think she is? Anything.”

***

“Focus, dearie. Make the mirror show you what you want it to.”

The image wobbles for a moment, and Emma feels like she might snap her jaw with how hard she’d clenching her teeth to just get the goddamn mirror to cooperate. A second later, the image solidifies, showing the Emerald City of Oz. Once she finds it, she lets out a breath and relaxes a bit, the magic holding.

“Impressive,” Rumplestiltskin says. “You are a quick study. Quicker than any I’ve ever taught.”

“Still doesn’t tell me what you brought me here for.”

His answer is acidic, “I promised I wouldn’t kill the pirate; that was the extent of our deal. I am perfectly happy to remedy that if you’re keen to continue prying.”

Emma suppresses a growl. “Fine, but you’re going to have to tell me eventually.”

“And why is that?”

“A lot of this magic is about visualizing, right?” she waves a hand at the magic mirror, still displaying the Emerald City. “I wouldn’t have been able to conjure that if I didn’t know what I was trying to conjure. So whatever it is you clearly want me to do, I’m not going to be able to do it unless you tell me.”

He stares at her silently for a beat, and Emma knows she’s right, but she really, really hopes she hasn’t offended him. She’s heard horrific stories of what the Dark One has done to his enemies, and she doesn’t care to find out if those were true.

Instead of replying to her, he turns, grabs a book off the table behind him, and slaps it down next to her.

This book looks strange--the binding foreign, the printing unlike anything she’s seen in the Enchanted Forest, the paper perfectly white and evenly toned. There’s an illustration in the book, unbelievably detailed and inked across a whole page. “This is--” she says, running her fingers across it, “This is incredible.”

“It’s from another realm,” Rumple says dismissively. He nods at the mirror across from her. “Conjure an image of it.”

The illustration is of a structure unlike anything she’s seen before. It’s like a massive spire, flared at the base and climbing impossible heights into the sky. It’s not stone or brick, but crafted of what looks like crossing iron bars.

Underneath the image is a caption. Tour Eiffel, 1890.

“What realm is this from?” she can’t help but ask.

“The Land Without Magic.”

Emma raises a brow. They built this thing without magic? Interesting. “If there’s no magic there, how can I use magic to see into it?”

“Child’s play,” he says again, like a reminder.

Emma rolls her eyes. Right, because she’s apparently so powerful. Emma was never the greatest at her studies, but at least her tutors were more specific than this.

She focuses her attention on the mirror again. Despite the lackluster instruction, it seems easier this time than it had the first few. Reaching for images from other realms is still a bit dicey, the one from Oz being the hardest so far, and she feels a similar stretch in trying to see this spire, this Tour Eiffel. In her mind, she focuses on the illustration, wonders what would be around it, imagines the people that might walk past it.

This image doesn’t even flicker. It just springs to life on the mirror after a few moments of concentration.

It looks taller than it did in the illustration, she notes, but then she catches a look of Rumple out of the corner of her eye. He looks absolutely astonished, and she realizes he wasn’t expecting her to get it.

She feels a bit of savage satisfaction at that. Serves him right for underestimating her.

His astonished look doesn’t last long, as he stands at attention like an army commander and gestures for her to follow him.

“Come now, Emma,” he says. “I have a task for you.”

#cs ff #captain swan #cs smut #cs au ff #cs au #my fic #canon is whatever i want it to be goodbye

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bluerene · 6 years

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RobStar Week #7 - Heartbeat

Deadline??? What deadline??

It’s nearly four AM and I’m finally finishing up my final submission for RobStar Week 2018. It’s been a wonderful experience and I’m so grateful for all the amazing content and contributors in this fandom. Y’all are so inspirational and talented, I feel humbled by calling myself a writer amongst a group like you.

Shout-out to @lightdusk96 for talking with me every. damn. day. and always being my #1 stan. I LOVE YOU!!!!

If you’re behind, links to each day’s drabble will be at the bottom of the page.

Enough talking, I hope you all enjoy heartbeat.

