Nothing Comes from Nothing
A Parakitty/Lain Production: A Swan Queen Story

Author: parakitty

Co-Author / Beta: Lain Stardust

General Disclaimer(s): Refer to Part 1.

Author's Note: We live! The delay in posting was utterly unintentional, but as sometimes happens, life has been . . . interesting. A lot has happened since we last posted. We house-sat for some friends. We bought our own house which included a lot of DIY renovations that are not yet complete, even now. Of course, that also piled on all the joys of packing and moving all our crap and amenities, then Kitty's mother a few weeks later. And sadly, one of our cats passed away shortly after the move. Frankly, it was quite heartbreaking, but we're back, now.

Please keep in mind that, as we are still in Neverland, all of the warnings regarding flashbacks remain in effect. Synopses of the flashbacks will be in the chapter endnotes.

Thank You, as always, for all the likes, favorites, follows and kudos. Please remember to be polite in your comments and reviews. Also, if you feel the need to leave extensive commentary as to the grammar and mechanics of our story, do us the courtesy of contacting us privately about it; anything else is simply rude. Our emails are in our profiles, and there's always our Tumblr: ncfn.

~SQ~

PART 17
Neverland, Part 3

The cabin door slammed open, a highly agitated Emma Swan storming in and whirling around to deliver it a swift kick, shutting it behind her. She stalked across the cabin, muttering incoherently as the scowl on her face deepened. She was so caught up in her own head that she didn't notice when Irene cracked the door open, only to be waved off by Regina.

As soon as the door closed, once more, the former mayor stepped up to her pacing friend and placed a staying hand on her upper arm. "Emma, what's the matter?" she inquired, not having seen the woman so upset since the night she had discovered the truth about the Enchanted Forest.

Emma turned wild eyes on the woman hovering at her elbow, as if seeing her for the first time since entering the room. It took a moment to truly register her presence, and once she did, the sheriff felt heat blooming in her cheeks. Shaking her head roughly, she looked away, too embarrassed to form a reply.

Brows furrowing in concern, Regina moved to stand in front of her companion, the deep mortification flowing through the bond worrying her. When attempts to catch her eye didn't work, she placed two fingers under the dimpled chin and urged her to look up. "Now," she encouraged softly, "tell me what has you so upset."

Unable to refuse the coaxing tone, the savior bit her bottom lip, worrying it for a few moments before finally mumbling, "I started my period." Immediately, her gaze found the floor, again, too humiliated to make eye contact. She broke away from the light contact and started pacing the length of the small cabin, once more. Running her hands through her hair, she explained in a rush, "I had felt kinda tired today but didn't think anything about it. And when I went to the bathroom just now, I discovered…," she trailed off uncertainly, throwing an anguished look in her friend's direction. "With everything happening, I didn't think about how close I was. I mean, everything was crazy, then we were on a boat, and I just…. And now, I don't have anything to deal with this, and my clothes are probably ruined. And—."

Regina quickly cut her ramblings off, gently placing her fingertips over Emma's mouth. "It's okay," she assured her frantic companion. "We'll take care of it, Emma. Just take a deep breath and try to relax." Seeing the sheriff following her instructions and slowing her breathing, the former queen smiled softly, running through the options in her head. Nodding to herself, she said, "You have two choices. I can create some tampons, or I can use magic to move things along more quickly."

The last statement made the savior's head snap up, and she regarded the former mayor carefully. "What do you mean by moving things along?" she asked dubiously. It wasn't that she didn't trust her, she was simply wary of anything meant to affect her body.

"There's a spell I can use that would hasten your menses," the sorceress offered. Off Emma's startled expression, she expounded, "I've utilized it for my guards, before, if you want to ask someone else what it's like. Essentially, the spell forces your uterus to expel its lining very quickly."

Emma's nose crinkled slightly at the idea. Still, the thought of several days of worrying with her period without modern conveniences, even if she did have tampons, was just too much for her to contemplate. "When you say very quickly, just how fast are we talking about, here?" she queried curiously. It wasn't a subject she was overly comfortable discussing, though she noticed Regina seemed to be taking it all in stride.

Smiling as she felt the sheriff's anxiousness start to dissipate, Regina explained succinctly, "It would be over in three to four hours." She fought not to laugh as Emma's mouth dropped open incredulously, knowing it wouldn't be appreciated, at the moment. "I will warn you that the cramping associated with it can be more intense than you may be used to, but most consider it a small trade-off for the convenience."

Several long moments passed while Emma mulled it over before she nodded slowly. "Yeah. Okay," she agreed, nervously raking her hands through her hair, again. "How does it work?"

Regina took one of the savior's hands in her left and made an elegant gesture with her right, using magic to create the items they'd need. Giving Emma's hand a light squeeze, she walked to the bed where a small stack of black towels now rested. She removed an absorbent pad from the top of the pile and placed it in the middle of the mattress, quickly topping it with a plush towel. Turning to her companion, she informed her, "You'll lie down there, and once you're situated, I'll enact the spell. It's that simple."

"Wait a minute," Emma balked, paling slightly. "You mean I have to lay there while I just bleed everywhere?" The idea was somewhat horrifying, and she stared at Regina in disbelief.

Rolling her eyes, the former mayor placed her hands on her hips and met the sheriff's stare unblinkingly. "Trust me when I say this is much better to the alternative of attempting to walk around while the spell is in effect." Her gaze assessed the woman standing uncomfortably before her, and she sighed as she tried to think of a way to calm her. "I'll stay with you the entire time, if you like, Emma. And it's really not as much blood and tissue as you think, only two to five tablespoons, at most."

The sheriff blanched further, eyes impossibly wide as she exclaimed, "Jesus fucking Christ, Regina. That's not a very reassuring thought, just so you know." The frown on her face morphed to a look of disgust as she shifted her feet. "Ugh," she moaned, pressing a hand to her belly and glancing down. "You know what? Fine. Anything is better than this." Just thinking of the mess and hassle of cleanup every time she'd need to change out tampons was enough to make her agree. Four days into their excursion, and she missed running water with a fierce passion.

Dipping her head to hide her smirk, Regina pointed to the bed and instructed, "Strip and lie down. You can use the other bath sheet to cover yourself, and there's a smaller towel to place between your thighs, if you wish." She turned her back to the bed, going back to the trunk of dragon leather, removing a bolt of dark blue, along with the box of sewing implements, and setting them on the desk after moving aside the pile of black leather already there. Her smirk grew as she listened to the savior grumble and shuffle about, having to bite her lip when she heard a vehement, "Gross," float across the room. Once everything was silent, she asked over her shoulder, "All settled?"

Emma shifted one last time under the giant towel and replied reluctantly, "Yeah." She knew that she really should be happier about the prospect of getting her period over and done with so quickly, but she was feeling vulnerable and exposed, unsure of what to expect. One glance at her friend's soft smile had her relaxing a little, the compassion in those brown eyes going a long way to steady her nerves. "So, what happens, now?" she questioned quietly.

Regina came to stand beside the bed, eyes crinkling at the corners as she flashed a supportive smile. "Now, I'll need to place my hand on your abdomen to cast the spell. It will only take a moment, but it does require direct contact," the sorceress explained as she perched on the edge of the mattress. Upon receiving a hesitant nod in response, she requested in a gentle tone, "Place your hand directly over your navel for me." Eyeing the small lump under the towel, she snaked her left hand under the material, resting it precisely beneath Emma's hand on her lower abdomen. She concentrated on the spell she needed, feeling her magic flow freely into the sheriff and coil in her belly. It happened almost immediately, and Regina was startled at how effortlessly the spell had transferred. She patted her companion's hand before withdrawing and standing.

"Why is it a spell and not a potion?" the savior asked. While she had been undressing, the thought had crossed her mind, but she had waited until then to voice it. Some of the things the former mayor had done had been accomplished with potions, and she wasn't sure what the criteria were for deciding which would be better for any given situation—a potion or a spell.

Eyebrows raising, Regina looked at Emma and tilted her head, studying her inquisitive expression. It warmed her to see her student taking a more active interest in learning the finer points of magic. Settling into the chair closest to the bed, she said, "Potions are used for most ailments and for curing things, but the reproductive system and the hormones involved require a delicate touch. While a potion would work for inducing sterility, abortion, or even temporarily alleviating impotence, utilizing one for this purpose could be disastrous." A quick glance at furrowed brows caused her to continue. "If not calculated perfectly to your current hormone levels, a potion can cause irreparable damage to the lining of your uterus and cause infertility. It's simply not worth the risk," she advised softly. "This is one time the hands-on approach is best, as it allows the caster to directly assess exactly how much of a nudge your body needs to speed things up without accidentally overcompensating."

Emma laid there silently, staring up at Regina as she absorbed the new information. After a few moments, she responded, "That makes sense, I guess. I mean, not that I'm planning on having any kids, but I'd hate to have the option taken away." She chuckled a little then caught the tightness in her friend's expression and sobered quickly. "What is it?" she questioned gently, wondering at the abrupt change.

Regina shook her head quickly, throat closing and a heaviness settling in her chest. "It's nothing," she denied in a strained voice, refusing to look Emma's way.

Shifting to get up, the sheriff stopped herself at the last second, remembering her current state. Huffing in annoyance, she reached out to the former mayor and tried to get her attention, quietly calling, "Hey, talk to me." Not getting a response, she pled in a low tone, "Regina, don't shut me out."

That brought the sorceress's head up, and she gazed into compassionate, green eyes, eventually extending her own hand to grasp the one being offered. "I . . . I can't have children," she whispered, voice cracking on the last word. The fingers around hers tightened to nearly bruising, and she squeezed back gratefully. After a moment, she added, "I'm unable to carry to term, another of Leopold's legacies."

Emma began rubbing her thumb over the back of Regina's captive knuckles, not trying to hold back her feelings from the bond. "I'm sorry," she murmured, not sure what else could be said other than expressing her own desire to rip the old bastard's heart out of his chest.

Regina gave her companion a wavering smile and replied, "Thank you." The savior's affection was heavy and comforting and moved unrestrained through their connection. It made her heart light up, and she could feel the magic washing back and forth between them like waves against the shore. With one last, parting grip to the hand holding hers, she pulled back and focused on the pile of leather on the table. Changing the subject, she said conversationally, "I suppose this is an excellent time to get your opinion on a project I have in mind."

Deciding to let the matter go, the savior capitulated easily. "Alright. Lay it on me," she declared, giving her friend a goofy grin, knowing it got to her every time.

Chuckling indulgently, the former mayor gestured to the trunk in the corner and the implements spread out about her. "I realized you don't have any armor for your position in the Crows Guard," she said with a wry twist of her lips. "And don't tell me you have your training leathers. Those would never protect you in a real fight." Her expression turned bashful as she added, "I'd like to use this leather to rectify that, if you'll allow me."

