Red found herself pacing outside the stables, scowling at anyone who strayed too close. In fairness, most of those lurching about were trying to give her booze, but she really wasn't in the mood to celebrate. The courtyard echoed with the pealing of bells, welcoming the safe birth of a royal child and while relief that Snow and the baby were presumably safe suffused her heart, she burned with curiosity to know what the hell had happened in there. The wave of magic that had spread out from the keep had been profoundly terrifying, ancient and austere. It had set her wolf howling even as it left Henry wailing.

He'd clung to Conn and despite their best efforts, hadn't been able to gather himself to answer any of her questions. Reduced him to gulping down sobs, loss and sorrow warring as tears streamed down his face. She'd gathered that he remembered and her jaw clenched when she speculated about exactly what he'd remembered. The eerie monotony of a grey Maine town and the pervading disquiet that had preceded the breaking of the curse, perhaps. The evil queen flinging fireballs in the town hall.

Poor kid.

Roland had gone to Henry's side, patting his shoulder in an effort to soothe him and Red had left the boys together in the stable. Fiachra had gone to fetch some water and she'd stepped outside with him, ostensibly to allow Henry some privacy, but also to gather her wits. The wolf was close to the surface, her senses sharp and her nerves jangling as she paced in the noisy gathering twilight. Though flight now seemed unnecessary, she was still twitching with the need to do something.

Her mind spun with speculation. What the fuck had actually happened in there? Did Emma remember, too? Her left ear twitched as she caught a familiar voice amidst the din. She peered across the courtyard, spying Regina and Robin emerging from a door. Regina looked exhausted, her face blotchy and pale. Robin was frowning with concern, ready to assist if she stumbled but maintaining a respectful distance.

"These stables," he offered, gesturing. The acrid scent of fear and the metallic tang of blood drifted on the air, raising the hackles on her neck. The woman approaching looked nothing like the terrible sorceress who'd tormented them all for so long. Who'd hunted her and done everything in her power to destroy Snow's happiness. She looked something like the woman that Emma Swan-Mills (and Emma Swan, but only when extremely drunk) had spoken about so fondly. Like the young queen who'd helped enchant a red cloak.

"Thank you," Regina sighed to Robin. "And thank you for what you did back there," she continued, glancing to the side, dark eyes grateful. "You had no reason to stand with us."

"I disagree," he snorted. "You and your lady wife saved my son's life. I would not stand by and see your sister executed in cold blood without a trial."

With that, they reached Red, pausing at the sight of her standing sentinel outside the door. "Is Snow OK?" Red blurted, taking in the blood staining Regina's clothes, "is the baby?"

"They will be," Regina replied, wrung out and so utterly defeated that Red felt her stomach sink. Emma was nowhere to be seen and all moisture fled her mouth, suddenly aware that despite the bells, they had not won a complete victory. "Snow's sleeping now."

"Are the boys alright?" Robin asked, motioning to the door.

Red sucked in a breath, nodding but holding a hand up. "They're fine," she said, firmly. "But, Regina..." She clenched her jaw, wondering how to tell the other woman that her son remembered his old life and had been weeping since. How to break the news to her, not knowing how the boy would react to seeing his adoptive mother.

Dark eyes, grey bags beneath them, met her own, heartache spreading over her face like ash collapsing in a cold hearth. Her shoulders sagged and Regina brought her arms around herself, ducking her head.

"He remembers as well?" she choked.

"As well?" Red echoed, her throat clenching. Regina's dark head nodded and something stung within her breast. Oh, Emma.

"He's upset," Red warned, watching Regina draw into herself even further. Making herself small and tight, as though such a simple act might protect her from what she was about to face. Red swallowed and met Robin's wide, confused eyes. She drew in a breath and faced the former queen again. Madame Mayor. The woman her god daughter loved. Someone who'd literally gone to the ends of the earth to find her family and retrieve them. Who'd given Emma a family for the first time in her life. The cagey but soft eyed woman who'd arrived back in Misthaven, so attentive and adoring with Henry and Emma.

She stepped forward and dared to place a hand on Regina's shoulder. She was slight underhand, surprisingly so. Shorter than Ruby had thought and almost skinny, the bone and sinew articulating the slope from ear to arm smaller and more delicate than anticipated. Red ducked her head, catching Emma's scent still wrapped around Regina. A whine of concern almost escaped her throat, the wolf sensing distress in Emma's chosen, and she tightened her grasp.

"He needs his mom," Red stated, softly. Dark eyes lifted to hers, surprised relief spilling over without hesitation. "Go," she huffed, stepping back and allowing Regina to rush past her, Robin close on her heels. She closed her eyes and sighed, raising her face to the night air, worry gripping her at the realisation that she couldn't catch Emma's scent in the vicinity at all.

Her wolf whined within her chest, longing for the simple comfort of a happy pack, raw hearted. She closed her eyes and let her chin drop, wondering how they were all going to navigate this mess.

Henry squeezed his eyes shut once more, trying to banish the images flooding through his mind. Shadows gathering in Storybrooke and Pan's cold voice dripping poison into his ear. His mother flinging fireballs in the town hall, no fear at the sight, only bitter anger. Emma cold and awkward with him, watching him like a bomb primed to explode.

He sniffled, feeling his nose run and drew back, blinking as a soft rag was placed in his hand. He felt as though he'd been crying for hours, bawling as he sat crumpled on a pile of straw in the stables. He swiped tears away with his knuckles, annoyed with himself. A solid arm was wrapped around his back and he turned, blinking up at Conn.

He dropped his gaze, embarrassed, and realised that Bran was sprawled in front of him, head heavy in his lap. Oisín was sitting beside him, too, quiet and steady as their shoulders brushed. The sound of bells ringing outside caught his attention and he blinked, frowning at the noise.

"It's a celebration," Fiachra offered, approaching him with a cup of water. "Queen Snow gave birth." His dark eyes were kind and sympathetic as he offered Henry a drink. Roland was behind the tall boy's legs, peering out at the scene. Henry took a greedy gulp, rubbing again at his eyes.

"So they're OK?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Snow and my moms?" His heart burned at the thought. At the memory of jumping into their bed on rainy Sunday mornings to share a story in stark contrast to the oppressive silence stifling Mifflin Street after he'd begun to question the curse. His mother austere and cold. Fights. Another curse. Emma aloof and nervy as she tried to settle him in the loft. A pair of laughing moms in shorts taking him to the beach. His mothers kissing at their wedding.

"I don't think they'd be celebrating if something bad had happened," Fiachra reasoned. "We'll find out soon, I imagine."

"What happened to you, Henry?" Oisín asked, softly. Henry dropped his gaze to Bran's wide head and clenched his jaw. He played with a soft ear, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

"I remember," he bit, the urge to cry rising again. "Sorry, I'm acting like a baby." His friends needed no explanation beyond that, silence spreading beneath frowns and sympathetic eyes.

"You're sad," Conn stated plainly, tightening his grip, "cry if you need to. You're not made of stone." He dropped his head onto Henry's, hugging him firmly. Roland trotted forward, sitting on Oisín's knee and reaching out a tiny hand to pat Henry's shoulder.

"Dere, dere," he proclaimed, not quite able to pronounce there and Henry felt a smile tug at his lips. "It's OK, Henry."

Fiachra chuckled sadly then, sitting cross legged in the straw. Art joined him, Sceolta peering over his shoulder with soft eyes as the redhead leaned against Fiachra's strong shoulder. "Roland, you're a wise wee man."