For the first few months of life as a Titan, Starfire wasn’t entirely sure where she fit. She was friendly enough with the other members of the team, but as an alien on a completely unfamiliar planet, she couldn’t help but feel out of place. It didn’t help that she wasn’t able to bond immediately with her roommates. Beast Boy confused her most of the time. He was cheerful and mischievous, in a way that reminded her of Ryand’r, but she rarely understood his jokes, and he lacked the patience to properly explain what he meant when she asked. Worse, it actually seemed to hurt him when his humor went unnoticed. Eventually she learned that laughing, even if she wasn’t sure why, was the best way to make him happy. And happiness, as she had found, seemed to be the smartest path to friendship. Cyborg was quiet in the beginning. She could feel his pain, and though she didn’t tell him at the time, she understood what he was going through to an extent. Cyborg, who had only ever wanted to be normal, was changed by unstoppable forces into something that didn’t feel like himself. He spent a lot of time brooding, though Beast Boy connected with him early on, establishing a close comradery in the tower. Starfire tried to show interest in the little things - she offered to assist him with the various projects he had running around their new home. She helped him cook (when he allowed it) and teasingly tested his limits in the gym. She made the mistake of offering him comfort over his situation once. He had lashed out, angrily yelling about her inability to understand what he was going through, and stormed off to his room. Though he apologized afterward, Starfire avoided the subject until he felt comfortable enough to bring it up on his own. Years later, he would seek her out when he needed to discuss his past, knowing that she shared some of his demons in hers. As for Raven, Starfire found that giving the empath space was the best way to earn her friendship. The less Starfire talked, the better. The less she tried to engage, the calmer Raven was. Their balance was difficult to find, but after the Puppet King forced them to switch bodies, a bond was formed. Raven told Starfire about her life on Azarath and her relationship with her mother. Her father was a demon, though she claimed not to know his name. She talked about her powers and admitted to the difficulties she faced while controlling them. “I’m sorry I come off cold,” she had said, staring at her lap, “but every day is a learning experience. I still don’t know how deep my magic runs or how far it goes. I don’t know if my powers leak at night, or whether or not using them changes who I am. I can’t afford to get you or anyone else hurt. You’re my...friends. I care about you.” That was most anyone had gotten out of her in the six months they had been working together. Starfire touched her shoulder and smiled. “You do not owe me any explanation, Raven. I am still getting to know you, but I believe I have been with you long enough to know you lead yourself with purpose. You do not choose to do things without serious thought. It is a very admirable trait.” She didn’t tell Raven too much about her own childhood. She talked about life on Tamaran and training on Okaara, but not her status as a royal or her place in the Citadel. Some things, she decided, ran too dark and deep to revisit on a whim. Still, their friendship grew. Starfire would often seek Raven out for meditation and tea and advice. Raven allowed Starfire to drag her around the city, to slumber parties with other members of the quickly expanding Titan Network, and (though it was rare) to concerts and clubs that ran late into the evening. She would never admit it, but Raven knew it was good for her. And she also knew that it was all Starfire’s doing. Robin was the biggest anomaly of them all. He was always kind and helpful and embarrassingly patient with her when she seemed to mess everything up. But Starfire felt something strange around him, and she couldn’t understand what it was. The feeling bubbled up inside her stomach when she watched him fight and train, or when he talked to her about Earthen culture, or shared a sunset on the roof beside her just because he could. It was like admiration, but it ran deeper, right through the pit of her stomach, then back up into her heart. She felt foolish every time she opened her mouth, even when she didn’t say anything of significance. And the worst part was, when she thought they were at their best, he couldn’t help but pull away. Did he resent her? Was she repulsive? Every insecurity she’d ever experienced came flooding in at once. It was a terrible, horrible, awful feeling. And yet, Starfire liked it. “You like him.” “Of course I like him, he is my friend and our leader.” “No, Starfire, I mean you have a crush on him.” “I would never crush Robin!” Starfire