The sheriff blinked, nonplussed at the realization that not only was Regina planning on making her armor out of enchanted, dragon skin, she was going to do it by hand. "I . . . I can't even…." There was a pause as Emma's brain finally kicked back into gear, and then, she was bobbing her head enthusiastically as she squeaked, "Hell yeah. That would be awesome."

A beaming grin lit Regina's face, and she indicated the dark blue hide. "I thought this navy and the dove gray would look best on you, but there's probably enough of the plum and buckskin if you'd rather have that," she suggested, lightly running her fingertips over the supple material. It was a dream come true to have the opportunity to work with so much of the exquisite leather. She couldn't wait to get started and only needed the sheriff's approval to begin.

"What about that red?" Emma asked, remembering the way the former mayor had cradled the piece against herself in the cavern. She had a sneaking suspicion that the woman had other plans for that particular bolt, and her hunch was confirmed by the faint blush coloring the sorceress's cheeks.

Nibbling gently on her lower lip, the former queen raised her eyebrows anxiously. "I had been hoping to use that and the black to make something for myself," she admitted sheepishly. One look at the mischievous grin on her companion's face had Regina huffing in mock indignation. "It's not nice to tease your elders."

Scoffing, Emma retorted, "Yeah, all of one year, maybe." Her eyes skimmed over the trim figure bent over the desk. It was impossible to ignore the former mayor's stunning beauty.

"Physically, I'm three years older than you. In terms of actual years lived, I'm twice your age, Dear," Regina pointed out as she spread the navy leather on the desktop and began drafting out pattern pieces with chalk. A smirk formed when the sheriff only rolled her eyes in response.

Emma watched quietly for long minutes, observing the way Regina's brows furrowed faintly in thought and how her face scrunched up when she wasn't happy with something. It was utterly adorable, and the sheriff knew she was in deep and sinking further every day. A heavy puff of air escaped her as she tried to push down her more-than-friendly feelings for the former mayor.

Head coming up at the loud sigh, the former queen focused on her companion and asked, "Is everything alright?" She worried that she had misjudged the amount of magic she'd put into the spell. Had she used too much?

Quickly coming up with an excuse, the savior replied, "I don't think the spell is working. Shouldn't I be feeling something by now?" And it was true that she wasn't even twinging, let alone cramping, like she'd been led to believe would happen.

Regina frowned and stepped over to the bedside, muttering half to herself, "It's been decades since I've performed this spell. Perhaps I didn't use enough magic." Holding out her right hand, she inquired, "May I?" and gestured at the savior's abdomen.

"Sure," the sheriff mumbled uncertainly. While the touches weren't sexual, they were intimate and made Emma squirm slightly. So, when Regina's hand made contact with her lower belly, she flinched the tiniest bit.

Noticing the reaction, Regina squinted in apology. "Sorry if my hand's cold." Again, she let her magic free to curl around Emma's womb and discovered that she had, indeed, not given it enough of a push. Concentrating briefly, she felt the area under her palm warm as their magics met, and she nudged the savior's own magic into helping her out, waiting until she could sense the first, faint contraction before removing her hand. She made sure the towel was still covering her companion's modesty, then moved back to her sewing project. "That should do it. I'm sure you'll be feeling it shortly, now," she quipped lightly, knowing Emma would be cursing her in the next fifteen minutes or so.

A comfortable silence descended, once more, as the sorceress resumed drawing out her plans on the leather. Emma watched as she pulled out a pair of her jeans and a tank top, using them to check proportions over the course of several minutes. Her quiet contemplation of the former mayor was interrupted by a sudden, intense cramp, and the sheriff's brow furrowed at the sharp ache. The first was followed by more, and she soon found herself curled up on her left side, arms wrapped around her middle. A long, low groan of discomfort left her, and she watched her friend's head snap up from her work.

It took only a moment's indecision before Regina set down the bone shears she had been holding and moved to perch on the edge of the mattress. Tenderly, she brushed a few long, golden strands of hair back from Emma's face, noting the pained look she sported. "I'm sorry it's so uncomfortable," she murmured regretfully. Yes, it was a relatively fast-acting spell and would make the savior's journey more comfortable in the long-run, but at the moment, the former mayor disliked knowing she was indirectly causing Emma pain.

"S'okay," the sheriff grunted, drawing her knees up tighter. After a moment, she tentatively queried, "Did you ever use this spell?" She needed a distraction from what was rapidly turning into the period from hell.

Expression falling instantly into a stoic mask, the sorceress blinked a few times before shaking it off and remembering that she didn't have to close up around Emma, not anymore. "I never had an opportunity to use it for myself in this manner, no," she admitted in a raspy voice. Subtly clearing her throat, she expounded, "I did employ it on a few occasions to hasten along miscarriages, though." Her eyes slid shut as she pushed down the remembered pain, physical and emotional, that still accompanied those losses.

Emma's eyes widened with realization and she cursed, "Shit. Regina, I…. Shit, I'm sorry," she stumbled through the apology, sending her remorse flooding through the bond.

"It's alright, Emma," Regina quickly reassured the savior to stall any self-recriminations before they could take hold. "I've had an extremely long time to come to terms with my past, including this," she said, continuing to stroke blonde tresses in an attempt to comfort them both. Scowling faintly, the former queen muttered, "It's only because these damned dreams—these memories—have been so unrelenting since we arrived here that I'm having any difficulty. I'll admit that reliving pieces my life every time I drift off or go to sleep is becoming a bit tiresome." Her face scrunched up in distaste as she recalled her dreams just before waking that morning. Feeling the boundless concern rolling off Emma, she added for her benefit, "That's partly why I'm so pleased about the prospect of making you armor. I'm hoping it will keep my attention and prevent some of these . . . trances," she finished with a vague wave of her left hand, not buried in soft curls.

Understanding that her friend was handling things the way she preferred, the sheriff didn't push and decided to follow the change in topic, hoping for a distraction of her own. "So, in the cave, you said this leather has magical properties," Emma said leadingly. "What were you talking about?"

Grateful for the minor deflection, Regina sent a short burst of warming magic through her companion's body to help relax her before getting up and moving back over to the desk. Her hands picked up the shears and immediately set to work, again, as she answered the question. "High dragon leather has a naturally high resistance to the vast majority of magic. Depending on the intentions of the dragon who shed it, it can also be imbued with a specific, magical effect."

Although the circumstances were unusual, Emma was immediately drawn into the mini lesson in which her teacher seemed to be engaging her. "Skipping the intentions thing, right now," she started, "what kind of effects do you mean? Is it an enchantment like the gauntlets the Crows Guard have?"

Regina laid out the cut pieces of leather that would eventually become a cuirass on the desktop to check the design. Nodding to herself, she stacked them together and began working on the grey hide for the pants. "The enchantments I put on the gauntlets are different. Rest assured, I'll be adding some of those to this set, as well, but this is different." She took a moment to visually check on the sheriff, making sure she didn't seem to be in too much pain. Seeing only a faint tightness around green eyes, she kept working. "What I'm talking about are properties that are part of the hide itself, not layered on top. For instance, Excalibur's scabbard is wrapped in high dragon leather that releases a concussive shockwave when someone attacks the wearer."

"Wait a minute," the savior blurted in disbelief. "Excalibur, as in King Arthur and the sword in the stone Excalibur?" Everything just sounded so ludicrously epic. "You knew King Arthur?" she asked skeptically.

A fond smile curled the corners of Regina's mouth as she remembered watching the charismatic monarch training with the castle guards during his visits to Angevin. With a chuckle, she affirmed, "Yes, I did. He had to remove the scabbard during training or else have his opponents blasted across the yard on their first hit. It was endlessly amusing to watch him trounce the King's Guard." Her smile grew wicked as she made the last cut and gathered up the scraps, placing them in a small broadcloth bag and returning them to the trunk.

Bringing their conversation back to the topic at hand, Emma inquired, "How do we find out if there's anything special about this leather?" She shifted slightly and made a face of disgust as she felt a gush of warm stickiness on her thighs. If they made it back to Storybrooke, she didn't think she'd ever utilize this particular magical option, again.

The former mayor set the pile of grey leather on the edge of the desk and settled into the chair nearest the bed. When she threaded a black, bone needle with the thread she'd found in the sewing box, she marveled at the unique texture, strong like sinew but soft as silk. As Regina started on the task of sewing the pieces together, she discovered she had to use a small trickle of magic to get the thread to move through the hide. Distractedly, she commented, "We won't until you're in an actual fight. There's really no easy way to test it." The comically apprehensive look on her companion's face encouraged her to add, "No need to worry, Dear. This is better than heavy plate. Swords and arrows won't even scratch it. And I could always try a few spells on the leftover bits to see if we can figure it out."

Frowning in consternation, the sheriff shook her head as if it would help her process all this information. She took in the way Regina's hands moved with deft surety as she pushed the needle through the leather effortlessly. "Okay. If that's the case, how the hell did you just cut all of that?" she challenged. Raising her eyebrows, she taunted playfully, "Explain that, Miss Smarty-Pants."

Regina fought down her grin at the teasing tone and responded haughtily, "The shears and needle are made of dragon bone, of course." It only took a few moments of expectant silence before she cracked and chuckled quietly, lips twitching in amusement. "It's probably dragon horn, to be more specific." Visage turning pensive, she said, "I don't recall ever hearing any mention of high dragons desecrating their dead to use their bones. And no one else would have the ability to shape the bone like this." She resolved not to mention the apparent required use of her own magic. It would only make the sheriff fuss over her, and while the sewing caused an odd ringing in her body, it wasn't an unpleasant sensation.

"You keep talking about them like they're smart or, I don't know, sentient," Emma huffed with a hint of frustration.

Tilting her head to the side, the former queen wondered why the concept was hard for the other woman to grasp. "That's because they are. High dragons are incredibly intelligent beings." She tried to find an analogy that would help the sheriff understand. At last, she explained, "They're no more akin to the beasts that roam the mountainous regions of the Enchanted Forest than we are to chimpanzees."

Emma considered that for a moment, then, remembered her encounter beneath the Storybrooke Library. "What about that dragon that I killed under the library? Please tell me that wasn't one of those high dragons because it only roared and tried to eat me," she snarked.

The former mayor looked down at the leather in her lap, a remorseful look on her face. "No." It was almost a minute before she found her voice, again, and she fought the desire to squirm under Emma's continued silence. Very softly, she confessed, "That was Maleficent. She used a shapeshifting spell to turn into a dragon. She was as human as you or I."