Henry almost laughed at that, taking a small sip of water and running a thumb over Bran's soft ear again. The velvet twitched, tickled by the motion. His friends knew about his memories, how he and his ma didn't share the same ones as the rest of Storybrooke. What his mom had revealed and the stories they'd all heard about the Evil Queen. Though the things his mom had told him hadn't prepared him, not really, knowledge nothing compared with the tempest of emotion associated with remembering. He swallowed, unsure where to even begin sorting through the cascade in his mind.

"What do you remember?" Oisín asked, voice gentle and curious.

"Two lives," Henry replied. "One with mom. One with ma and mom," he said, simply. Tears welled again. "One where we were all happy and one where..." he squeezed his eyes shut.

"That must be so strange," Oisín mused. "The other life," he began, carefully, "what happened?"

"The curse," he said, voice trembling. Conn tightened his arm again and Bran whined. "My mom cast the curse and when I started to realise there was something wrong, things got bad." He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories. Confronting his mother about his adoption and her agonized expression. Apologies to him, the assurances that she'd meant to tell him in her own time dismissed as lies. Distance and silence growing between them until it all came to a head with the book. "Ma broke it, and things got crazy. There were monsters and magic and I got kidnapped."

"Feck," Conn huffed, "that's mad." Henry nodded, not disagreeing in the slightest.

"Mom and ma fought over me," he continued, softly. "My mom had done some really bad things and I didn't want to stay with her." Her eyes dark and sad as she'd told him to go with David, his fear at the sight of the sword in his grandpa's hand. Afraid of her hurting Emma or the townsfolk. Angry at her for being a liar and a big phoney.

"She hurt you?" Art asked, his accent strong and face pinched by surprise. Conn's arm tightened again and Fiachra reached out to the worried lad, placing a hand on his narrow shoulder. Art bit his lip and ducked his head, chagrined by his outburst,but Sceolta nudged his great head beneath a bony elbow, whining softly as Art hugged him tightly.

Henry frowned, recalling angry words and brusque treatment. Both he and his mother needling each other until irritation boiled over. Suspended by vines, but not harmed. Too stubborn and similar to one another to know how to proceed. Frustrated by her but never afraid that she'd actually hurt him.

"Not like that," he edged, slowly.

"They don't have to lift a hand to harm you," Conn said, softly. Tears welled again and he remembered Emma trying to leave them, his utter desperation to have her just believe him. Disappointment that the saviour hadn't been the knight in shining armour he'd hoped for. Guilt at the negative thoughts crowding his mind.

The mines. Neverland. The approaching curse. Waking and being held between them, for the first time. The wishing well. Emma trying to learn how to be his mom and his mom seeking redemption. Tears spilled over his cheeks again, falling onto his hands and Bran's head.

"I loved them," he sniffled, "even though some really crappy things happened. Like, things were starting to get better. We were all working together."

"I think that's the way of it," Oisin said, solemnly, "they're your parents and you love them, even when they make mistakes."

Something loosened in Henry's chest at that, drawing fresh tears to his eyes. He was completely overwhelmed, then, the new (old?) memories flooding him and unquiet emotions running rampant. The solidity of his friends was comforting, solidarity and understanding in the fragrant straw of the stables. He had no idea how he was meant to feel, then, too caught up in the tumult. For all that, though, he found his heart aching with worry for his moms.

The door opened and he watched Roland scamper away with a happy shout. Conn squeezed his shoulder and lifted his head. Oisín cleared his throat and Henry scrubbed at his eyes.

His mother stood, pale and uncertain in the doorway. Her blue gown was bloodied, the hems and knees red. She had smudges of blood on her arms and her eyes were brimming with tears. She looked as though she'd seen a ghost and the sight shocked him into sitting up straight.

"Mom!" he cried, fear seizing him as he burst from the pile of literal and figurative hounds, skidding to a stop in front of her. Concern set his heart pounding, pushing aside more complex emotions. "Mom, what happened?! Are you OK?"

She blinked, frowning as he gestured at her clothes and she swallowed. "It's not mine," she assured, softly. "It's from the delivery," she continued, voice shaking. "Snow had a baby boy," she informed them, raising her eyes to the others in the stable, almost nervously. "They're both well. Resting."

Relief flooded him and without further thought, he flung himself forward, throwing his arms around his mom and squeezing her tightly. She kissed the top of his head and held him to her heart, one hand smoothing his hair with trembling fingers.

"I remember, mom," he gulped. He felt her chest begin to shake then, quiet sobs muffled into his hair. He closed his eyes, hearing her heart thump beneath his ear and letting her presence wrap around him, soothing and comforting. She kissed his head and drew back, tears in her warm, dark eyes.

"Henry," she choked.

"I remember," he repeated, relief settling through his heart, calming him. He peeked out and noticed that the Hounds had stepped back, allowing privacy, though Art and Conn were watching them with careful eyes. Memories swirled through him, then, of duck ponds and baking cookies. Reading together and cuddling after a nightmare. Movie nights and playing in the garden. His mom holding him when he'd been sick. Their journey together from the island and all the genuine happiness they'd shared. He closed his eyes and realised that while there was a lot to sort though, in that moment, in her arms, he felt safe and loved.

And perhaps it was because he was bigger and stronger, but the desperate clinginess he'd felt in too many of embraces in Storybrooke was absent. She was trembling and crying against him and he inhaled, standing up as straight as he could and rubbing her back, the way she'd done for him. The way he'd tried to for his ma after his mom's funeral. His arms taught with the desire to hold her and to be there for her. To be supportive and understanding and to listen to whatever she had to say. To be a good man for his moms.

"Mom," he asked, worry lancing through him, "where's ma?"

She drew back, wiping her eyes. She cupped his cheek and he leaned into her hand, recalling an afternoon spent picking blackberries. An earnest moment on the stairs. The mine. The well.

"She remembered too, sweetheart," she replied, her voice wobbling. "She needs a little space."

His chest clenched at that. Henry Swan-Mills knew that his ma sometimes needed space but Henry Mills remembered Emma's tendency to run. Half of him knew his ma would never leave them while the other recalled eating a poisoned turnover to force her to stay. His mother bore an utterly broken expression on her face and his heart stuttered when he realised that while he and Emma might have new memories, his mother didn't. She was the same person who'd laid out clothes for his ma that morning. Who'd fixed her collar and hair with incredible gentleness and really looked like she wanted to kiss her.

He'd been convinced, in one life, that she'd only been pretending. That she hadn't really loved him, suspected that she really didn't know how to love anyone. But the woman who'd travelled with them from the island was the same woman Henry remembered raising him in Storybrooke, before their relationship had become so difficult. She'd been so soft and kind to Emma, as well, though she'd almost seemed afraid of her, at times.

She loved her, he realised. His mom loved Emma. Somehow, in all the craziness of the last few weeks on the road, she'd fallen for her. And Emma had run, like a giant dummy.

"We gotta find her, mom," he urged, voice cracking, aching to think of his ma alone but also knowing that his mother needed her. That he needed her. Needed them. The thought crossed his mind that he'd just gotten his family back and every inch of him filled with determination to not let it slip away.

His mom's lip trembled and she pressed a hand to her mouth, unable to speak. He stepped back to her, hugging her as firmly as he could.

"I don't think she wants to see me," she admitted, eventually, sounding sad and frightened.

He frowned at that. "Well, I dunno about her but I was pretty freaked out," and still was, honestly. "So I think we should find her. This is the kind of time you need your family."

