A/N: Hi! So for those of you that are worried, this story is actually already written aside from a few minor changes I'm sure I'll make as I receive feedback, so for once I'm actually going to finish a story! You know, eventually. (Sorry if I just gave the old ladies among you heart attacks.) Updates will come depending on how badly college is kicking my ass.

So as it says in the description, this is an AU story based on the idea that Regina couldn't kill her father to cast the curse. We'll just say Rumple hitched a ride with a mermaid or something to find Bae. I don't even care. The point is, everyone's still in FTL and Storybrooke never existed. This story is very Emma and Regina centric (expect SwanQueen later on) and I'll be going quite a bit into the theory of magic and their respective issues and such. I also wouldn't read this if you're a hardcore Snow and Charming lover. Anything beyond that is a spoiler!

Enjoy!

Handmaiden's Philosophy
Chapter One

Emma's POV

Emma had always hated dust. She didn't mind a few dirt smudges here and there, or even splatters of mud, but dust? Dust was awful. It floated through the air, tickling her nose and her lungs, and settled into lonely corners and onto forgotten things. Emma hated dust.

Which was the most immediate (of many) reasons why she happened to be in a foul mood at the moment.

The road between the villages of Lyon and Bosque was long, twisting, and horrifically dusty. With each step she took, Emma's booted feet kicked up golden puffs of it, tinting the dark leather of her footwear and the blue hem of her sundress a pallid beige that made Emma feel like all of her vitality was bleeding out of her body and into the miserable road. This did absolutely nothing to improve her mood.

It really hadn't been the best week for her.

For the past two years, Emma had been happily living in the little village of Lyon. She'd worked regularly as a tavern girl and even as an occasional herbalist and potions mistress when she was able to collect the proper magical plants to practice the art. Lyon was extremely average for a village in the kingdom of the Summerlands. Not too bustling, but not mired in squalor like many of the villages she'd traveled through in the kingdom of the Silverwoods had been. It wasn't a central location, but Lyon did still receive its fair share of traffic, and Emma had always enjoyed meeting new people when they inevitably stopped by to enjoy the local tavern. She enjoyed her ability to walk out amongst the people of the village without fear of being captured and executed for something she could not help, and enjoyed knowing that the people around her looked at her as an equal and judged her for her actions rather than the circumstances of her birth. In Lyon, Emma could do as she pleased, and though she had to work hard to support herself as an unmarried woman of twenty, she relished that she possessed the freedom to do so. Perhaps Lyon was not the most exciting of places to live, but it was her home. Not because she was born there, but because Emma had chosen it to be so, and that meant the world to her.

But then last week had happened. The tavern had caught fire –no doubt the doing of some drunk fool kicking over a lantern—and burned straight to the ground. No tavern meant that there was no need for a tavern girl; and that was all well and good for the girls who just pranced back to the comfort and support of their families. Unfortunately for Emma, she didn't have a family. So she couldn't stay. She'd taken the week to sell what belongings she couldn't carry with her and bid her farewells to her friends, and just that morning she'd set off from Lyon to its neighboring village, Bosque. Bosque was slightly larger than Lyon, and Emma hoped she'd be able to find work there and start over.

Again.

Which was why she was trudging alone down the road. The thrice-damned dusty road.

Suddenly, the woman was snapped from her sullen musings by a flicker of movement in her peripherals. Warily, she flicked her gaze back and forth, blue-green eyes scanning the sparsely spaced trees on either side of her for possible threats even as she continued walking as if nothing were amiss. This particular road wasn't known for being dangerous, but Emma was a cautious creature by both nurture and nature, and her instincts were telling her that what she'd briefly seen didn't mean anything good. She could hear whoever –or whatever—it was moving around. Rustling bushes and snapping twigs. She could also hear the faint sounds of a carriage some ways ahead of her, though it wouldn't be in sight for some time with the way the road curved.

More movement in the trees on the opposite side of the road as where she'd seen the first indication of the disturbance drew Emma's attention, and she halted in her tracks as three raggedy-looking men stepped out onto the trail in front of her, dust rising at their feet as they blocked her passage forwards. Normally, Emma had very little fear of strangers, but she was quite leery of these men. They were unkempt and brutish in their mannerisms, and were all armed with well-maintained cutlasses that they held with a moderate degree of competency while leering at her in a decidedly unfriendly sort of way.