The savior felt like she'd been doused in ice water as the words registered. After what seemed like ages, she croaked, "Maleficent? A person?" Green eyes filled with tears sought out her friend, the full implications of her actions that day crashing down on her, at last. Her voice warbled as she beseeched, "Are you telling me I murdered someone?" When no answer was immediately forthcoming, she demanded more forcefully, "Damnit, Regina, did you know I would have to kill her to get that potion?!" She sat up in the bed, clutching the towel to her chest as anger and betrayal churned in her stomach.

A flash of ire sparked in Regina's eyes, and she glared at Emma as the cabin door swung open, Irene and Diego worriedly peering inside. Raising her hand and never looking away from the sheriff, the former queen used her magic to slam the door shut as she commanded, "Not now," ignoring the faint protest through the wood. She narrowed her eyes at the savior and snarled, "I didn't know Rumpelstiltskin had hidden anything inside her until that moment in his shop. You were there when he admitted as much."

"Yeah, but you two were talking in riddles, as usual," Emma sneered petulantly.

Incredulous at her companion's obliviousness, the former mayor jeered acerbically, "You really are blonde, aren't you? What part of 'old friend' could you misinterpret as anything other than a person, Miss Swan?" She had no idea how the woman managed to survive so long on her own if this was the limit of her reasoning skills.

Throwing a hand up in exasperation, the sheriff exclaimed, "I don't know, Regina! For all I knew, dragons were the Enchanted Forest's equivalent of dogs—you know, a sorcerer's best friend." Her brows were tightly drawn together as she said, "It's not like you explained much beyond, 'Find a way to retrieve the potion and get out of there.'" Realization dawned on her, and she accused, "You did know. You knew and sent me down there to do your dirty work. What the fuck, Regina?! In what world is that okay?"

Irises flashing a warning violet, Regina hissed, "In the world where our son lived, Emma!" She placed her hands on her hips and stared down at the savior, scorn lacing every word as she said, "Yes, I knew you'd have to kill her for the potion. Yes, you murdered someone. Join the fucking club," she extolled with a mirthless chuckle, spreading her arms wide. Then, she leaned forward slightly and growled, "We killed her because we thought it would save Henry. And don't you dare tell me you wouldn't kill again to save our son. I know you better than that." She jabbed a finger into the mattress, eyes manic as she declared, "I would give up everything for him."

And just like that, Emma felt all the fight drain out of her because she remembered this woman saying things like our son, and family, and miscarriages. Biting her bottom lip, she dipped her head to break the intense stare being leveled at her and took a deep, fortifying breath. "You're right," she said, bringing her gaze back to Regina's. She watched the former queen suck in a quick breath and relax infinitesimally, so she carried on. "I would do whatever it takes to save Henry and worry about the moral implications after the fact. So, yeah, I get it." She reached out in silent apology to catch one of Regina's hands. "It's just, you know, the idea of outright murder—not something I really prepared myself for," she trailed off uncertainly.

Regina dropped ungracefully back into her chair, the sudden fury gone as quickly as it had come. "You're never prepared for your first kill," she whispered sorrowfully, lost in her own head for a moment. Bringing herself back to the present, the former queen dismissed the argument and took the offered hand. Releasing a heavy sigh, she murmured softly, "I'm just afraid we'll be too late, this time."

"I feel the same way, too, sometimes," the savior acknowledged just as quietly. Her expression turned morose, and she settled back down on her side, unwilling to meet Regina's eyes. A part of her had always been dubious about her actions under the library, but it had been their only hope for saving Henry, at the time. Even nearly a year later, Emma found the situation overwhelming and firmly shoved her concerns into a mental corner to be unearthed later—much later. At least Regina seemed remorseful of the outcome, as well.

The sorceress flicked her gaze over her companion's face, cataloguing every miniscule twitch of muscle. Interlacing their fingers, she gave a gentle squeeze of the digits held in hers. Knowing she had to be the strong one in this situation, she spoke with firm conviction as she avowed, "We will find Henry and take him home." Then, in an effort to lighten the mood, she quipped, "We'll simply have to confine him to the house until he's forty to ensure he stays out of trouble."

Emma saw the merriment dancing in dark orbs and couldn't help but laugh, in spite of everything. "Somehow, I don't think that will go over very well when he starts dating," she remarked with a snigger. "I mean, it'll be bad enough when he's a teenager, but can you imagine the awkward walks of shame we'd be subjected to once he's in his thirties?"

Regina rolled her eyes and pulled her hand free to lightly smack Emma's arm as she returned to her sewing, fondly muttering, "Ridiculous," under her breath. Focus returning to the leather, she waited for the next inevitable question from the sheriff. If the last four and a half months had taught her anything, Emma was persistent when she had a puzzle to solve. And right then, she knew that the idea of high dragons was titillating the savior's naturally inquisitive mind.

Sure enough, only a few more minutes passed before Emma needed further distraction from her cramps and inquired, "Just how intelligent are your high dragons supposed to be?"

Smirking slightly at knowing her friend so well, the former mayor supplied, "Immensely so. Our history teaches us that they are the creators of our world." Off the skeptical expression directed her way, she expounded, "It's not in the same sense of the Christian god, more along the lines of gently directing the evolution of our species and nudging significant events toward a particular outcome."

Her tone was so nonchalant, Emma could almost believe it. Then, her common sense kicked in and she snorted in derision. "Sure," she scoffed. "So, you've seen one of these high dragons, before?" This was all just too far-fetched for her to lend any credence to the idea. They weren't even talking about people but animals.

"No," came the easy concession. Before the savior could get too excited about a possible loophole, Regina added, "But someone I knew had. He was acquainted with several, though he wouldn't tell me their names." Her smirk grew in the face of Emma's confusion, enjoying the opportunity to tease her friend.

Emma simply stared at the former mayor for several seconds and concluded that she was just going to be in a constant state of cynicism for the rest of this conversation. "Alright," she drawled as she figured out how to phrase her next question. "Do you believe in them?" she queried hesitantly. They were getting into uncertain territory because if there was one thing Emma knew, people got defensive about religion very quickly.

Tilting her head to the side, the former queen carefully considered her response. "I know they are living, sentient beings with many of the abilities ascribed to them. I do not, however, think they are actual gods." She was quiet a moment while she concentrated on a few stitches, mulling over her convictions. At last, she continued, "High dragons are simply more powerful and advanced wielders of magic than we are, thus, they appeared godlike to the early peoples of our world. But there are plenty of non-religious, historical accounts of them to know they exist."

The sheriff thought about that and realized it made perfect sense, especially when she considered that the Enchanted Forest existed in a completely separate world from Earth, and they were on yet another world. It was just the idea of anything being worshipped as a god that was really throwing her for a loop. Rolling her lips and grimacing as she shifted a little, she probed curiously, "Do people still worship them?"

Regina nodded as she picked up another piece of leather to add to the ones in her lap. "In some places, they are still venerated as gods. That being said, worship has declined greatly over the last few hundred years, and it's become a matter of small, private acts of devotion," she explicated, glancing up to find her companion watching her intently.

"How?" Emma asked when it was obvious the former mayor wasn't going to continue. "How do people worship them? Are there churches and prayers involved, or is it more sacrificing a goat kind of thing?" she joked, grinning at the ridiculousness of the idea.

The sorceress worked hard to keep a straight face when she responded flatly, "Both."

Dumbfounded, the savior's mouth dropped open in shock. "Wait. What?" She tittered nervously, pretty sure that her friend was pulling her leg. But then again, the woman did have a knack for throwing odd truths her way. Clearing her throat, she said, "I could have sworn you just admitted people sacrificed goats."

"They did, though the practice has largely died out since none of the dragons are active on our world, at this time. Cattle, deer, sheep, and elk were quite common, as well." Upon seeing Emma's shocked expression, Regina ducked her head and bit her lip to stifle the snicker that tried to escape. Finding it too much fun to tease the woman, she added nonchalantly, "However, young girls were by far the most frequent offerings at the temples." She risked a peek at her friend and couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up in response to the flabbergasted look she was receiving.

It took a few tries before Emma could finally squeak, "Please tell me you're joking."

Shaking her head, the former mayor had pity on the sheriff and reassured, "The girls were sent to the temples to become acolytes and, hopefully, priestesses. They weren't sent there to be eaten by the dragons." Pausing, she conceded with an impish smirk, "Well, not as food, at least, and not until they had reached adulthood. Although," she muttered as an afterthought, "that can be as early as fourteen in the Enchanted Forest." Emma's sudden coughing fit compelled her to add, "Sex was, and still is, an integral aspect of the religion."

The savior fought a moment to find air, reeling from hearing the oh-so-proper former queen so casually reference oral sex. If nothing else, she was fairly certain that Regina was just trying to get a rise out her. "Just to clarify, here, are we talking about sex with dragons?" she asked suspiciously, part of her not sure she wanted to know the answer to that.

"The dragons would take human form for any temple rituals, Emma," came the dry response. On a bit of a roll, now, Regina laid out some of the basics. "The old religion was polytheistic and centered around a handful of dragons, but the main one was Razikale, the god of mystery. She is considered the cardinal deity and was the patron god of my family, both on my mother's and father's side." Her gaze returned to the leather as she spoke. "Temples were run almost exclusively by women. Priests were exceedingly rare, and the last time one was awarded that position, it was over two millennia ago."

Propping her head on her left hand, elbow digging into the mattress, Emma found herself getting lost in the cadence of Regina's voice, completely forgetting her physical discomfort in the face of what was turning out to be an interesting history lesson. It impressed her how the former mayor could make such information as appealing as a good fiction novel, and she wondered if it was the way that she presented the material or just the woman herself.

The former queen smiled inwardly as she noticed she had her audience's rapt attention. She enjoyed imparting knowledge when her student was so eager to learn more, and it helped her reconnect with a world she hadn't seen in nearly three decades and occasionally missed. "You'll be interested to know that all of the gods were female, though there are male dragons, of course. They aren't indigenous to our world; rather, they act as guardians of sorts." Sorting through the stack of leather on the desk, she picked out an oddly shaped piece and resumed her sewing along with the lesson. "The animals were brought as food offerings, and the girls sent to the temples would be educated in healing, arts, literature, mathematics, and magic. A woman who had earned the title of priestess was considered a formidable sorceress. As a result of the rituals involved, it became a part of her and was woven into her DNA."

That peaked the sheriff's interest, and she perked up considerably. Following the thread Regina had begun, she extrapolated, "So, then, magic is hereditary and passed down from one generation to the next. If that's the case, why don't Mary Margaret or David have any magic?"

"You're unique, Emma," Regina told her with a fond smile. Her lips twisted into a smirk when she added, "Your magic stems from you being conceived during a moment of True Love between your parents. If either of them stem from a priestess line, it's so far removed as to have little effect on you." Chuckling lowly at the way Emma's face contorted in distaste at the mention of her origins, she had mercy on her companion and said, "But it is why I have magic, and my mother, and her mother before her. It runs in the female lines. On the rare occasions it manifests in a male, the magic tends to be volatile and . . . dangerous. Boys born with magic don't usually live terribly long," she informed her regretfully.