He drew back, gently, keeping his hand on her arm. "We're still a family, right?" he asked, cursing himself for his timid, questioning tone.

His mom nodded, bending to meet his eyes. "We are, Henry, I promise," she vowed, her voice low and rough. He blinked at the intensity in her eyes, the sincerity, and he wondered who was really the truest believer. "You, me and your mother are a family. And we love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, mom," he said, the words coming easily, the confidence he felt saying them familiar. He buried his face back in his mom's shoulder and she kissed his head. They had a lot of things to talk about, and things weren't likely to be easy, but he believed with utter certainty that they would face all that together.

All three of them.

Liath nimbly snagged a mug of ale from a slightly wobbly soldier and strode through the courtyard with weary purpose. She'd left Emma snoring on her bed and decided to see what chaos had been unleashed by the so-called saviour's actions. She took a long sip of beer and crossed the flag stones, dodging people dancing in celebration.

Sceotla, the brat, was sprawled in front of one of the stables, tongue lolling and breath fogging before him. She raised an eyebrow as she approached and he flopped his head down, not at all inclined to move. She rolled her eyes and stepped over him, muttering as she went.

If she'd been troubled by the chaos outside, then inside was far worse. The Hounds were clustered in a corner, fretful and uncertain, while Regina and Henry stood wrapped in an embrace. Red was loitering just inside the door, a frown on her brow. Robin and several Merry Men stood by, all trying to establish what had happened to the Queen.

"Evenin'," Liath sighed, sipping her beer and taking in the unruly scene with a raised eyebrow. Mother and son drew apart, talking quietly together for a moment. The relief on their faces was plain to see, tinged as it was with sorrow and loss.

"He remembers," Red offered with a sigh.

"So does Emma."

"Fuck."

"Fuck, is right," she agreed. She handed Ruby her mug and headed towards Regina and Henry, motioning for her to follow. The pair noticed them and Regina turned to her with what might have been described as a sheepish expression, but only by people with very poor self preservation skills. Henry seemed a bit dazed, but had an arm around Regina's waist, eyeing the Merry Men with caution. He led his mother over to a barrel and she sank onto it, exhaustion plain to see.

"Liath," Regina greeted.

"Regina," she replied, reclaiming her ale from Red, earning a huff. The wolf tipped her head to one side, causing Regina to rub her forehead wearily. Some of the boys and a few of Robin's men drifted closer, faces curious in the flickering lantern light as they requested news. Regina was quiet for a long moment before she began to speak, recounting the events that had happened with a heavy voice.

Liath already had a good idea of what had occurred and so spent her time watching the folk around her. Red was standing with her mouth agog, as were most of the Hounds. Robin appeared awestruck, his eyes wide as Regina continued. Henry, however, was fidgeting, eyes darting around as his mother spoke. Liath took a sip of beer and nodded a greeting to him, causing the young man to dart forward to hug her. She clapped his shoulder, earning a fond smile from his mother, before she continued her tale.

Liath took a step to the side, carefully bringing Henry with her, keeping themselves within the group's peripheral vision but on the very edge of it.

"Liath," he hissed, "my ma?! Where is she?"

"In the castle, still," she replied. "Resting."

"We gotta find her," he urged, "mom and me. She's all alone."

Liath felt a smile stretch her lips and glanced down at him. "Then why are you both still here?"

He blinked, then, turning back to his mother, regarding her with the serious eyes of a child. With the furrowed brow of a young man. "She's scared," he whispered. "Because she loves ma and she's scared ma won't love her anymore." He frowned, shaking his head, as though baffled by the notion.

"That's why she's still here," she allowed, a grin breaking out. "Why are you still here, young man?"

He blinked at her and she winked at him. She clucked her tongue and Bran appeared, dark eyes disapproving and holding something like irritation. "He'll guide you," she gave the lad a gentle push. "Keep to the edge of the room until you get to the door."

Bright hazel eyes shining, Henry didn't even take the time to thank her before he padded to the wall, grabbing Bran's wide collar and slipping unseen from the room. She sipped her beer and sighed, listening to Regina answer questions from Red and Robin for a moment before she stepped forward, catching their attention. They passed a few incredulous remarks before Regina wavered, exhaustion plain to see, and Liath shooed the others to go and celebrate.

She fetched some water, tending to Regina as she had Emma. Regina appeared heartbroken, but wasn't panicking, which Liath considered an improvement. The poise of a Queen, no doubt.

"So they remember," she stated, after the silence between them began to wear on her patience.

"That they do," Regina agreed, gripping the cup in desperate hands. She frowned and glanced around the stable, eyes widening with concern as she searched for her son.

"Henry?"

"Has gone to find Emma," Liath reassured her, adopting her best plámásing tone. "He's safe. Bran's with him."

"Safer than with me," Regina scoffed bitterly, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Happier than with me."

Liath folded her arms at that and frowned. "Now, how did you come up with such a ridiculous notion?"

Regina shook her head, wrapping her arms around her ribs. "It took me leaving his life for him to find happiness."

What bollocks.

"Yes, of course. The happiness that stemmed from him remembering his loving mother. And his other loving mother. And remembering them loving each other," Liath challenged.

Regina frowned mightily at that, shaking her head, pursing her lips. "I still don't understand how that came to be."

Liath resisted the urge to roll her eyes but did gulp down a rather large mouthful of ale.

"Well, when you cast the spell giving them memories, what did you actually do?" she asked, scratching her ear idly.

Regina frowned then, her gaze growing distant as it turned inwards. She set the cup of water aside and began weaving her fingers together. "There wasn't much time. I just wished, just," she bit her lip, brow creasing, "I just poured everything into him being happy."

"And it never occurred to you," Liath offered, gentling her voice, "that such happiness might include you? Might require you?"

A muscle in Regina's jaw hopped at that, teeth clenched as she turned her face away.

Liath sighed, shaking her head. "For some of us, magic follows the heart before the head. Emotion before imagination. I think that's what happened, you know."

"That's what went wrong, you mean," Regina corrected, her voice hollow. "I wanted something. Even if I didn't realise it, or could admit it, I wanted it." She squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her chin. "I wanted them."

Liath frowned at that, biting her lip, sensing that it had taken Regina a lot to admit to such a thing.

"You told me we wouldn't know the true price of the quest until it was over. And here we are," Regina murmured, wrapping her arms around herself, defeat in her voice. "I didn't really even know that was what I wanted, or perhaps part of me did. A quiet part of me." She laughed, humourless and rough. "A good way to lose something. Wanting it. That's what always happens to me."

Liath frowned, sensing they were about to trip down paths thick with the weeds of self hatred, paths unlikely to lead to useful avenues of discourse.

"You told me you had nothing to lose, Regina," she reminded, dipping her head until she met dark eyes. "And I knew then, with utter certainty, that your heart would be stripped bare. Not because you were cold or uncaring, but because you feel things as though you're about to explode.

"And I have brought folk to my island before," she admitted, swallowing thickly against the guilt that was suddenly harder to ignore than usual, "to do them a favour, as you asked, or to help them fulfill their destiny or some such nonsense," she waved a hand. "And I worried about you. I wasn't ever completely sure that you'd survive to the end."

"There's darkness in me," Regina murmured.

"As you say," Liath agreed, though she really didn't, "and indulging that darkness is always easier than comprehending it. Indulgence doesn't come with the burden of acknowledging your own humanity. And you know better than most how compelling a familiar path can be," she said, something cold and dense in her belly at the frown that creased Regina's brow. At the churning knowledge of just how deeply the woman in front of her, her friend, could hate herself.