replied indignantly, flopping down on her bed. Raven sighed, shutting her book. “Having a crush on someone means you have romantic feelings for them. Like love, but significantly less intense.” The Tamaranian girl’s eyes widened, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. “How do you know?” “It’s pretty obvious. I mean, you two spend a lot of time together, and you both look at each other with the same dumb smile. You never shut up about him. You always sit together and walk together. Need I go on?” Starfire was silent for a moment. “Raven? Do you believe Robin feels the same way about me?” The empath snorted. “I don’t need to look into his mind to see that you two are definitely on the same page.” “But how are you able to tell?” Starfire prodded. “It’s just the way you two are. I don’t know. You would know the signs best.” “Signs…?” “Look, Starfire, I’m probably not the best source of information for this kind of stuff,” Raven said hesitantly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Please, Raven, you know you are the only one I can speak with regarding this.” “I guess I would say...pay attention to prolonged touching. Body language, tone. Whether or not he seeks out conversation with you, if he likes to find reasons for you to be alone together. Most of the physical signs aren’t ones you’d be able to see. Eyes are expressive, but he wears a mask. Heartbeats are a great indicator of emotion, but it’s probably not something you’d be able to take note of easily. I don’t know why you’re worried though, because anyone could tell you he feels the same.” “I see,” Starfire said thoughtfully, tilting her head, “I disagree with you regarding Robin, as I have no proof as to what he feels for me, but I appreciate your candor, Raven. There is so much I have yet to learn of Earth. I feel as though I will never stop being without a clue.” “You’ll get there, Star. You’ve only been here half a year, it’s going to take a little more time for you to get to where you want to be,” Raven’s lips quirked up into a half-smile, “and I have a secret. I’ll share it with you if you promise not to ask me too much about boy-stuff.” “Oooh, what is it?” “A stack of magazines in a box under my bed. All the boy advice you’d ever need.” Raven allowed Starfire to borrow her stack of Sixteens, Girls’ Guide, and Cosmo Magazines for a week, certain that if her alien friend had them for any longer, the secret of their possession would become public. Starfire devoured them as quickly as she could, hopeful that they would help her understand her own feelings a bit better. The next time she was with Robin, she paid close attention to his actions, and to her own. He only touched her arm twice, but their proximity was such that they were always brushing up against one another. The time after that, it was three times on the arm and once on the waist. They stood beside each other and watched the sunset. Two weeks later, during a sparring session, he discovered she was ticklish on her sides. They landed on the mat, him on top of her, wiggling madly as she tried to disengage from his attack. “Please, Robin!” She pleaded, giggling as he poked her in the side, “Cease!” Starfire flipped them, straddling his thighs as she grabbed his hands. “You are trapped,” she said playfully. Robin grinned, “are you sure about that?” She nodded resolutely and shifted her seat on his lap, “I am the positive.” He blushed, realizing the position they were in, “ahhhh...you’re right. Definitely right. Wanna wrap up this session?” There he was, pulling away again. Starfire frowned and slid off his legs, “as you wish.” He stood up and brushed off the front of his pants, offering her his hand, “come on.” She took it and allowed him to help her up. They stood together for a moment, stuck in an awkward silence. Robin ran his hands through his hair, “well...next week, then? This was fun. Good. You’re getting pretty good with the staff.” Starfire made a little noise and shook her head, “I am out of practice. I know I can do better than this.” “Just don’t push yourself too hard,” he said, “you’ll get there.” “Robin,” Starfire blurted out, placing her hand on his chest, “I thank you. For everything.” He flushed, backing away from her touch, “anytime, Star.” She should have taken offense to his hasty exit. She should have been heartbroken or offended or angry that he would leave her there, confused by his desperation to get away from her. But she wasn’t. Because for a few moments, she felt the change. While her fingers were splayed on his chest, his palm directly over his heart, she could the feel the pace of beating shift. It beat faster when she touched him. And that, for the time being, was enough proof for her.

#its robstar week bitches #robstar #robin #starfire #I DID IT #DONE

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