Her countenance turning pensive, Emma muttered quietly, "That sucks." She couldn't imagine how awful that would be for a parent to go through. It reminded her a little of the Legend of the Seeker books she had borrowed from Regina. She still needed to finish that series so she could begin the one that the former mayor was currently reading—something about sassy witches, misunderstood demons, and smartass pixies.

Regina hummed in agreement, remembering Merlin telling her he had been one of the more fortunate ones. Thoughts of the old man brought a smile to her face, and she fell silent as she recalled magic lessons that had been fun and lighthearted, a strong juxtaposition to those taught by her other master. He had been the one to help her connect the ancient traditions learned from her aunts to the benevolent form of magic he practiced.

Worried that her friend was slipping into one of her dreaded trances, the savior broke the stillness with a follow-up to an earlier question. "You said that people no longer use the temples like they used to?" she led in, waiting for Regina's attention to return to her. After getting a succinct nod in reply, she queried, "How do they worship, now, the ones who still do?"

There was a long pause before the former queen answered as she deliberated just how delicately to couch her response. "When I mentioned private acts of devotion, earlier, I meant sex. It was said that the energy expended during the old ceremonies was absorbed by the dragons. Needless to say, since it was a pleasurable way to provide an offering to the gods, sex as praise lingered long after the dragons withdrew their presence from our world." After a moment's hesitation, Regina decided to forgo mentioning the temple prostitutes. If the sheriff's expression was anything to go by, she didn't think she could take in much more before overloading. However, she didn't bother to hide her smirk as she muttered, "Gods know I paid enough solitary tribute in my early teens."

Emma's eyebrows practically tried to crawl off her forehead at this new information. When she had begun her line of inquiry, she hadn't expected to get such a mind-bending, or personal, answer. "Um, that seems a bit unusual," the savior said, surprised by the former mayor's easy candor.

"Sex and sexuality are not considered shameful things in the Enchanted Forest, or in most places in our world. It was the True Love zealots who tried to turn such a natural part of life into something to be hidden away," Regina lectured, a hint of sternness in her tone. She had been particularly diligent in trying to keep that upstart religion's bishops out of her kingdom. Softening at her companion's startled reaction to her vehemence, she added gently, "Not quite the answer you were expecting, I'm sure."

The sheriff snorted and replied, "Not really, no." She paused for a minute then probed, "Did you ever worship them? Do you still?" It was only after seeing the decidedly wicked grin on her friend's face that it dawned on Emma just what she was asking, and she wished she could swallow her tongue.

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched high, and Regina licked her lips and purred, "Why, Miss Swan, are you asking if I masturbate regularly?"

"What? No! That's not…!" Emma began protesting, eyes wild and cheeks flaming. After a bit of mental flailing, she seemed to collapse in on herself and muttered, "Fuck it all."

The former mayor released a giggle of sheer delight and clapped a hand over her mouth, chestnut irises sparkling with mirth. "I'm sorry," she managed around her laughter. "I do know what you meant, and yes, I did worship them to a certain extent." Demeanor becoming more serious, she informed her, "Most of it came in the form of a reverence for nature, an appreciation of the world around me. It involved planting new trees each year and taking a portion of the harvest's first fruits to the temples to be given out to those who needed it."

Relaxing as her friend let her faux pas go, the savior questioned, "Is that where some of the magic techniques we've been working with come from, the old religion?" Their entire conversation felt like it was loaded with land mines, and as much as Emma wanted to know more, a part of her was worried what would be unearthed with each new query.

A wistful expression crossed Regina's features as good memories rose to the surface. "Merlin was the one who taught me how to channel energy from the earth, how to truly connect with nature in a magical sense. It is where I learned my meditation, centering, and grounding techniques." She absently fiddled with the needle in her hand, overcome with a sudden desire to see her old mentor. "He explained the meaning behind old traditions, and yes, that included the sacraments of self-love," she relayed, a hint of mischief lacing her tone. A faint edge crept into her voice as she concluded, "However, my marriage had done a thorough job of removing any sexual desire I might have had. Even so, I compensated with devotion to my people and offerings of charity."

"That does sound nice," Emma admitted. She had never been a fan of religion, having been drug to many churches over the years, each proclaiming to know the only right way to serve God. It had annoyed her, being forced into a dress and made to sit quietly and patiently while some old, white man droned on and on about a savior who was supposed to make her life better if she just believed hard enough. Now, she was a savior of sorts, herself, and she still didn't know what to make of it most of the time. It felt too overwhelming, a lot like church had felt to her. And that made her think of something else. "Are there expectations? You know, like do the right thing and go to heaven, or sin and go to hell."

Lips pressed in a tight line, the former queen easily negated that idea. "No. There were never really expectations from the dragons. We were left as a people to live our lives as we saw fit." Stopping herself, she cocked her head to the side and amended, "Perhaps the only thing requested of us was to take care of our world, be good stewards to the flora and fauna that coexisted with us. The dragons acted more like guardians or custodians than gods. They didn't police morality, either." With a wave of her hand, she expounded, "Oh, they accepted worship and prayers, but they truly answered the requests of their followers. That's part of the reason the temple priestesses existed. They used their magic to intercede on behalf of the dragons and provide what assistance they could to the supplicants."

Exhaling slowly, the sheriff blinked a few times before uttering, "Well, that's the first time I've heard of actual, answered prayers." A few seconds later, she quipped, "Looks like Christianity got it wrong. Turns out the dragons were the good guys, all along."

Lips quirking faintly, Regina deadpanned, "Perhaps we should send a letter to the Pope upon our return to Storybrooke. Although, I do see how enormous, pansexual, shapeshifting, alien lizards being worshipped as gods could be a bit disconcerting to the uninitiated."

At that, the sheriff announced, "Okay, we've officially reached Twilight Zone levels of weirdness." Shaking her head, she grumbled, "I'm almost sorry I started this conversation."

Laughing as her friend pulled a face, the sorceress had pity on the other woman and asked something she'd been curious about for a while. "Do you ascribe to any religious beliefs, Emma?" From what she had observed during their time together, she had guessed that the savior did not have any religious inclinations but finally felt it was appropriate to ask since the topic was currently open.

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Emma adamantly stated, "No. I'm, uh, I'm an atheist." She shrugged her right shoulder and explained, "It's kind of hard to believe in a god when there's so much hate and misery in the world. And just the idea that some omnipotent being is treating us like their own personal chess game pisses me off." There was a new passion in her voice, the intimation of something hard and unyielding under the surface.

Regina flashed her an understanding smile and said slowly, "I think if I didn't have the concrete proof of high dragons to rely upon, I would likely be an atheist, as well." Raising an eyebrow, she gestured at herself and reminded the savior, "I've already explained I don't believe they are gods, per se, so it shouldn't be too surprising. As you've pointed out I'm the, and I quote, 'most sciency realist' you've ever met." Her smile faded, then, as she considered Emma's reasoning. It made frighteningly perfect sense to her. "And you are correct. The worlds are full to brimming with terrible things that no higher power should ever abide."

Brows knit together in consternation, the savior thought about all the awful things she'd seen, how so many of the kids she'd met in her foster homes had horror stories. She thought of the bits and pieces she'd gleaned about the Enchanted Forest and Regina's life there. It only reinforced her stance on the subject of religion and gods. "If there really was a god who cared about us, and all this shit keeps on happening—the wars and poverty and famine—I'd hate to see what an apathetic deity would be like. Uh uh," she negated, "no religion for me, thank you very much."

Regina graced her with a faint smile of commiseration. "Believe me, I understand. I'd hate to think that Razikale was awake during everything that my people and I suffered and did nothing." Glancing down, she unclenched the fists she had unconsciously made at the thought of being written off by her world's guardian. "However, she is currently in repose, or hibernation, and won't wake for another fifteen hundred years or so. In the meantime, we muddle through the best we know how."

"To hell with gods and religion," the sheriff proclaimed. Looking Regina in the eye, she stated seriously, "I say we make our own fate."

Lips tugging upward as a fierce sort of fondness swept through her, the former queen inclined her head and concurred, "Indeed."

~SQ~

For the most part, everyone onboard the Jolly Roger left the Dark One to his own devices, and that suited him just fine. His daughter and the savior had commandeered the captain's quarters, which had left him to claim the far less spacious quartermaster's. There was the officers' cabin, a tad larger, but he had left the Charmings and Hook to cohabitate with the double bunk. However, the mixed crew of Crows Guard and Salters had truly surprised him. They worked with an unexpected harmony, knowing what needed to be done and when and how. That was an attitude they desperately needed to survive his father, Peter Pan, though he was sure it would be fruitless.

So, writing most everyone off to die, Gold remained out of sight, only coming out for the occasional group meal in hopes of catching his estranged child or to lap the weather deck during the wee hours of the night. Hidden away in his room, he assessed and experimented with the natural magic of Neverland. It was pure and rich and thick, like nothing he had ever felt before. He was in awe of its clarity. Yet, as they traveled toward the cursed island that his father ruled, he felt the power rising, and that concerned him. If Peter Pan had amassed more magic since their last dealings, he feared for his son and grandson's lives.

The pawnbroker sat in the center of his small bed, staring at the closed door. With his right hand, he reached out and rolled his wrist, calling the invisible threads of magic to him. He felt the subtle tingle as it coiled around him. It was a heady experience, and he sighed with contentment as his eyes drifted closed. As he allowed himself to be dragged into that fleeting meditative state, he pondered whether Regina had sensed the underlying current to this world's magic. He wondered if that was why she primarily kept to herself, tolerating only her guard and Emma for company. However, talented apprentice or not, he doubted her ability to master the raw wildness of Neverland's magic before he could, and after days of tinkering, he was ready to explore the depths of potential titillating his mind's eye.

His body went rigid as his consciousness was abruptly swept into a particularly powerful current of magic, drawing him into a metaphysical space that existed somewhere between the physical realm and an endless void. Then, as his essence traveled a tunnel illuminated by vibrations and thin streaks of magic, he sensed others beyond the channel. He tried to peer through the blurred, murky boundaries that surrounded him, but he was moving too fast. Several times, he attempted to slow or alter his course, and each time, he was yanked along by the mysterious magic of this world.

"I'm no one's play thing," he snarled into the darkness. Then, on his command, he willed himself to stop, but his moment of triumph was short lived because the next thing he knew, he was plummeting down into unknown depths. The small streaks of colorful magic blinked away from his perception. He quickly lost track of his direction and distance, uncertain if he was falling down or up or if it made any difference in a place that was made solely of energy without form. However, just as he spotted a tiny dot of barely visible light, his body abruptly smacked into a cold, hard surface.