"I'll never escape it," Regina whispered, "I'll never be free from it."

Liath paused carefully, swallowing a mouthful of beer and thinking before she spoke. "You're not the same woman who would have thrown a fire ball at me, executed me, for speaking up." She sighed, the urge to help strong in her. "You're someone I'd almost trust to walk the cliffs alone, now."

Expressive eyes the colour of beech leaves in autumn met her own, eyelashes spiky with tears and cheeks puffy. Her hair was wild and she had blood on her temple where she'd brushed a curl back behind her ear. She was pulling at her own fingers, hunched around herself as she perched on the barrel. Liath smiled at her, fondness and mild exasperation warring with one another. She'd never quite understand the urge to equate the mental peregrinations of a wounded heart with a lack of moral fibre. She suspected it wasn't the time or place for such things to be discussed, though. Regina needed someone to be gentle with her, and bloody Emma was out of commission for a bit.

Regina shifted, still twisting her hands together and swallowed, clearly attempting to compose herself. Liath resisted the urge to order her to go find her wife, knowing that the pair had to figure this new situation out for themselves. You couldn't force a heart, she mused. Horse to water, and all that.

"I should find Henry," Regina stated, after a long while, clearly uncomfortable with their discussion and unilaterally deciding it finished. Liath let her go unchallenged, for the minute at least.

"Oh, Bran is bringing him to Emma. They'll talk, affirm their love for one another." She frowned. "I doubt Emma has the guts to approach you today," she mused, wryly. "Don't hold it against her."

"Will she run?" Regina asked, sounding much younger than she appeared to be. Vulnerable and nervous. "Emma has... She's run before."

"She might," Liath allowed. "It's what she knows. She's seen another way to be, but who knows if she'll accept it."

She lifted a single brow and regarded Regina and the wounded, craving heart on her sleeve. People were rarely much good at the tricky business of figuring themselves out, she knew. As much as you couldn't tell anyone what to think, you could sometimes help them along their way.

"Imagine if we actually started learning from our experiences?" she teased wryly. "What would we have to tell stories about?"

Henry pelted through narrow corridors, following behind Bran as the big dog trotted on. They'd probably knocked a few people on their backsides in the courtyard, but Henry's sympathy was limited. They shouldn't have been staggering around like idiots, he reckoned. Down the southern corridor, turning up towards the library, his feet slapping on the stone flags.

Memories flooding him still. Taking a bus to Boston and feeling immensely peeved when he'd gotten into so much trouble over it. Finding Emma on her birthday, not expecting his birth mother to look quite so girly. Guilty relief when she'd changed into her leather jacket. The slowly dawning understanding (relief, even) that Emma wasn't going to take him from his mom, shock when she did.

His goofy ma lying on her belly beside him in their old apartment, helping him colour. His mom coming home from college and curling beside them, a hand on ma's back. Pride when his ma had brought home the deputy badge for the first time and delight when she'd been elected sheriff. Jubilation when the vote to let his moms marry passed and joy watching them exchange vows and rings.

The shock that he'd been right about the curse, amidst the chaos of angry townsfolk and the return of magic. Seeing his mom wielding power so casually hardening his heart against an aspect of her that came as naturally as breathing. Hearing about the magic that Emma had found in Neverland, about how his moms had pulled the moon from the sky for him. His heart clenching with some strange emotion when he remembered reading about that in a comic book about two moms finding their son and wondering who'd pay the price for such a feat.

Bran woofed and scratched at a door, breaking him from his thoughts and he tugged at the rusty latch, shoving his shoulder against the sturdy panels. They found themselves at the base of a narrow, dark stairway, spiraling into lazily shifting veils of cobwebs. He swallowed and urged the dog forward again, keeping one hand against the damp stone.

His ma taking him into a quiet room in a hospital and telling him that there'd been an accident. That his mom wasn't coming home. His mom plotting to curse Emma to an endless slumber and the outrage that had accompanied the discovery. His mom cuddling him as they waited to open presents from Santa one Christmas morning, eagerly anticipating the sound of the door opening that would signal the end of ma's shift.

A scar on the apple tree. Threats and fights. Stares that held and had confused him but now made a whole lot more sense. Emma timid and shy, acting like his ma did when she was afraid to ask for something. His mom cold and stern, like she was when she spoke to Grandma. His gentle abuelito holding his hand as they walked around the garden, telling each other stories about the flowers.

His ma telling him, slowly and carefully, about when she'd been little. About moving and never knowing where she belonged, until him and his mom. Letting him know that even if they sometimes didn't get things one hundred percent right, they'd always work as a family to figure it out. Emma snapping about his upbringing with poorly disguised bitterness. Two lives swirling in his head, a confusing mess.

Or was it three, he wondered? His ma's, his mom's and his own?

The next door needed a smart kick to shake it from the jamb and he paused to catch his breath. Bran's tongue was lolling from his mouth and his shaggy tail wagging slowly, rising dust from the wooden stairs behind him. It was dark, getting harder to see through the inky route ahead, but he swallowed his nerves. What would he find in the castle's attic aside from a few spiders and the odd pigeon?

No ogres. No horrible soldiers. No Pan, no Lost Boys.

He strode forward, Bran padding beside him steadily.

Waking in the little bothy on the moors, the moonlight catching his moms' as they slept curled around him. A sense of peace and comfort beyond what he'd ever known. The same feeling evoked when he saw his moms hold hands as they walked beneath bare trees. When he spied his mom watching him and ma practice fencing. Watching the stars overhead, their hands laced together on his tummy.

The certainty of love. For him, for them and between them. Seeing them together in the castle and part of him understanding, for the first time, that love only came with care and hard work. With understanding and communication, not from destiny or a story. The certainty that they shared it. That it had grown between them, nurtured through uncertain times.

He and Bran picked their way between great beams as wide around as his waist, their ends lost to the gloom beneath the roof tiles. Pigeons cooed sleepily and slapped their wings in affront as they passed, though none took flight. Following a trail through the dust to skirt a giant chimney breast, the solid brick stone interrupted by a metal hatch, something scrawled on the wall beside it in chalk. A little bucket lying on its side in the gloom.

It was so much more complex, he thought, trailing a hand along one of the great expanses of dark oak, than it was in stories. It was messy and it was difficult. It was harder than he thought it was meant to be. In reality, his moms had taken chunks out of each other, and he suspected he didn't know the half of it. But they'd also given so much of themselves to the other, in touches and words. His mom stopping Emma from hurting that jerk Leroy. Ma helping mom heal Oisín.

Bran took a sharp turn, scrambling up a very narrow set of stairs and nosing a tiny slatted door, barely able to fit his broad shoulders through. Henry followed, taking a deep breath as they emerged onto the roof of the castle. He caught his breath, taking a moment to throw his head back and take in the hundred, thousand points of light shining around him.

The stars gleamed above him like pinpricks in a velvet curtain drawn across a flood light. Barely containing the light behind, radiant and joyful above him as he turned in a full circle. Wisps of smoke darted past, fragrant and in warm contrast to his own fogging breath. He blinked recognising Rocinante, the Divine Stallion. The sensation of his mom's hands on his tummy flickered through his mind again and something warm and fierce flared through him.