Emma was rather certain that the gods were just mocking her at this point.

She refused to show her fear though. Her heart may have been racing and her palms grown sweaty, but Emma had spent the first eighteen years of her life learning control in all its forms. If she showed these men her fear –her weakness—it would only encourage them. It was easier to be commanding if you looked commanding, she'd found.

So she lifted her chin and stood loosely, as if she were unafraid. "State your business, or let me pass," she said, staring the men down. They were clearly bandits. Unwashed and wild-looking. Emma was honestly surprised to see them, as thieves and bandits and other such filth that preyed on the weak were quite rare in the Summerlands. The Queen did not suffer criminals in her kingdom.

So it was just Emma's luck to have stumbled upon three of the few that were left, right?

Right.

"Ye'll want to come with us, gal," the dark-haired man that appeared to be the leader of the bunch suggested, leering at her beneath his scruffy beard and brandishing his cutlass threateningly in her direction. "Best get moving a'fore that carriage gets too close and we have to make you come."

Emma scowled blackly. Normally, such men wouldn't bother with peasant girls, but Emma was well aware that she was often an exception. She was beautiful. She knew that, and it wasn't immodest of her to admit it. She was one of the few women alive that could honestly compete for the title of 'fairest in the land' with her golden hair and green eyes and defined features, and while these attributes served her well in her work as a tavern girl, it also brought her a great deal of unwanted attention at the most inconvenient times.

Like now, for instance.

But it always seemed that people forgot about her other qualities as soon as they saw her pretty face, as if being beautiful rendered her incapable of anything else worthwhile. It was an annoying facet of human nature, to be sure, but Emma was certainly grateful for it, because Emma was far more than just beautiful and she never hesitated to take advantage of people assuming her to be nothing but a lovely little doll. She was more capable than anyone had ever given her credit for.

"I think not," Emma responded evenly, reaching to her side and drawing the long dagger belted at her waist. "The only place I will be going is to Bosque."

The three men exchanged amused, patronizing glances and scoffed. "A'ight lassie," the man who had spoken to her before spoke again. "It seems ye'll be coming with us screaming."

With that, the first man advanced upon her with purpose and Emma backed up quickly, wary of the gleaming blade directed at her heart. He laughed mockingly, and her eyes narrowed at him angrily before she kicked out without warning and connected the heel of her boot with his kneecap with an audible snap.

Howling in a mixture of shock and agony, the bandit dropped like a stone, and Emma wasted no time in darting forward and slitting his throat from ear to ear before he or his companions could recover from their surprise. The heart that pounded away beneath her ribcage no longer did so out of fear, but out of the bloodlust that rushed through her body like the most potent of drugs, sharpening her senses and kindling her ruthlessness. Emma wasn't one to show mercy to those that had wronged her, and these bandits would be no exception.

Allowing the first man's body to slump limply into the dust, even as he gurgled and weakly twitched out his last pathetic struggles for life, Emma straightened and flicked a line of blood from her dagger onto the ground at the feet of the remaining two bandits in a silent challenge. One man's face turned red, and the other white. Heedless of the sounds heralding the approach of the carriage beyond the bend in the road, the red man charged at her with a scream of rage. Emma didn't entirely blame him for that: after all, she had just killed his friend. She did, however, blame him for attacking an opponent of unknown skill without a plan –or even the smallest modicum of finesse for that matter. It was stupid. Emma had known since she was six winters old that you never attack an opponent unprepared, especially if you didn't know what they were capable of.

And Emma? Emma was capable. She'd been well trained to fight, with knives and daggers and even a bow and arrow. The bandits may have had superior weapons, but they were sloppy, and Emma was faster. It had been a few months since she'd seen a real fight, but she wasn't concerned.

These men had wanted to harm her. And they would pay for it. Emma had already sacrificed enough to earn possession of her own body, and she refused to let that effort go to waste now.

As the bandit drew within striking distance, Emma spun off to her right and lashed out with her blade, drawing a line of red on the man's upper arm. Growling, he turned and swung at her head, but she glanced the blow off of the flat of her dagger and used his momentary unbalance to duck in closer and slip the knife between his ribs. He gasped, and Emma tore herself away and out of his reach. The man would surely die soon, but she wouldn't take the chance that he would retaliate before he could no longer stand.