Groaning, he rolled onto his side. His left arm stretched out in front of him as he laid on the chilled, grey stone. Swallowing a few times, he blinked slowly, wondering how he had fallen prey to substance in a place of pure thought. As his left hand flexed, his fingertips caressing the smooth texture of the rock, he realized something was very wrong. If he hadn't willed the physical manifestations into being, who had?

It started off soft, at first, the quiet hissing. Gradually, the noise grew louder, and more susurrations joined the emerging chorus. Gold pushed himself upright. His head whipped around, searching the darkness that surrounded him, but saw nothing. He attempted to call forth a fireball, only for the magic to refuse to materialize. His fear fueled his wrath, and he demanded in a roar, "Show yourself! I'm afraid of no man or beast," he taunted.

Then, the tone of the murmuring shifted from annoyed to amused. The chorus of noise rolled in an almost pleasant ebb and flow of varied volumes. However, a loud, shuddering growl flowed out of the darkness, eclipsing everything else.

The pawnbroker's eyes widened as he stumbled, trying to keep his balance. He frantically searched for the being tormenting him. Before he could futilely make another demand, he heard a low, deep voice snarl, "Lo!" And another shouted, "Vodovahkiin!" Suddenly, there were multiple voices hissing and growling. Then, there was absolute silence.

Gold spun around. His gaze was drawn downward as his small circle of light closed in around him. "Wait!" he pled, looking back into the inky obscurity. He didn't know what laid beyond the light, and a frisson of dread shook him as he was encapsulated in black, a humid breeze rushing around him like the rhythmic breathing of a furnace bellows. "Please," he whispered as he trembled in fear. Even the Dark One could admit that whatever was lurking in the darkness was well beyond him, their power terrifyingly immense as it pressed against him.

A new voice sharply snapped, "Bovul."

Violently, Gold's consciousness snapped back into his body onboard the Jolly Roger. His eyes flew open as he gulped for air. Frantically, he tugged at the lacings of his shirt with trembling fingers, loosening the collar and opening the front. Sweat poured down his face as he flopped onto his right side. Eventually, he rolled onto his back and stared at the planked ceiling. Whatever the hell that had been, he knew it had nothing to do with his father.

~SQ~

"Are you sure about this?" Emma tentatively asked in a quiet voice, following behind her friend as they traversed the ladder-stairs. Her eyes darted around the narrow hatch, making sure the woman in front of her had a solid hold on the handrail. She squinted into the bright sunlight as they walked out onto the main deck.

"I told you," Regina mildly scolded, a little annoyed at repeating herself, again. And as much as she appreciated the tender care from her guards and Emma, she had quickly found it all suffocating in such close quarters. "I feel better," she added in a gentler tone. Turning around to face her apprentice, she flexed her left hand. A fireball sprung into existence with nary an effort. "As long as I don't overdo it, I'm sure I'll be fine," she assured softly with a warm smile. Dispelling the fireball, she closed the distance between them and cupped her friend's right elbow, drawing her attention. "I can only occupy myself with my tailoring project for so long, Emma," she explained, her voice taking on a low, warm quality. A fond smile curled her lips.

The sheriff felt a flutter in her stomach as she met brown eyes. Maybe she was being overprotective, but Anne had administered a drop of that medicine from the brown vial just that morning. Her brow furrowed as she frowned. "Regina," she whispered, not wanting to bring too much attention to them or their conversation. "You're still taking that medicine," she quietly reminded. Sighing, she closed her eyes and hung her head. Her hands went to her hips as she shook her head. She didn't want to overstep, but their fight several months ago over the damned pain pills still bothered her. It troubled her even more, now, and it never felt like the right time to approach Anne.

"Emma," the former mayor soothed. She squeezed the arm still in her grip as she brought her right hand to Emma's chin. Gently, she urged her friend to look up. "Sweet, Emma," she praised affectionately. "I'm fine. I promise," she swore, stroking her thumb along the sheriff's jaw. "It's just laudanum, and I'm used to its effects." Perhaps she should have discussed the drug sooner, if the blast of uncertainty rolling through the bond was any indication. "Emma, please," she husked, moving both of her hands to rub her worried friend's biceps. She couldn't bear for her to be upset with her, not any longer.

"I…," Emma started but trailed off, losing her train of thought in earnest, chestnut eyes. She blinked a few times before vigorously shaking her head. "I get it. I do," she swore, relaxing her stance and realizing her mistake. Bashfully, she shrugged and admitted, "I just worry." She flashed a goofy smile. And as she observed concern morph into affection, her stomach did that little flutter thing, again. "I know, I know," she interjected, cutting off her friend before she could interject. "We're okay," she promised. It didn't even register with her that they were communicating in half-formed thoughts, each intuitively understanding the other.

"Very well, if you're certain," Regina replied after a moment. She dropped her hands and took a step back. "Are you ready to begin, then?" she prompted, calling forth another fireball, grinning hugely at the feeling of her magic flowing comfortably, once more.

Biting her lower lip, the sheriff nervously glanced around the wooden ship. "I don't know if fire would be the best thing," she stated, rubbing the back of her neck. Maybe ice would be better. She pursed her lips as she pondered if ice bolts were a thing.

"Oi!" Hook shouted from the helm. Glancing around, he saw no one to relieve him, and when the queen didn't douse the fire, he quickly locked the wheel, looping a rope from the wheel house around a few spokes. "No, fireballs!" he demanded, rushing down the stairs to the main deck.

"No?" the former mayor coyly queried, tilting her head to watch the fool scurry toward her. She gazed into the fire hovering over her palm as a devilish smile crossed her lips. Then, she elegantly flipped her hand over, letting the fireball fall to the deck.

"Bloody hell, Woman!" Captain Jones cried. As soon as his boots hit the weather deck, he darted toward a storage locker. Yanking the heavy lid open, he pulled out a large, wooden pail with one end of a rope tied to its handle and tossed it over the side of the ship. The rope rapidly uncoiled as the bucket hit the ocean with a splash. He vigorously heaved on the rope, pulling up the lifesaving water. "You're fucking crazy," he seethed under his breath. Finally, the pail was within reach. He leaned over the side and hooked it. Then, after he pulled the half-full bucket over the gunwale, he stopped dead. There wasn't a fire. He glanced around, still holding the bucket of salt water.

Regina laughed heartily, her head falling back in delight. Merriment danced in her eyes as full, pink lips parted in a gleeful smile. She truly did miss having someone to torment now that she and Emma were such close friends.

For her part, the sheriff was utterly entranced. After days of tears and suffering, to hear such joyous amusement from her friend was a relief, for she worried about her. Emma couldn't stop her own soft chuckle from escaping, unable to look away as mischievous eyes met hers. She couldn't believe how incredibly strong this woman standing beside her truly was. As she took a deep breath, she felt her heart swell with pride and something more.

Watching Hook toss the bucket across the deck and storm back onto the quarterdeck, the former mayor basked in the now-familiar feelings emanating from her apprentice. She looked to the other woman and was struck by the apparent clarity and scope of emotion. In that moment, something shifted deep within her. It was something she hadn't experienced in a very long time, but pleasant as it was, she wasn't ready to contend with it just yet. So, she deflected with a sassy smirk and a wink, turning away. "I believe we shall work with your shields," she stated, pretending she didn't notice the flushing face under a curtain of blonde hair. She also ignored the responding flutter in her stomach.

"Okay," Emma squeaked. She cleared her throat and forced herself to focus. Her brow furrowed when she pulled the abundant, native magic to her. It felt different, or was it sailing across the ocean that made it different? She wasn't certain, but her confidence settled as the magical bubble shimmered around her.

Tutting, Regina shook her head as she gently reprimanded her student, "Never show your hand, Dear." With a roll of her left wrist, a new fireball sprouted into existence, and with expert precision, it was effortlessly tossed past the savior's shoulder toward the main course.

Reflexively, the sheriff ducked, forgetting about her personal shield, and spun to see the sail catch fire. "What the hell?" she gasped. She looked over her shoulder at her teacher, letting her mouth hang open.

"Fucking hell, Woman!" Hook bellowed, glaring upward as the canvas over his head burned. Fire on ships meant death, even more so in Neverland. "Put it out!" he demanded, his hand tightly gripping and twisting the spoke of the wheel. In a blink of an eye, the flames were gone and the sail restored. His shoulders sagged in relief, but he doubted that would be the last of the queen's magical torment. "Spirits preserve us," he muttered, closing his eyes and scowling at the two women.

Ignoring the pirate, the sorceress linked her hands in front of herself and raised her chin. "What was your mistake?" she questioned her apprentice. She patiently waited, giving the other woman a chance to process. However, an unwanted presence drew her attention. Lowering and turning her head to the left, she spied Rumpelstiltskin loitering on the forward bow, watching them with thinly veiled interest. She had hoped her former teacher would have been otherwise occupied in his cabin, as she didn't care to weather his criticisms. Nor did she need his cutting critiques undermining all Emma's hard work. Because for a novice who hadn't even believed in magic almost a year ago, her companion had made astonishing progress.

"I put my shield up too fast," Emma blurted, looking past her friend to see Gold. She bit her lower lip. "I assumed I would be the target," she added, refocusing on the woman before her.

"Yes," Regina responded with a brisk nod, facing forward. "You've become quite proficient with creating and maintaining a single, significant ward, but often, you'll need to protect multiple targets simultaneously," she explained, conjuring a fireball in each hand. Her eyes never left her apprentice.

"Oh, shit," the sheriff cursed under her breath, not missing Regina's wicked grin. She licked her lips and glanced at the full sails overhead. This was going to be a long lesson, but she shook off any doubts, re-centering herself. Her teacher was raising the bar, and she was ready to meet whatever challenge she set.

From the bow, Gold casually observed the impromptu magic lesson between the two women with keen interest, and he was suitably impressed with both student and teacher. Pride swelled within his dark heart, seeing his daughter as the capable master. Then, his focus shifted to the savior with her wild potential, teeming with the raw power of True Love. Turning away from the women, he gazed out into the seemingly endless expanse of water. Ever since Emma had cast the binding spell, he'd been unable to scry the future, leaving everyone's fate shrouded in darkness.

He scowled as he rested his hand on top the gunwale. Listening to the splash of water, he took a deep breath, but he couldn't stop himself from looking over his shoulder at his daughter. Again, his focus wandered back to the sheriff. No, things hadn't worked out as he had hoped, but maybe he could still make a few course adjustments.

~SQ~

With everyone occupied, Gold cautiously made his way down the narrow hall, past the officer's cabin, toward the captain's quarters. His curiosity had finally gotten the better of him. He had to know what Regina and Emma had magically transported onboard the day before. What did his daughter find that was so important? What was so valuable it had veered her focus from solely finding her son?