So much more complex, but as simple as could be at the same time. He closed his eyes briefly, remembering sparks spiraling upwards on the warm drafts of their campfire. Seeing them reflected in his mom's eyes as she spoke to his ma. Seeing the same gentle, happy thing shining back from his ma. They loved each other, he knew, with the certainty that he knew that they loved him. That he loved them.

He opened his eyes to the stars again, picking out trails and paths between constellations. So many different ways to go, each beautiful and filled with possibility. Darkness broken by little moments, adding up to a map that could guide any weary traveller to their destination. He felt tears roll over his cheek and and his resolve firm. Bran whined, walking towards a jumbled collection of chimney stacks and he followed him, walking slowly over the frosty roof tiles.

His heart and mind were settling, the whirling easing for the minute. The sounds from the courtyard were distant, for the moment, and he mused that it was probably a good thing he hadn't taken his mom up here, in her floor length dress and heels. The thought amused him and the small laugh he let loose calmed him. Clarity, the stars against the velvet of heaven, came easily. Whatever else, the three of them were healthy and together. They loved each other. They were a family.

Bran padded forward and sat beside a little door, Henry abruptly noticing a little hut emerging from between the flues. He rubbed the great square head with a grateful hand and pushed the door open.

His ma was curled, tiny and miserable, under a blanket and he smiled, even as he felt tears well up.

They loved each other. They were a family.

He stamped towards the bed and flung himself at his mother, burying his head in her chest and feeling startled arms wrap around him.

"I remember, too," he whispered, "and I love you, ma." He shifted and squeezed her even tighter. "I love you, Emma."

Regina hadn't dallied after her talk with Liath, excusing herself, her work not quite finished for the night.

Her footsteps echoed through stone corridors, the walls in the bowels of the castle unadorned by tapestries or works of art. There were no windows and the wall sconces weren't particularly close together, with the result that she moved into pools of flickering light and out into dusty darkness. Her heels clicked slightly unevenly, and she could feel exhaustion pull at her limbs. She had one last stop, however, before she could allow herself to finally rest.

Regina was dreading the return to her rooms, frankly. She knew that she wouldn't find Emma there, wouldn't experience her warmth and the comforting weight of her arms. Her sleepy morning smiles and the affection that felt so natural, so easy to share. Henry moving around them with complete comfort, her heart bursting with love as he came and went.

She bit her lip, feeling tears well again, and cursed herself for her weakness. She'd known this would happen. Had known that Emma would reject her when she regained her true memories. She deserved nothing less, she knew, despite what Henry and Liath had said.

Other memories surfaced, then, of her time imprisoned in a high tower. Her father begging her to fight, her heart too sore and sick and defeated. There'd been relief, buried there, that finally it would all be over. She'd imagined flinging herself from the tower and robbing the realm of the spectacle of her death. Thoughts drifting back to tall cliffs and balconies.

She trailed a hand along the uneven walls, thinking of Henry. Of his embrace and delight at finally remembering, mingled with sorrow at the more difficult recollections. She knew they had a lot of ground to cover yet, and that the simple joy of reunion would fade, but somehow she held out hope that they could move forward. That they had a future where she could atone for her many sins against him and have him look at her with love, still.

She found herself at the top of a staircase and lifted her skirts carefully, not wanting to trip down the uneven steps. The thought of falling, of crumpling in a bloody heap, flashed through her head. She blinked it away, though, and realised it had been many days since a similar impulse had crossed her mind.

Progress, she supposed.

Voices murmured in the gloom ahead of her, light flickering up the narrow passageway. The vaults beneath them were vast, the very bones of Misthaven Castle, and she found herself in the corner reserved for use as a dungeon. She didn't think there'd been anyone gracing the cells since they'd arrived back, though.

Fresh straw had been spread and she nodded at the young guards standing to attention, moving with deliberate steps. She found Mulan and Merida sitting outside one of the cells, sharing a cup of something fragrant over a brazier. They sat guard in front of a set of imposing iron bars, inlaid enchantments gleaming from the rough metal. That they were facing outwards, watching the approach, was not lost on Regina.

"Good evenin', yer highness," Merida called, a little glassy eyed from fatigue.

Regina couldn't stop the smile that tugged at her lip at the sight of the young woman. The would be gaoler was curled beneath a thick tarten cloak, half asleep, but brightened when she approached. She really did remind her of Henry and Emma, at times. Her thoughts drifted then to other folk. To Liath and the Hounds, Belle, even Red and Robin. To the people who had, against all expectation, stood with her. It eased some of the grief in her chest, knowing that, perhaps, she might have something like friends. It was a strange and unfamiliar thought but not an entirely unpleasant one.

Mulan bowed her head gracefully and stood to greet her. She gestured towards the cell and Regina approached the bars. Her sister lay curled on her side, back to them all. Her shoulders were moving under a warm, thick blanket and the little bed they'd found for her looked comfortable. The floor was clean and a brazier had been brought in to fend off the chill from the algae slick stones. A table and a single chair sat opposite the bed, a candle and an earthen cup set neatly on it.

"Thank you for not just throwing her on the straw," Regina said, her voice low. She wasn't at all surprised, though. It would have been unlike the honourable warrior to mistreat a prisoner.

"We were instructed to use this cell," Mulan murmured, with an uncertain frown. "That it resists magic. We made it as comfortable as we could. She's warm and clean."

"And awake," Zelena muttered, not turning around, "despite being bloody desperate to sleep."

Regina sighed and leaned on the bars, shaking her head. "You aren't the only one." She knew she needed sleep, needed to rest and recuperate following the enormous feat of magic she'd taken part in earlier. The thought of her empty room, though, was more than she could bear. She could push through her exhaustion for a while, yet

Zelena turned, sitting but wrapping the blankets around her shoulders. The vaults were cold, heat not surviving more than a few feet from the braziers, and Zelena shuffled closer to hers. Regina was surprised to see skin entirely without patches of green, pale eyes flashing in the flickering light.

Familiar eyes, she thought, with a heavy heart. Eyes that had been kind to her for a time, that had played with and cared for a lonely little girl. Who'd been as desperate for a loving family as she herself had been.

"You know well this cell won't hold me when I've had some sleep," the witch muttered, rubbing her forehead.

"I do know," Regina acknowledged, wearily. "I don't think we have anything that could. Not that I could whip up right now, anyway."

Mulan sighed beside her, a touch exasperated. "We put a lot of work into making this place habitable."

"Aye, an' keepin' the soldiers frae slittin' yer gullet," Merida added, almost cheerfully.

"You should stand trial for what you've done," Mulan continued. "Face the consequences of your actions."

Zelena glowered. "And be executed for treason? I think not."

Regina shook her head. "They won't execute you. Not after you saved Snow and the baby," she reassured.

"But they might decide to throw me in a cell that could actually hold me," Zelena continued, her voice tight. "Fling me aside and leave me to rot."

Mulan folded her arms. "They weren't the only ones you hurt, you know," she admonished sternly. "Your creatures wounded and killed innocent villagers. Destroyed their winter stores."

Zelena's eyes darted to the side at that, a frown on her face. "Yes, well, they are vicious buggers."

"And you are responsible for releasing them," Mulan stated, firmly.

Regina sighed, rubbing her eyes and Merida shrugged. "Ye will nae have much in th' way ae spare food, in a month," she turned to Regina. "A prisoner is another mouth tae feed. So, ye could let her swing, or ye could put her tae work puttin' things right."

Regina held up a weary hand. "Could I please have a moment alone with Zelena?"

The pair of erstwhile gaolers exchanged a long look but acquiesced, retreating to a remote vault.

