Well, here we go with a little foray into the world of Swan Queen. Let's see what comes of this endeavor! The story takes place after Pan's Curse is cast and basically disregards canon from thereon. If you're particular about canon adherence, this might be upsetting. Hope you enjoy it. Updates won't be regular, apologies! Enjoy, and hope you're spending this time of year with good food, good company and restful nights!

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My gift to you is good memories... a good life for you and Henry. You'll have always been together…

The bed is wide and soft.

When you cross the town line, you'll have the life you always wanted…

She is solid and warm.

My gift to you is good memories...

Dim light catches expressive eyes.

You'll have always been together…

An excited child launches himself onto the bed.

You will have the past you always wanted…

She curls in bed with her son and his mother on Christmas morning, and nothing could be better.

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The world churned in constant flux, cloud and mist rolling in and changing the view without pause. One moment the horizon manifested itself as a bold line of wet lead against the washed out sky. The next, it vanished entirely, sea and sky indistinguishable but where dark smudges of ragged hills suggested land. Where fitful cloud thinned and sunlight could hit the water, it favoured the far coast, a bright silver line shining beneath imposing cliffs.

The wind brought moisture with it, not determined enough to be called rain but still enough to soak and rob warmth. It chilled a woman with solemn eyes, causing her to curl into the warmth of her cloak. She adjusted a thick scarf to cover her stinging nose as the boat bearing her finally crunched onto a stony beach. She turned to pay the ferryman, trying to ignore his wary movements. The boy with him, pimpled and gangling, gawked openly at her, fumbling in his anxious state.

Once, such displays of fear and deference would have thrilled her, potent reminders of her own power and position. But years passed in a distant land had changed her, in many ways, and she now found their behaviour vaguely discomfiting.

Once landed, she stepped over the side of the boat and onto the beach. The island had no pier or jetty so she carefully picked her way over round stones.

"She has her own boat, for the journey back," the youth offered as he loaded bales of hide and antler onto the boat.

His older companion grunted. "Failing that, we return after a moon's turn. Watch for us from the first hour after dawn."

She nodded her understanding and expressed her thanks, lifting her pack and watching them launch into the hissing surf. They dipped their sturdy oars and the speed with which they receded was surprising. Soon, they were a distant speck and she forced herself to ignore her trepidation.

She adjusted her bag and made her way up to the shore proper, spying a path through withered grass. The wind, never absent in this part of the world, grew more insistent then, whipping her short hair around her face. Onwards, her boots sinking into the mossy ground as she followed the trail.

She took stock of her surroundings. To her left, ragged cliffs loomed, sheltering a copse of willow, ash and alder. The trees were bare and grey in the early winter, long stripped of leaves and berries. To the right, rush filled fields clung to the flat ground between jagged outcroppings of stone. They were populated by a flock of sodden sheep, trudging enthusiastically over the windswept island.

The trail turned to the left now, running along the lee side of the cliff. Creaking in the wind, the pale branches of trees rubbed against one another, the hollow strikes like bones knocking together. They clung to shelter, all half twisted by the weather, desperate for refuge from the incessant wind. The path became lighter, naked chalk underfoot even as trees closed in overhead. She heard the sound of running water, so different from the moaning crash of the surf, and noticed a little stream had appeared beside the path. It sang alongside her as it tumbled over stones she found herself following its course into a small glade.

There was a small grassy field, with raised beds and fenced gardens lining the perimeter. Opposite her, where the hill banked steeply up, she could make out another chalk path. In the centre of the clearing sat a little stone house with a sagging thatch roof. It was built from lumps of local stone and was desperately in need of a fresh coat of whitewash. An old barrel served as chimney, blue smoke curling elegantly from it. The gardens closest, particularly those beds that sported mostly flowers, were decorated with flotsam and jetsam artfully arranged.

She paused, wondering how best to approach when the door opened and a figure emerged into the morning light. It was another woman, dressed in woolen trousers and a tunic lined with rabbit fur. She was taller than her guest, sure and strong in appearance, older as well. Her boots were well mended and her grey hair neatly trimmed. Her gaze was cautious, but not unkind.

"Well met," she called, shielding her eyes from the low sun. "Who goes there? Friend or foe?"

"Not a foe," the visitor answered, "someone seeking your help. Though I doubt that will earn me a place in the ranks of your friends," she added, with wry humour. Two enormous dogs exited the cottage, faces placid but their size gave the newcomer pause for a moment.

The woman barked a laugh. "They say a friend in need is a friend, indeed. Who are you?"

She drew a breath. "My name is Regina Mills." There were titles, honours and styles she could claim, but they meant little in that place. The other woman regarded her with curious eyes.

"I am Liath." She opened her door and motioned for Regina to enter the little cottage. "Come, eat. If you have travelled here, you've had a long journey."

And so, Regina entered the home of a hermit, months after embarking on her quest, an emotion distressingly similar to hope rising in her breast.