Stopping in front of the cabin door, he waved his hand over the doorknob, and when nothing happened, he frowned and tried, again. And again, the mechanism didn't move. He reached his right hand out, caressing his fingertips over the invisible threads of energy. His brow furrowed as the scope of the spell was revealed to him. It was impressive work. The entire cabin was magically secure, and the only entry-exit point was the cabin door. No one, at least not without serious effort, was going to get inside without the appropriate key.

He scowled at the door and abruptly pivoted on his heel. It wouldn't do to be caught loitering when Regina and Emma were both above deck. Apparently, his daughter had managed to develop another hidden talent outside of his tutelage. He needed to discover who else had mentored her if he wanted to prevent his last premonition from coming to pass.

~SQ~

Warnings: None

Head bent low over the workbench, Regina steadfastly ignored the cramp in her hand as she meticulously completed the rune she was etching into the ring clamped in the engraving block vice. She was only two more runes from completing the project, and she was determined to push through the discomfort and finish. Lifting the delicate stylus, the queen shifted her hand the tiniest bit and let her latent magic flow to her fingers. It coiled down the stylus, along with a thin trickle of her blood, allowing her to engrave the next sigil of the spell. Sweat dripped from her brow to stain the wooden surface upon which she was working.

Merlin had been teaching her the fine art of enchanting and had complimented her for her natural proclivity for it. Thus far, she had produced two sets of magic deflecting gauntlets which she had bestowed upon Elmwood and McCormac. They were remedial and would only protect against the weakest of spells, but they were progress. It had helped that her teacher had been supportive and encouraging during the learning process. He had bolstered her confidence with his genuine praise and gentle words.

She had surprised him when she had requested the sigils for a concealment spell, but he hadn't balked in giving it to her, not even when she had refused to explain why she wanted it. It had taken a couple of months pouring over the list of runes he had given her before she'd found the right combination to accomplish her goal. Creating a new spell that incorporated the specific exclusions she needed had been an exercise in patience. She had been testing the different variations on small, metal disks, but Regina was sure that the most recent adjustment she had made would do the trick.

As she made the last mark to complete the enchantment, she felt the spell activate, an odd sort of chiming resonating through her. Shivering slightly at the sensation, Regina set the stylus on the workbench and unclamped the ring from the vice, quietly admiring it. The runes were already fading into the gold of the band, the emerald stone winking in the bright sunlight streaming in the windows.

Taking a deep breath, the queen stood and began tidying her craft room turned workshop, hiding away the stylus and small vice in a secret wall compartment Merlin had created for her. It was safer for all parties involved if her husband didn't find out about her latent magical abilities, no matter how miniscule they might be. And it wouldn't do at all for Rumpelstiltskin to discover she had another teacher in the arcane arts. Once she was sure everything had been put back, she gripped the ring tightly in her hand as she left the room, Elmwood and McCormac flanking her as she stepped into the corridor.

As she entered her quarters, Regina stopped in front of her wardrobe and motioned for her handmaidens to attend her. Methodically, they stripped her until she was bare, carefully setting aside the rich clothing as she moved to stand before her full-length mirror. Eyes locked on her reflection, she slipped the ring on her finger, gasping as the magic shimmered through her, the sensation more potent than she'd expected. Her lips gradually curled up into a smile until she was beaming broadly, twisting her body to examine her hip and back in the mirror as she looked over her shoulder.

Glancing down at herself and away from her reflection, she could still see the mark her husband had had etched into her hip after her attempt to run away. She grimaced as she recalled the fateful day she had made it to the border of the kingdom, only to be intercepted by Rumpelstiltskin. Once he had left and she had confirmed that her mother's spell still held strong, even with her banished to another realm, she had begun the trek back to the castle. The queen wasn't sure what had made her keep the book, but after the king's punishment for the near escape, she had gladly called upon the strange little man and begun her apprenticeship.

Regina shook herself from the memory and turned back to the mirror. Stepping closer, she carefully examined her face, pleased to see that the scar on her lip remained. The mark was too much a part of her appearance for it to suddenly disappear. It had been the biggest hurdle in perfecting the concealment spell. Practically giddy with her success, she ran her hand over her hip, disappointed that she could still feel the raised skin of the fine scars there.

"I see the king has found a way to keep his young bride looking pristine," a voice mocked from the door to the balcony. Rumpelstiltskin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, having been observing the queen for the last few minutes. He slowly meandered into the room, head tilting to the side as he noticed her stiffen at his presence.

Raising her chin slightly, Regina straightened her posture and squared her shoulders, refusing to let her nudity bother her. While she had never been ashamed of her body, the king had eradicated any remaining shyness when he had repeatedly taken her with several of his associates as audience. She fixed her teacher with a withering glare, lips pursed as he moved closer, gaze blatantly raking over her body. "Our lesson isn't for another hour," she snapped, refusing to flinch when he came within six inches of her.

He studied his pupil carefully, cataloging every blemish on her skin as he made a leisurely circuit around her. "You've been known to try to avoid our sessions" he muttered, reaching out to place the fingertips of his right hand on her right shoulder blade. Rumpelstiltskin lightly trailed his fingers down her spine, dragging them across her left hip as he circled her. His touch smoothed over her heavily pregnant belly, tracing her stretch marks before grazing up her sternum and the tops of full breasts. Using the back of his knuckles, he continued along the line of her throat, finally brushing over the scar above her lip. There was an odd light in his golden eyes as he retracted his hand, curling it in front of his chest as he observed, "Quite an advanced spell, indeed, to leave the evidence of your motherhood in place but take away your husband's tokens of affection."

Regina narrowed her eyes at the imp's impertinence. Flashing the political smile she'd perfected, she replied sweetly, "My husband is nothing if not unyielding in having his desires met with meticulous attention to detail." She watched as he ambled to her vanity, idly inspecting each object on its surface as if it might hold a precious secret.

Lifting a perfume bottle to his nose, he inhaled delicately, eyes closing as he took in the earthy scent. "Where ever did he manage to find someone who could fulfill such a specific request, I wonder," the Dark One mused, opening his eyes to pin her with a searching look. He had no idea where the king of Angevin could have procured an artifact containing such sophisticated magic if not from him. Not only did the spell visibly hide all scars inflicted by another, save for one, it even hid them from the sense of touch. He was utterly flummoxed, and it was not a sensation he cared for in the least. Perhaps that old wizard from Britannia had something to do with it.

"I had thought he had brokered a deal with you," she retorted with a faint gesture in his direction. Eyebrows high in confused innocence, the queen explained, "The king has many contacts to which I am not privy. I couldn't begin to tell you where he might have obtained it." Taking secret glee in his scowl, she nodded toward her clothes and said with false politeness, "If you'll excuse me, there seems to be a decided chill in the air."

Rumpelstiltskin bowed solicitously and informed her, "Oh, you needn't bother on my account, Your Highness." His gaze turned lecherous, roaming over her in a way it hadn't before, mouth curling with a salacious smile. "I'm sure I could adjust today's lesson, accordingly," he suggested with a high-pitched giggle.

Regina ignored his comment and turned to her handmaidens, who had been waiting wide-eyed by the bed. They scurried forward when the queen flicked her fingers in their direction, redressing her with haste, motions efficient and practiced after almost two years in her service. Once done, they curtsied at her wave of dismissal, retreating to their small room connected to the queen's apartments.

Smoothing her palms over her swollen abdomen, she inquired, "So, tell me, Teacher, what is our lesson to cover today?" Thus far, he had taught her precious little other than a few simple potions and how to shrink an inanimate object to a smaller size. It wasn't something she had found to be particularly useful, but she practiced at it, none the less. The theory behind it intrigued her, though, and she had vowed to ask Merlin about it at the next opportunity.

He decided he would unravel the mysteries of the concealment spell's origins at a later date, after all, it made no difference to him if others would not witness her scars. It was obvious she could still see and feel them, and that was what truly mattered. "I thought, perhaps, a little alchemy would be an excellent next step." Tittering slightly, he added, "After all, your mother picked it up quite easily."

"You want me to spin straw into gold?" Regina asked in surprise, seeking clarification. She had often watched her mother perform that particular feat, though she had never mentioned it to the man standing before her. Ever since their first encounter, she had known that she would need to utilize every bit of cunning she had developed in her grandfather's court if she was to have any chance of surviving her association with the Dark One relatively unscathed.

With a flourish of his wrist, a spinning wheel and a small pile of straw appeared before the hearth. "That is exactly what I want you to do, Your Highness," he confirmed as he strolled over to the fireplace. Indicating the small stool beside the machine, the imp requested, "If you would be so kind…."

The queen strode to the spinning wheel and gracefully lowered herself to the offered seat, having perfected the maneuver near the end of her first pregnancy. She held out her hand in an imperious gesture, not bothering to stifle her amusement as her teacher stooped to pick up a handful of straw, handing it to her with a scowl. Putting the straw in the dip of her skirts across her lap, she placed the ball of her foot on the treadle, pressing a few times to check the leader for correct tension. Just managing to hide her smirk at the imp's disconcertion over her apparent familiarity with the device, she gestured for him to add more straw to her lap.

Rumpelstiltskin's brows knitted together, but he did as she requested, not really able to fault her considering she was due to birth her second child within the next few weeks, her belly far too cumbersome for her to bend as required to gather more spinning fibers. He watched as she picked up a few pieces of straw and wrapped them with the leader, preparing to begin. Mouth stretching in a haughty grin, he instructed, "Now, basic spinning techniques include spinning from the fold, wherein one…." His voice trailed off into nothing as he observed with wide eyes as she began treadling and successfully drafted the straw fibers using an inch worm technique. Reining in his surprise, he cleared his throat and continued, "Remember, magic is emotion. You'll need to draw on something particularly strong to manage something as complicated as alchemy. Just don't be too discouraged if it takes you a while to get the hang of it," he condescended with a light sneer.

While her master had been prattling on, Regina had been carefully pinching, twisting, and drafting the straw in her hands, concentrating on the love she held for her children. As soon as the imp had finished his short diatribe, she held out a length of sparkling, golden thread and asked with affected surprise, "Like this?" The delight she felt upon seeing his face contort in disbelief was all the reward she needed. It may have been her first time attempting the endeavor, but enough hours at her mother's feet had taught her better than the Dark One ever could.

He was livid. His student had to have been working with another teacher behind his back. Even Cora hadn't caught on immediately. There had been several hours of trial and error and seduction—not to mention the threat of death looming over her head—before she'd managed the task. "How did you do that?!" he demanded harshly, spittle flying. His eyes narrowed as he stared her down. "Who taught you to do that?!"