Regina gripped the bars, meeting her sister's gaze. She knew that when Zelena decided to escape, she'd be gone in a flash and Regina was too heart sick, too tired and too overwhelmed to start devising schemes and plots to restrain her. She didn't have a clue what the mercurial woman in front of her would do and she was gripped with the sense that she might never have the chance to speak to her again, if Zelena so chose.

Her mind drifted back. To a gangling girl taller than her, brittle and wounded but overjoyed to spend time with her. She'd been in the manor for weeks, at least, perhaps longer, and Regina couldn't remember a time in her childhood when she'd felt more free or happy.

"So, sister," Zelena sighed. "What a giant bloody mess."

Regina nodded, leaning her head against the cold iron, almost relieved to feel the silver runes pull at her scant stores of magic. At least something of it was still there, she mused.

She inhaled, staring steadily at Zelena for a long moment.

"You remember, then?" she asked softly.

Her sister dropped her eyes, clenching her jaw. "After they dragged me away, you tried to follow. Our mother," and she bit the word out with venom, "came after you. Grabbed your arm hard enough that I could hear your elbow pop."

Regina squeezed her eyes shut, the memory of the awful pain that had plagued her worst nightmares suddenly given context.

"Yet," Zelena, continued, disbelief in her voice, "you kept trying. You tried to walk forward and," she took a breath then, "and she struck you. She was livid and she lashed out, with magic, but caught you with her ring as well."

Regina's fingers went to her lip, to the scar. "And what she inflicted with magic, she couldn't heal with magic. No matter how hard she tried to remove the imperfection," she said, tears welling at the memory of her mother scolding her for tripping and splitting her lip. Telling her she'd be lucky to marry some petty lord, now that she was so marred. That she was a clumsy little girl who needed to learn how to become a proper lady, if she ever wanted to amount to anything.

Regina sank then, her skirts and the straw insulating her somewhat against the chill of the stone floor. "She was so angry," she murmured, "because she was afraid of you. What your presence meant."

"Was she always like that?" Zelena asked, voice hollow, "so vicious?" She shifted, drawing closer and Regina was surprised to see water welling in her eyes. "Was that your childhood?"

Regina couldn't form words, but nodded once. Hot tears rolled over her cheeks and she sucked in a breath. She hadn't thought there was a person alive who remembered. Who'd seen what horrible cruelty her mother had been capable of inflicting on her own daughter.

On her own daughters.

"And what age were you when she sold you to the king?" Zelena asked, voice trembling.

"Not long after I turned seventeen," Regina answered, a hollow ache in her chest.

"Fuck," Zelena said, softly. There was silence for a long moment, only the sound of wood snapping in the braziers and water dripping in distant corners daring to break it.

"Fucking wretched old bitch," Zelena snarled, standing and folding her arms about herself. "And here was me, jealous of you!" She paused, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Regina blinked, then, completely at a loss.

"Why on earth would you be jealous of me?" she asked, incredulously.

Zelena shook her head. "Because mother, the cunt, kept you. Because Rumple chose you. Because you were queen. Because you managed to escape this fucking shit pit." She lowered her hands and regarded Regina with red rimmed eyes.

"And to top it all off, I saw you here, with your perfect wife and your loving son and forgiveness from Snow fucking White, of all people."

Regina barked a hoarse laugh. "In fairness to Snow," which was a sentence she'd never thought she would utter, "she is stupidly forgiving. It's a major character flaw."

Zelena folded her arms. "Good to know." She sighed dramatically and sat back down, staring into her brazier.

"I've been wondering," Regina began, after a long moment, needing to draw the conversation away from Cora. "How long were you here? Under our noses?"

Zelena smiled at that, a mischievous and satisfied curl to her lip. "About three weeks before you returned from your quest."

Regina frowned. "The wards were in place. I realise that Snow invited you, but no one bearing the intention to harm anyone in the castle should have been able to cross those barriers." Even prior to her reinforcement, they'd been strong.

"Well," Zelena sighed, "that's the thing. I had no intention of harming anyone in the castle at all." Regina resisted the urge to roll her eyes at that. "I'd intended to deliver the infant safely and steal away."

The fact that losing another child, having another baby ripped from them, would have done immense harm to Snow and Charming had apparently not crossed Zelena's mind. Regina bit back a sigh, aware that things like intent and will played more than a just a semantic role in magic.

"Well," Regina sighed. "You saved the child's life. And it only cost you whatever your scheme was," she congratulated, bitterly. She waved a hand at Zelena's clear, pale skin. "Which seems, overall, to have worked out well for you."

Zelena scrubbed her pale forehead. "Well, I mean, I allow that I may have to reflect on the fact that my plan might not have been as wise as I'd first thought." Regina raised an eyebrow at that, prompting her sister to speak. To relate the scheme she'd hatched and how she'd gone about enacting it.

They sat in the cool dungeon as Zelena explained her plan to Regina, tone almost flat with fatigue and defeat, disbelief forming in the latter's heart. She shook her head and wiped an exhausted hand over her face as her sister finished her story.

"That was a monumentally stupid idea," Regina snapped.

Zelena lifted an eyebrow. "You don't say, sis," she drawled. "So what fucking now?"

"We can't hold you," Regina allowed, softly, eyes on the brazier before her sister, watching white ash fall from the bottom like snow. "I can't stop you from leaving. And if you ever, ever threaten this land again, sister or no, I'll kill you," she said, her voice without inflection to her own ears. None of the snarl of the queen she'd been, just sad resignation. The knowledge that she was doomed to always hurt those who could perhaps love her.

"Or stay," she murmured, feeling tears well and suddenly finding herself once again that child who'd watched her sister be dragged away, blood streaming over her mouth and fire burning up her elbow. "You have family here. Me. A nephew."

"Doubt they'll let the little prince down here," Zelena groused, though there was a curious glint to her eye.

"They won't," Regina acknowledged. "As if you'll stay in here," she stated, not even bothering to look up.

"Merida's right," Regina sighed. "When the curse was undone, a few thousand people arrived in the blink of an eye. There isn't enough food for all of us to last the winter. So if Snow allows, my suggestion would be that you stay and help. To atone for what you'e done."

Zelena barked an unhappy laugh. "Atone? You really think they'll see me as anything other than the wicked bloody witch?"

"I don't know. Certainly not for a long time," Regina admitted, her gaze falling out of focus, watching the ash fall. "They still see me as the Evil Queen. But I promised you I'd always be your sister," she said, some strange urgency grabbing her heart. "Though I have no idea..."

She trailed off, no idea how to finish the sentiment, or even if she should. She bit her lip and glanced up at Zelena, who seemed every bit as uncertain.

"Neither do I, sis."

Zelena's cool blue eyes, as brittle as frost on a puddle, met her own. There was sincerity there, and a longing she recognised. Regina fully knew the chances of her sister still being in the cell come morning were slim and she swallowed. Preparing to lose another person who could almost be family. Preparing for her to fly from her as Emma had.

"I won't attack this land," Zelena said, quietly, "or harm your family unless they attempt to harm me first. And I don't know if I'm going to still be here in the morning. A few days peace and quiet might be bloody nice," she muttered sourly. "But..." she drew in a breath, holding it for a while. Regina frowned, swiping at the tears threatened to roll from her eyes.

"But if I do go, I will come back, Regina," she promised, softly.

Flames guttered in the braziers and water dripped from the stones arches above them. The scent of dust and straw filled the air and Regina squeezed her eyes closed.