The third and final man was smarter than his predecessors. He sprang at her while Emma was still distracted by his dying partner, and she only just barely leaped out of the way of his strike. He didn't pursue her immediately after that, instead glaring at her hotly with flinty eyes and sizing her up. Assessing her threat level.

Finally, the approaching carriage rumbled into view around the bend in the road behind the bandit's back, giving Emma a full view of it. It was black, and very ornate, drawn by fine horses and accompanied by six mounted guards. It definitely belonged to royalty, though to which family Emma could not say.

And to think that this lonely dirt road was supposed to be a rarely traveled one! Emma was just meeting all sorts of fun people today.

The bandit was either too angry or too smart to let this newest arrival distract him though, which Emma grudgingly admired. Instead, he took advantage of her momentary distraction to take a stab at her. Luckily for Emma, this bandit –while smarter than the others—was still just as terrible at swordplay, and swung what should have been a deadly tool like a mere club. She deftly dodged him and took her own swipe at the man's arm, which he managed to avoid. Scowling, Emma twisted away from another swing of the sword and kicked out the back of the bandit's knee. He staggered, but didn't fall until she jabbed her elbow at his face, breaking his nose in a font of blood that she swiftly added to by stabbing the man in the throat. He gurgled when she removed the blade, and slumped down onto the crimson road, lifeless.

Emma was mildly satisfied to note that whetting the earth with blood had done nicely to cut down on the dust.

Her ordeal wasn't over yet though. The carriage and accompanying guards had come into view well in time for them to see her fight and win against the bandit, and four of the guards had drawn their swords and spurred their mounts to surround her menacingly. Emma slipped her dagger back into her belt and copied her self-assured pose from earlier, though she was far more nervous this time. Handling three unskilled ruffians was one thing, but six mounted royal guards plus whomever was in the carriage? Emma didn't like her odds if they decided to pick a fight.

The guards surrounding her didn't move though, and merely waited as the carriage approached. Emma wished she could see past their visors and to their faces. Moreover, she wished that the carriage or guards were bearing a crest so she'd know whom she was dealing with. Though there was only one ruler of the Summerlands, it wasn't uncommon for royals of the different kingdoms to pay visits to their counterparts, and there were some royals that Emma was very keen to avoid.

Not that she could, at this point. But still.

Finally, the carriage drew to a halt on the road outside Emma's circle of guards, and she blinked furiously to clear her eyes from the thrice-damned dust it had drawn in its wake. The carriage itself was beautiful up close. Sleek and black with silver trimmings and encrusted with decorative carvings, it was drawn by a team of four elegant ebony horses with tack to match. Emma didn't have time to admire it further though, as the door almost immediately swung open, revealing a single occupant.

It was a woman, dressed in a resplendent red velvet gown of the likes only royalty could afford, peppered with intricate layers of black lace and glittering gems. As she stepped outside and turned to face her, Emma noted that not only were her clothes magnificent, the woman herself was impossibly more so. Emma had seen more than her fair share of beautiful women in her twenty years of life, but this woman was without a doubt the most heartbreakingly beautiful person Emma had ever encountered. She held herself with poise. Dangerous poise. Like a true Queen.

Emma knew exactly who this woman was, though she was shocked at just how untouched she was by time. This vision was the monarch of the Summerlands –the Evil Queen Regina herself.

But Emma wasn't afraid, and she intentionally positioned her body as to seem unruffled by the situation even as she offered the royal a deep curtsey. She doubted the Queen would harm her, so long as she remained polite. Despite the fact that the Queen wore a nearly flawless mask of haughty indifference on her beautiful features, Emma was good at reading people, and she knew intrigue when she saw it.

She supposed that if one wanted positive attention from the Evil Queen, slaughtering a small group of bandits in the middle of a road with only a dagger and some dazzling good looks would be one way to do it.

Yes, the gods were most definitely mocking her today.

"And what have we here?" the Queen finally spoke, arching a graceful eyebrow as she surveyed the scene. Three dead bandits strewn out across a lonely road, killed with obvious skill by a blood-spattered peasant girl that had yet to cower in fear at her presence.

Emma suppressed a shiver at the shockingly rich timbre of her voice. The Queen's voice reminded her of a combination of the chocolate that the traders used to bring in for the winter in her childhood home and the sharpness of the mint leaves that grew wild in the forests.