The young queen was taken aback by his sudden fury and momentarily froze as she assessed how much danger he posed her. It took but a few seconds for her to determine that it was simply a case of his ego taking an unexpected blow that had set him in such a snit. Not wanting him to discover her secret lessons with Merlin, she yielded to his demand. "If you must know," she began exasperatedly, "I picked it up from watching Mother."

"Impossible," he scoffed, his rage already beginning to settle somewhat at the mention of his former apprentice. "Alchemy isn't something you just pick up like a mislaid shoe. You have to work at it." He was feeling a bit thrown off balance, though, because everything about her response screamed she was telling the truth. There was no guile hiding behind her dark irises, and the first, ice-cold trickle of dread skated along his spine. His student should not display such advanced talent. She couldn't even light a candle with her magic.

Shrugging slightly, she insouciantly replied, "Be that as it may, it's the truth. I spent many an hour reading while Mother spun gold. I don't think she realized just how closely I was paying attention to her actions," she mused contemplatively. Flashing the Dark One a bright smile, she inquired with feigned enthusiasm, "Is there anything else you wanted to teach me today?"

Rumpelstiltskin glared at her, irritated that his plans to taunt her when she failed, to make the day another part of her slow descent into desperation, had been completely derailed. Logic told him he should be pleased that his pupil had more talent than he'd first thought, that she might prove to be the better student of the two sisters, after all. But he needed to break her down in the process. She needed to be pliant and hopeless and willing to sacrifice anything—including the thing she loved most—for his curse to be enacted. And here she was, nearly ready to pop out a second brat that would surely claim another place in her all-too-giving heart. Rage gathering momentum, once more, he growled lowly, "Not today," and disappeared, along with the spinning wheel, in a plume of red smoke.

Laughing happily at showing up Rumpelstiltskin to the point of sending him off in a fit of rage, Regina struggled up from her position on the stool. She slowly made her way into the adjoining nursery and took her eleven-month-old son from his nanny just as he began fussing. "Hello there, my little prince," she cooed with a broad smile, bouncing him gently in her arms. As she unfastened the front panel of her bodice and situated him on her breast, she murmured, "I know, I'm a bit late for your feeding, but someone was terribly rude and moved up an appointment without my permission. Don't worry, Fauntkin, Mommy won't let it happen, again."

"Pretty soon, the miting will have to make way for his sibling at the teat," Helga said, folding one of his blankets by the crib. She had never seen a mother dote so fondly on her children as the young queen did. Motherhood agreed with her monarch. The woman had even taken to calling Snow her daughter and treating the girl as if she were her own. It seemed that no matter how unhappy the queen was in her marriage, the love she harbored for her children was boundless.

Regina settled in the rocking chair and glanced up at the forty-something woman. "Oh, Helga, I'm sure Tristan will manage just fine," she advised her. "And even though this new, little one will get the lion's share," the young mother reassured her son, "I will make sure you get some, too." When his tiny brows furrowed with a grunt of concentration, she giggled and rubbed along his arm as she began to hum a quiet tune. Regardless of everything wrong in her life, the warm baby in her arms and the one growing in her belly gave her all the hope she needed to keep going.

~SQ~

Regina's eyes flew open, and her lungs expanded forcefully as she took a deep breath of sea air. She remained still, taking in great lungsful of air as the world reformed around her and the memory faded. An old pain filled her chest as she thought of Tristan, and her hands clasped low on her flat abdomen while her breasts ached with the phantom heaviness of milk. Her eyes slid shut in an attempt to ground herself, to push away the faint echoes from her trance. All her children were lost to her, save for the stepdaughter she could no longer bear to claim. No, she told herself. Henry is not gone. Emma and I will find him and take him home.

Quickly blinking back a tear, she focused her attention back on her guards. Four of the five not sleeping were moving around the rigging with ease, following commands being belted out by Salter's oldest daughter, Signe. She watched with amusement when the twenty-two year-old barked at Jason for not doing something correctly, and the young guard flirted with her in return.

"He's either going to get himself laid or flayed," Alma observed from her perch next to her on the storage locker that was fast becoming her queen's favorite spot when above deck. "That girl is all business when she's in charge and seems like the type to punish people for insubordination."

Regina chuckled wryly and snarked, "Should Jason get on her bad side, he deserves whatever discipline she metes out. If he's lucky, he'll enjoy it," she finished with a smirk. Then, a laugh slipped out when the guard in question was shoved hard in the chest by the feisty sailor and sent into the crow's nest.

Lips quirking up, Chavez quipped, "Foreplay it is, then." A second later, she groaned and grumbled, "It's going to get terribly warm below deck if this keeps up."

The former queen raised an eyebrow, curious about what was happening in the hold. "How do you mean?"

A faint scowl marred Alma's features as she explained, "It's bad enough with Diego and Irene, but if these two decide to hook up, there's going to be a hell of a lot of heat being generated in those hammocks." She didn't begrudge her fellow guards the opportunity to find a little release when they could, but damn if their moans and heavy breathing didn't keep her awake and remind her uncomfortably of her single status.

"Diego and Irene, hmm?" Regina murmured in quiet contemplation. "I suppose that's one way to work through grief. How's Irene holding up? I know she and Aengus had a rather serious relationship." Unless it interfered with their duties, she had always made it a point to stay out of her guards' love lives. Even so, she was worried how much the loss of a partner was affecting someone she trusted and cared for deeply.

Sighing at the reminder, Chavez flipped her right hand back and forth in answer. "Today is better than yesterday. I think she's trying to fuck through the pain, find a way to dull it, somehow." She snorted and concluded, "And you know Flores is always willing to lend a hand, or his cock, to a friend in need."

It was just the right amount of levity, and the sorceress laughed at the accurate assessment. "Truer words were never spoken." Exhaling heavily, Regina slapped her hands down lightly on her thighs and stood, informing her guard, "It's time to get back to work on my project. I've procrastinated long enough, I think." She didn't have to look back to know that Alma had signaled to Bruce and both were following her below deck to her cabin, the ever-dutiful sentinels.

~SQ~

The sky was clear, and the winds were strong as the Jolly Roger raced toward Peter Pan's island. With the course set and the ship's billowing sails at full mast, the crew enjoyed the ride and took the opportunity to further prepare themselves for the trials that lay ahead. The sharp clang of steel meeting steel rang across the weather deck, interrupting the tranquil atmosphere, as father and daughter danced in fun sport.

From her position in the crow's nest, Anne assessed the recruit's progress and was quite pleased. She was, also, moderately impressed with Prince Charming's skills, although she'd never admit it, and for someone who had learned on the fly later in life, she found the shepherd's technique rather apt. She knew his flaws would be easy enough to correct, not that she ever would. However, seeing Emma fight a capable opponent did offer necessary insight, and she made mental notes of tweaks to the sheriff's training.

With a heaving chest, David signaled for a break. He sheathed his sword and moved to the forward, port bow, reaching into a bucket tethered to a small locker for a freshly washed towel. A little out of breath, he wiped the sweat and salt from his flushed face. When his daughter approached, he bent and offered her a cloth, but when she refused, he dropped it back in the bucket. "You've improved," he commented, rubbing the towel across the back of his neck.

"Yeah," Emma agreed with a bright smile. She went to lick her dry lips but managed to stop herself. "Anne's been working my butt off," she shared, sitting on top the storage locker. She glanced up to the crow's nest but couldn't see through the sails. Her lips pursed as she realized just how thirsty she was; however, fresh water was at a premium, and she would need to fetch her assigned tankard from the cabin before she could fill it from a barrel in the galley. All of that sounded like far too much effort at the moment.

"Decided on the short sword, huh?" the former shepherd inquired, studying his daughter's profile.

With a shrug, the sheriff smiled softly as she traced the edge of her sword's hilt. "The arming sword was a little too heavy," she replied. Looking her father in the eye, she added, "I've got to build up some upper body strength before I go swinging that thing around." It was a small jab, but it was also the truth. Still, she was very curious how her father was going to react.

Nodding, David tilted his head and shyly questioned, "Do you like melee training?" He wanted his child to enjoy their time together, not disparage it.

"Eh, it's not too bad," Emma answered honestly. She did enjoy the physicality and essence of the fight. Of course, she didn't like Anne pulling her out of bed at six in the morning or repeatedly tossing her ass on the cold, hard ground, but that was happening less and less. A part of her wondered if she and her father would have done something similar if she had grown up with them in the Enchanted Forest as the princess everyone proclaimed she was. "Monty says I need to have a purpose," she shrugged. She wasn't sure why she shared that tidbit, but she went with it. "So, I just roll with it."

"But you're the sheriff," the former prince stated. His brow furrowed as he considered his daughter's unique situation. "Isn't that purpose enough?" he pondered with honest confusion.

"That's what I told him!" the sheriff laughed, tossing her hands in the air. She smiled brightly at her father before shrugging. "The Crows Guard are very protective of their own," she explained in a serious tone, hoping he would get it, that at least one of her parents would understand the crazy position she had wrangled for herself. "And it's been kind of nice being a part of that," she added in a smoother tone.

David was quiet for a long minute. His gaze wandered away from his daughter, watching the people who, quite frankly, had a better relationship with his child than he did, but eventually, he nodded. He witnessed the utter relief in her eyes, very similar to her mother's but not quite the same, and he sighed. The weight of their wrongs pressed firmly on his shoulders. "We haven't really been there for you," he intoned, unknowingly breaking his daughter's heart, again, with that statement.

"David," Emma whispered, hanging her head. She tightly gripped the sword across her lap.

"No, it's okay," the former shepherd quickly reassured. He wanted to comfort her but restrained himself. He was determined to rebuild the bridge he and his wife had nearly burned. "We did wrong by you . . . and by Regina," he apologized. A small smile ghosted across his lips when she looked up at him with such hope. "I want you to know that we want to make it right," he declared, meeting her scrutiny with honesty.

Only the sounds of the ship passed between them before the sheriff acknowledged his words with a soft, "Alright."

As relief eased the pressure inside his chest, David fought to keep his joy in check. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes sparkled as he resisted hugging his daughter. Swallowing the swelling lump in his throat, his voice was rough as he spoke, "I know it won't happen right away, but we're willing to earn back your trust." He hoped she believed his words. Because if this didn't work, he and Snow didn't know what else to do. If he could slowly win back his daughter, then, maybe they could reach a truce with Regina, as well. And if the interactions he'd observed between the two women were anything to go on, he needed to make every effort to accept the temperamental sorceress into their circle before Emma's feelings forced the issue.

"That means a lot," Emma responded, blinking in surprise.