The room was dark, the fire long burned to ash in the hearth. Though servants had begun to tend to her rooms, less terrified since Emma had started sharing them, the day had been hectic. Regina would concede that the workers in the palace deserved to enjoy the revelry surrounding the young prince's birth, ignorant as they were of how close it had come to ending in tragedy.

Better off not knowing, she thought, heart clenching as her heels echoed in the still chambers. The door to the nursery stood open and she crossed, amazed tears rolling over her cheeks at the sight of Henry and Bran curled together in the bed, snoring softly. Sceolta was sprawled on the rug, similarly exhausted. Her son was still wearing his clothes, his boots the only thing he'd managed to remove.

She covered her mouth, silent sobs wracking her shoulders. Relief and disbelief warring within her chest. He'd come back. He'd come home to her. She resisted the urge to cross to his bed, knowing that she wouldn't be able to stop from embracing him, waking him. She bit her lip and stepped backwards, pulling in a shuddering breath as the miraculous thought crossed her mind that there would be time for hugs in the morning.

Regina drew on her scant stores of magic, causing a candle to appear on his mantle and leaving a placid fire smouldering in his grate. She stepped backwards again, watching the light catch her son's face and pulled the door almost closed. A hand against the wood flared lavender, a silencing charm to shield her boy from the anguish struggling to break free from her. Protecting him from herself, again.

Torn between laughing with relief and surrendering to the numb coldness beneath her ribs, she crossed the floor, her eyes and mind slow to catch up with her feet. Quietly taking in the little reminders of her family in the room, of her son's coat and more of Emma than she could easily manage. A coat hung over a chair. A pair of boots haphazardly placed beside the hearth to dry. The bed neatly made and their nightclothes laid out side by side atop it. The pair of chairs they'd shared. She turned from them, spying a little wooden footstool stood before the hearth, numbness winning out as she stepped past the chairs and sank onto it with shaking legs.

Regina sat staring into the cold fireplace, not truly seeing anything. The ash was heaped in cold dusty mounds, brittle and cracked fragments of unburnt wood littering it. The stool beneath her was hard, her backside complaining even as she welcomed the discomfort. She wiped her tired face with trembling hands, misery choking her.

And now, Emma would remember everything. Every angry word and spiteful action. All the pain and heartache, the lies and the wretched misery of life around her as she truly was, not as how Emma Swan-Mills had remembered her. She sat for a while, arms wrapped around her, long enough to be startled when the moon emerged from behind a cloud. Cold, silver light spread, casting shadows as it went. Burning, colder than the night around her where it danced over her hands.

The sense of loss that gripped her was profound. The hollow absence, the aching hole in her heart yawning within her. She was in the stables again, watching Daniel crumple in front of her. A teenager gingerly limping back to this very room after her wedding night. The woman who'd killed her father. Her mother. Who'd cursed her son. Who'd kissed him goodbye and sent him over the town line with Emma. She tightened her arms around herself and took a deep breath, despair and loneliness aching within her heart.

The void around her once more, the silence so profound that the worst thoughts prowling through her head had no where to hide. Predators with nothing to do but pounce. Whispering that no one loved her, nor would ever. That she was cursed to have every chance for love slip through her fingers. No escape from her memories. High cliffs and balconies, once more. Alone, once more. As she was destined to be.

She drew in a shaking breath and clenched her fists, picturing Emma's face, green eyes alight with affection and love. The wedding ring on her finger and the strength in her arms. It hurt. It tore through her like wildfire. But even as her heart was immolated, it lightened. She breathed in again, frowning, imaging she could catch Emma's scent in the cold room. The solitary paths that loss had beaten through her heart were there, rage and spite familiar friends. It would take nothing to walk them again, she knew. Alone, again.

Henry's face, relaxed in sleep. The dogs snoring around him. Liath pitching a cork at Emma's head. The Hounds handing them the banner. Belle showing her to the alchemy lab. Snow lying in her bed with frightened eyes imploring her to help. Zelena fighting so hard to rouse the baby. Mulan rolling her eyes at Merida. Red and Granny bringing them food. David smiling gently at the sight of Emma curled against her.

Not alone, a tiny, unfamiliar corner of her heart whispered to her. Neither unloved nor unlovable. Difficult and sad and tired and most likely far too much for most. But not alone. Tears spilled over her cheeks at the thought and a memory flashed to her of being on Liath's island, one rare fine day. Standing in wan sunlight on top of the cliffs, watching agile birds wheel and the great sea heave below. Blue and ruffled by little whitecaps, mysterious and full of life as she watched on. The urge to soar, rather than sink, gripping her for a brief moment. That same feeling roused when she'd looked into Emma Swan's eyes.

Tears rolled over her cheeks, exhaustion pulling them from her as she stifled a sob. She mourned the loss of Emma, great heaving breaths escaping her as she buried her face in her hands, heart aching. Perhaps she could give in to sorrow for the night, in their empty and freezing room. Just for one night, before the morning when she would lay out clothes for her son and check on her sister and Snow. She cried for a long time, almost finding relief even as her chest and throat began to ache, before her tears began to slow.

She ached terribly at the memory of Emma stumbling away from her and she would for a long time. But it would not be the end of her, of the woman she had become. Of Henry's mother. Not this time. She couldn't allow herself to succumb to despair once more, no matter how tempting the notion.

Silence stretched around her. Silver moonlight pooled like frozen puddles on the stone floor. A strange stillness settling within her. Not peace, not while her heart was still so sore, but something solid nonetheless. The memory of the comforting weight of a hand between her shoulder blades. Of being held as she slept. Of her son wrapping her hair around his finger.

Silence, but for her breathing. The moment suspended in time as she drew breaths through an aching throat. Broken, in a moment so startling she jumped in her chair.

"You promised me I'd have the life I always wanted," a quiet voice murmured, surprising her. Her heart leapt into her mouth at the sight of Emma approaching, foot steps silent in the moonlight. Hands trembling, she sat upright, wiping at her eyes. A final goodbye? A farewell before Emma left for good? Regina found she had no idea what was to come. Her mind was blank, the shock of seeing Emma chasing thought and reason away.

"And you rightly pointed out it wouldn't be real," Regina reminded her after a long moment, voice weak. Emma stepped before her, bending a knee onto the cold flag stones. She looked regal, noble, dressed in the rich clothes Regina had laid on their bed only that morning. Her hair tumbled loose over her shoulders, her expression inscrutable. So different from the grateful smile and gentle touch to her back that had followed the earlier fussing.

A sliver of moonlight caught Emma's eyes, determined and serious. Her mouth was turned down at the edges and her cheeks were blotchy. Likely from anger, Regina supposed, at having been enchanted to believe she was saddled to someone like her. The unfairness of it struck her and she waited. Waited for the harsh words that would inevitably come. For betrayal and hurt to boil from the woman in front of her and drown the love she'd felt. The woman Regina had come to think of, in a moment she could not recall because it had taken place in her heart rather than her mind, as her wife.

As her wife. As the person some part of her had wished to spend her life with. The person who'd not had a choice in this and probably hated her, resented being forced into such an arrangement. Regina knew well how horrible it was and felt shame fill her chest, unable to believe she could have violated Emma's trust so horribly.

Emma lifted one hand, clenched to a fist, and held it to her chest. Regina lowered her eyes, the memory of her mother raw and far too close to the surface, though she knew with complete certainty that Emma would not strike her. Emma sighed and took Regina's hand firmly, gently, turning it so her palm faced upright.