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Emma Swan tousled her son Henry's hair as he bounded over to her, schoolbag slung over one shoulder.

"Hey, ma," he chirped.

"Hey, kid," she replied, grinning at him. "So lemme get this right. No soccer?"

"No!"

"No drama club?"

Nope!"

She scratched the back of her neck. "No literary society?"

"Ma!" he laughed, "no! Nothing this evening. Pizza and root beer."

She nodded seriously, but she never could comport herself too sternly around her son for long. She smiled fondly and they began trooping down the street. Henry provided a running commentary of the previous week as Emma listened intently. Her son had taken a while to settle in, to make friends, but he'd blossomed during the last two months.

As a result, she'd seen less of him. It smarted, an ache of longing and loneliness reverberating in his absence that had often robbed her of breath. But what young person didn't need some time away from his mother, to figure out how to actually be around other people? He was sorely in need of that and she'd never begrudge his occasional absence.

They spoke of inconsequential things, primarily their pizza order, as they strode home. They had a weekend of movies planned and both were looking forward to quiet time together. There was a chilly rain falling around them, washing colour from the wet streets of New York, and neither desired to linger. They strode up the stairs to their apartment, skipping and jostling each other giddily. They paused to hold the door for a woman lugging a box, offering her a cheerful greeting, before retreating into their home and into pyjamas.

Curled on the couch, pizza and root beer to hand, they embarked on an ambitious extended edition Lord of the The Rings marathon. Henry tucked his head beneath Emma's chin when he had eaten his fill, the pair cuddling together.

The movie progressed, familiar and spectacular. Emma held her son loosely, letting him seek comfort and distance as he needed. He was on the cusp, on the very edge, between being a little boy and a young man. Her heart clenched at the thought.

"Mom really loved this part," he said quietly, during Arwen's flight from the Nazgul.

Sorrow engulfed her briefly and she clasped him more tightly to her side.

"She did," she agreed. Henry was quiet then, nothing else to say that hadn't already been said a hundred times. She kissed the crown of his head and closed her eyes, recalling a shining gaze and dark hair.

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Liath was a courteous host, treating her guest with the utmost respect, as though she still reigned as queen. However, despite her humble settings, she apologised for neither the simple food she offered nor the rough stools beneath them. Regina found it oddly refreshing and suspected that the other woman would have treated the ferryman's apprentice with the same quiet civility.

They ate in silence before Liath rose, pouring them each a mug of spiced, mulled mead. It steamed faintly and Regina drank it gratefully, warmed and soothed by the rich taste.

"I heard of a Regina, once," Liath began. "A queen to the south. She vanished, along with her whole realm, decades ago." Her eyes were steady when they met hers, curious and expectant.

Regina nodded. "That was me. I cast a curse that brought us all to the land without magic."

Recognition crossed Liath's face and Regina continued. "The curse was broken some time ago but I was forced to undo it."

"Bringing you all back here."

Regina felt a grimace cross her face. "Not all of us. My son was born there. The curse never touched him, though he lived in the world it created." She swallowed thickly. "He's still there, with his mother."

"Was she of that world, as well?" Liath asked, sipping her mead.

"No. She was born here, but raised there. She's Snow White's daughter, the saviour." She sighed. "Destined to break the curse, and escape it, she stayed with our son. Undoing the curse broke the bonds between the worlds. The portals and paths are all closed."

Liath nodded then, understanding on her face. "Well, that explains why you came to me."

Regina nodded, feeling the weight of two months on the road heavy on her shoulders. The stranger before her was little more than a rumor; a whisper told in half forgotten legends. A person with unique abilities, able to travel along paths others could not.

"Do you wish to return to them?" she asked, with sympathy. "You must miss them terribly."

Regina shook her head, though she agreed. "I'd give anything to see Henry again. But I can't go there, I need them to come here. Emma needs to be here. Her mother is pregnant and the child is being threatened. We believe that her light magic is the only thing that stands a chance of saving it."

Liath nodded at that, eyes solemn in the dim mingled fire and day light inside her cottage. "The saviour?"

Regina nodded. "For better or for worse, she is. The product of true love."

Liath snorted with amused disdain, which actually made Regina feel quite a bit better. "That is more challenging, though I have visited that realm before."

Regina sighed. "They won't remember, either. The life they had ceased to exist when the curse was undone. I crafted memories for them, of a life together. They have no recollection of me, the curse or anything else." She felt her lip quirk into a smile. "I'm hoping I can jog their memory."

Liath's eyebrows lifted and she dropped a hand to the neck of the dog beside her. She was quiet for a long moment, staring into the fire. "Why should I help you?"

Regina considered the question, and not for the first time. She had run through rewards, threats and every form of persuasion she'd possessed on the journey there. She took in the lean face across from her, mouth pressed into a thin line.

"No one else can," she said, an edge of desperation to her voice.

"There will be a price to pay," Liath said, softly and sadly.

Regina laughed bitterly at that. "Oh, there always is."

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So, it begins. Drop me a line a let me know what you think!