"These gentlemen offered me their company this fine morning, Your Majesty," Emma responded quickly, never looking away from the Queen's face. She tilted her head slightly to the side and smiled sweetly up at her. "I declined their invitation."

For a moment, all was silent as this response was considered. Then, the air was rent by the Queen's dark chuckle. "My, you are a precocious creature, girl," she observed, cold eyes glinting in what Emma chose to interpret as amusement. "Why do you venture to Bosque?"

"Until quite recently, I made my home in Lyon, Your Majesty" Emma answered honestly, feeling a strange thrill at interacting with someone of the upper class again after two years had passed since the last time she had done so. "I was a tavern girl, but the tavern burned down last week, and I was hoping to find work in Bosque instead." The Queen scrutinized her closely, as if she were some unusual bug she'd located in the palace gardens. Emma didn't squirm though. Though she knew the Evil Queen to be a dangerous woman… she really wasn't afraid. Only strangely excited. Further proof of her insanity, she was sure.

"Have you family there, girl? A husband?" came the inquiry.

Emma couldn't stop herself from scowling slightly before she carefully assumed an expression of neutrality. "I have no family, nor lover, Your Majesty," she retorted as monotone as she could manage.

This time, the Queen allowed the intrigue to show plainly upon her face, and she stepped forwards into the circle of silent guards, pacing around the spot where Emma stood like a tiger sizing up its next meal, the hem of her lovely dress swishing behind her at every turn. "You fight well, for an orphaned, unmarried tavern girl," she observed, completing her circle and stopping directly in front of her. She reached out with cold, pale fingers and gripped Emma's chin, tilting her head from side to side as she scrutinized her face closely. Emma allowed her to touch her, and kept her expression carefully neutral. "A pretty thing too. Your hair… did you plait it yourself?"

Emma almost cringed at this new closeness, as the Queen had leaned in ever further to speak, but managed to keep herself in check. The Queen was a powerful presence. More so than anyone else she'd met, if she were being completely honest. Though she still wasn't afraid, per say, she wasn't sure what the woman's game was, and that made her nervous.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she murmured, jaw still captured in the Queen's firm grip. "And yes, I plaited my hair myself. I am afraid I'm rather vain about it," came the admittance. Emma twisted her lips into a wry smile at the thought. It was true. The intricate, interlocking series of braids that twisted her locks into a manageable bun on the back of her head had taken at least thirty minutes to complete, but Emma had a minor obsession with her hair. Ever since she'd arrived in the Summerlands and been exposed to regular sunlight, it had lightened from a dirty blonde color to a burnished gold, and Emma was unabashedly proud of it. She'd always loved having her hair styled or even styling the hair of others, but now she did it just to show off.

Though the Queen did not laugh or smile at the comment, her full red lips twitched ever so slightly, which Emma counted as a victory. "Can you mend clothes?" the brunette asked instead.

"Well enough," Emma replied, suddenly getting an inkling as to where this was going. If the Queen was considering what she thought she was considering, Emma applauded Fate for its sense of irony.

"The more important question—" the Queen purred, finally releasing Emma's chin but remaining otherwise motionless (and well into Emma's personal space) "—is whether or not you can take orders. Tell me, girl, can you do that?"

If it were anyone else asking that question, Emma would have said 'no' in a heartbeat. But… this woman. This Evil Queen who was nothing like Emma had expected her to be, but in all the most dangerous and delicious ways… Emma was impressed. Really, she'd seen nothing. She'd never met Queen Regina before in her life, though she'd heard plenty of stories. Emma knew next to nothing about her beyond the stories told to frighten children in the Silverwoods, in all actuality. But there was something about her that just seemed to sing to a place deep inside herself that she didn't know could even listen. They'd literally just met mere moments ago, but… Emma respected her.

And Emma never respected anyone.

"Yes," she finally decided aloud after a long moment of deliberation during which she had stared at the Queen intently, trying to deduce that special something that made her answer the way she did. "I think that could be arranged, Your Majesty."

The Queen smirked. "Then it seems you have work once again, girl," she announced, sweeping back towards her carriage in a flourish of velvet and lace before pausing and beckoning Emma forwards. "Come along. You'll ride with me for today. It is a long ride to the palace, and Matron Josie will have to prepare the handmaiden's quarters for you."

And so Emma, bemused beyond all reason at this sudden turn of events, obeyed and followed after the Evil Queen. If only Mother could see her now!

At least in the carriage there would be no dust.