Emma moved her fist then, and pressed something into Regina's hand. Regina felt tears spill over her cheeks at the sight of her grandmother's ring, still warm from Emma's fingers, sitting in a beam of moonlight, gleaming with a promise that would never be fulfilled. A sob threatened to break free and her chest clenched. Raw, aching anguish lifted through her and she nodded, accepting Emma's choice. She'd known this was coming. Known that it was only a matter of time until Emma left her. She closed her fingers over the ring, eyes still fixed in her lap, and drew her hand away from Emma's.

So much for happy endings, she found herself thinking. The thought seized her heart along with the realisation that somehow, Emma and Henry, being a family with them, had become her happy ending. That was gone now, she knew. That even if she managed to forge anew her relationship with Henry, he'd never have the happy home he remembered. He'd never again curl between his mothers as all three of them sat together, love spilling over.

So be it, she thought to herself. I have Henry. I am not alone. I knew what it was like to be loved, for a while at least, and I will not trap her against her will. I won't do that to her.

She nodded again, pressing her clenched fist against her stomach and wrapping her other hand around it. Refusing to weep again. Knowing that she could not demand something Emma did not want. That Emma deserved better than her. Deserved the world, in her opinion. Regina wouldn't make it any harder for Emma to leave her, or indeed behave without dignity, and so kept her mouth shut, not trusting herself to speak even to say goodbye.

"You being the smart one," Emma said, voice thick with tears, "said that while my past wouldn't be real, my future would be." She moved her hand and from the corner of Regina's eye, she saw her brush tears from her own cheeks as she laughed morosely. "So I want you to keep that, until the day you feel right, if you ever do, putting it back on my finger."

Regina sucked in a breath, comprehension failing her and she dared to lift her gaze. "Emma?"

Tears were rolling over Emma's cheeks, tiny diamonds in the moonlight, and she looked so uncertain. Afraid and tentative as she spoke. A memory lancing through her of the timid hi in the halo of light on the porch on Mifflin Street.

"This spell, this magic, I think it found something in me," Emma said softly, gazing at her with sorrow but also gentle humour. "I was probably half in love with you by the end of Neverland, even if I didn't know it. It wasn't just Henry who needed to remember you to have happy memories."

She blinked, speechless for once. Emma smiled lopsidedly and it felt as though her entire world was pitching beneath her like a boat bouncing on the waves. A heaving blue sea, capped by little white crests of spray beneath a cloudless sky.

"And these last few weeks, on the road with Liath and the boys, they've been real," Emma choked, squeezing her eyes shut for a long moment, throat bobbing with emotion. "The love I feel for you might not be as old as I thought it was, but it's real, Regina."

Regina felt as though the air had been knocked from her lungs, incredulous and almost terrified at the display. At what could happen next.

"But I know you've been trapped so many times, not free to make your own choices or find your own happy ending. So… yeah. If you never want to put that ring back on me, I'll survive. If you don't want me, I'll endure it."

And that sentiment, that phrase, thawed the cold shock in her and Regina surged forward, throwing her arms around Emma's neck and gripping her fiercely. How could Emma possibly think she was unwanted? She squeezed the ring more tightly, sending it with a puff of magic to a chain around her neck. Her heart cracked, knowing beyond a shadow of doubt that Emma had never made herself more vulnerable to her, the realisation driving her to honesty.

"I want you, Emma. I want the mother of our child and I want…" her voice quavered and she swallowed, uncensored words pouring from her without permission.

"I want your stupid sense of humour and I want someone who isn't afraid of me. I want to wake up to you and lose myself thinking about how beautiful you are. I want you to help me fix this damn place. I want to grow old with you. I want you." She drew in a jagged breath, catching the scent of leather and warm skin. Of Emma.

"I don't love easily, or well," she croaked, apologetically, "and I am not the woman you remember."

"From either life," Emma murmured warmly against the skin of her neck. "I think you hid yourself so well when I arrived on your doorstep, that when it came to it, I almost believed the tale of the Evil Queen. I made some pretty shitty decisions, too, and I didn't trust you when I should have." She inhaled, her chest expanding against Regina's and her back straightening as she wrapped strong arms around her. Proud and upright, kneeling as though a knight awaiting anointment.

"The truth is more complex and I would be honoured to have a chance to learn it. With you. To be with you," she said, voice firm. "And things probably won't be easy, because they never are, but we owe it to each other to try."

She pulled back slightly, green eyes dancing. "But I disagree on one thing. You love very well, indeed."

Regina laughed at that, shaking her head. She raised a hand to Emma's cheek, clumsily wiping a tear away. Emma, with the steady hands of long remembered practice, cradled her face in both of hers as though she was the most precious, wonderful thing she'd ever encountered. They held each others eyes, still crying, but joy spreading between them.

"You're my family, Regina," Emma said, earnestly. "You and Henry. We love you. I love you."

To say the realisation that Emma still loved her dawned would have been a gross understatement. The knowledge erupted within her, her heart singing and fluttering in her chest. Gratitude and relief constricted her throat and she felt the weight of despair and fatigue fall from her. Her voice was stolen, but the fond look in Emma's pewter eyes implied she knew precisely what she wanted to say.

"I still really want to kiss you," Emma supplied, moving to pull back further, "so, uh I don't know if you might want to-"

Regina flung herself forward instead, pressing their lips together and falling forward onto her own knees, caught against the woman in front of her. She felt magic flow through them both, searing and cleansing and suffusing her with warmth. Light and hope filling all the darkest corners of her heart and mind, burning but beautiful and welcome. It burst from them and she drew back, gazing around the room at the fading rainbow light. Her jaw dropped, lips still tingling from the kiss.

Amazement stilled the tempest within her as she took in the motes of light dancing like fireflies in every corner of the room, mingling with the moonlight to dapple the room in glittering flashes. An enchanted, wintery mirror ball. Disbelief that she still held such purity in her, that she still held true, unselfish love within her swelled. Incredulity that she was lucky enough to have it reciprocated by someone who understood her so, so well. Her fingers darted to touch the ring around her neck and she felt her chin tremble from the effort of not breaking out into happy sobs. Humbled entirely.

Emma's eyes were still closed and she had a somewhat dopey smile on her face, though she seemed more at peace than Regina could ever recall seeing her. "Uh, was that what I think it was?"

Regina couldn't bring herself to speak, smoothing her thumbs over Emma's high cheeks and kissing her again, their breath unsteady. They drew apart and Regina saw that her hands were shaking as Emma opened her eyes, wonder and love shining there in equal measure.

And as their eyes met, memories poured into Regina of another life, mundane in one sense yet magical in every other.

The End

And there it is. Wow. What do you think?

I cannot thank you enough for reading. I can't express how much I've enjoyed telling this story. I am so grateful to everyone who's read it, left kudos or taken the time to comment. Thank you. Thank you all so, so much.

I don't know what to say! It's been almost a year and there have been bits I've struggled with. What do you think? Did the ending feel earned? In character?

Also, I'm updating the tags. Suggestions?

I'll pop the songs that I listened to while writing this in a playlist, if people are interested.

And I will return to this story and these characters. I'm not done with them yet! But this story was ready to finish. Keep an eye out next spring for the next chapter in their story.

Again, thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this, I'm so, so glad. I am going to be a huge sap and send you to youtube, for something that might sum up the bittersweet feeling of ending that I ever can. Go here, it's a treat. / 1YpOWFbATBc

Good night and I hope you've enjoyed following this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Slán