Smiling, the former shepherd felt comfortable enough to sit beside his child on top the storage locker. His long legs stretched out in front of him, and the pair casually scanned the deck of the ship. Most everyone had decided to get in a few extra winks of shuteye. After a long moment, he turned toward her and asked, "Are you going to practice with your magic, again?" Yesterday had been quite the spectacle. He had been surprised by Regina's nurturing presence and calm instruction. Perhaps his daughter's trust had not been misplaced as he'd first suspected.

The sheriff shook her head and laughed softly. "No, not today," she replied. "I don't think Hook appreciated Regina's fireballs yesterday." Of course, she knew all too well that the former mayor had messed with the pirate on purpose.

"That was funny watching him panic," David agreed, his mirth easily matching his daughter's. He casually leaned against the storage locker and crossed his arms. As a comfortable silence settled between them, his brow furrowed as he silently debated on his next topic. Finally, he asked, "How is Regina?" Despite what the former queen might say, he wasn't a complete idiot. The torture and the magic that had followed had to have hit her hard.

Emma frowned as she probed, "What do you mean?" Then, suddenly, she felt as if their conversation had taken on a whole new agenda, that her mother had somehow put him up to sniffing out information. Thus far, she had done well to keep solo interactions with Mary Margaret to a minimum, which she felt guilty about, but she couldn't yet reconcile how she felt for her mother versus what she was starting to feel for Regina.

Drumming his fingers on top his arms, the former prince bowed his head. He sighed as he was unsure how to express his concern. "She's been reclusive," he stated, looking at his daughter. He noticed the skepticism in searching green eyes, but he held her gaze. And when he was about to expound on his worries, he was interrupted.

"Yeah, she's just tired after everything," the sheriff answered with a shrug. She looked down at the short sword lying across her lap. In that moment, there was the impulse to share, to tell her father how worried she was for Regina, but she pushed it all down. Her heart wasn't ready to trust him quite yet. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes after hearing or seeing her parents, she saw them and the Blue Fairy looming over Regina as she sat tied to a chair in her study. She shoved the memory to the back of her mind.

"Well, if there's anything we can do…," David trailed off, cutting his words off with a sharp nod. He swallowed down the aching lump sitting in his throat. Should he not have brought it up? It was obvious Regina was important to his daughter, and while he wasn't entirely certain how deep Emma's feelings went, he knew his wife wouldn't like it. He was struggling with the concept, himself, but gods help them all if Snow White discovered their child was pining after the Evil Queen.

Tilting her head, Emma regarded her father, and she was truly impressed with him. She wondered if she took after him a little more than her mother. "I'll let you know," she offered with a warm smile. Rolling her eyes, she thought about the latest spat between her friend and her loyal protectors. "But the guards have been up her ass. So, I'm trying to give her some space," she explained, hoping to lighten the mood, again. It also helped that the former mayor had a sewing project to occupy her time, now.

"Okay," the former shepherd accepted. The pair sat in contemplative silence for several minutes until finally, he asked, "Ready to go again?" After all, what else could they do?

Groaning, the sheriff stood and stretched. "Ugh," she grunted in complaint. Then, she sighed and drew her short sword, walking out to the center of the weather deck. "Yeah," she agreed as she adjusted her stance.

~SQ~

Warnings: Infant Death

Regina sat in the plush, wingback chair as close to the hearth as she could get without worry of catching her robes on fire. Tenderly, she cradled the tiny infant to her bare chest, a heavy quilt wrapped around her and overlapped across the child. Turning a watery gaze down at the little girl, she gently stroked her index finger over a pale cheek, beseeching quietly "Please, Little One, keep fighting for Mommy. Just make it through one more day. Alright?"

Again, the queen attempted to get the infant to latch on to her nipple. If she would just eat a little, she'd have a chance at survival, having been born so early at twenty-eight weeks. A few stray tears fell as she listened to her daughter strain for each breath, her own breathing shallow and uneven from the pain of a few cracked ribs. She hadn't expected the lingering morning sickness to hit her while she had been serving her husband's needs and had been unable to get off him fast enough. The subsequent beating had induced an early labor, leaving her to watch her newest child fight for every moment of her precarious life.

A tiny mewl sounded in the still room, causing the nanny tending Tristan to glance up, watching the young mother rock side to side. Helga finished changing the twenty-month-old's diaper and placed the boy back in his crib, glad that he was such a tractable child. Glancing back over at the queen, she frowned sadly as she considered the poor girl's unfortunate struggles with her last two children: a little boy born breech with a prolapsed cord and, now, a girl birthed too early to possibly survive, even with the queen's unnaturally long pregnancies.

Several hours passed in silence, the fire regularly tended by the chambermaid as mother and children slept. An abrupt, keening cry broke the hush, stirring Helga from her doze and startling the toddler to crying wakefulness. The nanny began to bend over the crib to soothe the bawling child when her gaze caught on the sight of Faye standing before the queen's chair, hands cupped over her mouth in dismay. Quickly pushing Pegeen toward the crib, Helga hurried over to her monarch and the distressed chambermaid.

Regina clasped the small bundle tightly to her naked chest, loud sobs shaking her entire body. All her attention was focused on the frighteningly still form in her arms as she murmured in a panic, "No. No, no, no. My baby girl." The young mother's tears splashed down onto blue-tinged lips as she stared at the tiny features that were so delicate and perfect. "Come back to me, Sweetheart. Please, please come back," she sobbed, rocking back and forth.

Helga's face crumpled at seeing the anguish consuming her monarch, and not for the first time, she wondered how someone so young, barely nineteen, could bear such heartache as the queen had. Reaching out for the child, she advised softly, "Here, Your Highness, let me take the babe, now." She was not quite prepared for the violent reaction that erupted from the girl before her.

Clutching her baby closer to herself with one arm, Regina fought off the nanny with her free hand, scratching at the woman in her desperation to cling to the infant. "No! I won't let you take her!" She tried to writhe away from the three pairs of arms rapidly extending toward her in an attempt to prevent her from harming herself in her grief-stricken frenzy. "I can't lose another one. I can't!" she wailed as firm hands finally stilled her struggles.

Gently lifting the dead infant from suddenly lax arms, Helga soothed the distraught queen, "I'll take good care of her, Child. I promise."

"Dolores," Regina choked out in a strangled whisper. "Her name is Dolores." The loud shrieking that had been in the background increased in volume and caused the young mother's head to snap up. "Tristan," she rasped brokenly, already reaching for the hysterical toddler Pegeen was bringing to her. Pulling the boy to her chest, she wept when he immediately began suckling at her breast as he sought comfort amid the chaos. Regina pressed soft, repeated kisses into his dark hair as she breathed reassurances through her tears. "I love you so very much, my heart. Don't ever leave Mommy," she pled quietly, rocking the nursing toddler and feeling her heart break all over, again.

~SQ~

"Emma's taking well to her training," Monty quietly commented, coming to stand beside his queen as he watched her come out of yet another trance. He relaxed his posture as he leaned back against the gunwale, his sharp eyes assessing the rapid movements between Emma Swan and Jason Sirtis, who was exceptionally talented with a short sword. Then, cutting a sideways gaze to his liege, he added, "Bruce has been quite impressed, and you know he's impossible to please." He arched an eyebrow when she pursed her lips.

With a soft sigh, Regina nodded and decided to tolerate her commander's company, torn between the need to be alone and appreciating his steady presence after such a particularly wrenching memory. "She seems to be progressing rather quickly," she replied, focusing on the sheriff's quick, reflexive movements, eyes briefly tracing Jason's elegant and fluid countermoves. She always had enjoyed observing the sparring matches between her guards. "Jason's footwork has certainly improved," she commented.

"Properly motivated, I guess," Elmwood remarked, crossing his arms. He looked out beyond the dueling guards. Perhaps he should have a pair of falchions commissioned for the queen. After all, he knew for a fact she hadn't practiced her swordsmanship since casting the Dark Curse.

The former queen's brow furrowed as she turned to look at her commander. Her gaze searched his stoic profile. "How do you mean?" she softly asked after a moment, knowing he wasn't speaking about the older Sirtis brother.

Nodding toward the woman in question, Monty casually remarked, "Emma's taking her new responsibilities to heart." He had high hopes for the sheriff and not just as a guard. Although the woman was a little rough around the edges, he had witnessed the youthful delight her presence brought to his sovereign.

"Well, Emma has continually demonstrated superior muscle memory despite her propensity for clumsiness," Regina easily defended her friend, not that it was necessary. She was proud of the sheriff, and she felt a great sense of personal fulfillment by helping her tap her potential. A soft smile curved her lips as she watched Emma expertly parry an attack.

Tilting his head, Elmwood looked down at his queen, his gaze cutting to the recruit for only a moment. "Is that an effect of your bond?" he questioned with muted curiosity. "You were always a quick study," he reminded, reminiscing on the queen's own melee lessons done in secret before the king's death.

"No, I believe that is intrinsically Emma," the former mayor explained. However, she realized it did beg further consideration. There was so much they didn't know about the binding spell, perhaps there were additional aspects that could prove beneficial. "She shall overcome any detrimental self-perceptions with time," she assured with confidence, trusting in Emma's inner strength.

Monty faced ahead, again, pleased with his sovereign's answer. "Then, she's fully embraced her role," he commented with soft fondness and a bit of relief. He watched the woman beside him out of the corner of his right eye. When she merely hummed in response, he tightly pursed his lips, and after counting to ten, he added, "She's extremely protective and very dedicated to you."

Narrowing her eyes, Regina tilted her head and peered up at her current companion, mildly irritated by his atypical behavior. "You're repeating yourself, Commander," she drawled in a low tone, having a good idea what his angle was. She did not appreciate meddling of any sort.

"Permission to speak freely, Your Highness," Elmwood briskly requested, turning to face his queen. He straightened his posture and lifted his chin. If he was going to suggest it, he would do so as a warrior.

Rolling her eyes at the dramatic shift in stance, the former mayor sighed, her suspicions confirmed. "And if I said no?" she dourly prompted, arching an eyebrow in silent challenge.

"I'd still tell you, and you'd punish me for insubordination later," Monty supplied, flashing a broad grin.

Regina looked forward, smirking. "Cheeky," she muttered with amusement, but after a beat, she gave her commander a quick side nod, signaling her consent.

Sweeping the weather deck, Elmwood quickly assessed those present and in possible earshot before dropping to sit beside the storage locker. "Surely, you've noticed the sheriff's developed feelings for you," he stated carefully, keeping his voice level and subdued.

"Of course. We're friends—family in an odd sort of way," the former mayor tersely retorted. She crossed her arms, refusing to look at the man beside her. Instead, she focused on Anne demonstrating a new move to Emma and smirked when the scout grandmaster smacked the sheriff with the flat of her blade.

Monty ground his teeth as he kept his annoyance in check, knowing his liege was being purposely obtuse. "It's deeper than that, and you know it," he scoffed. He rolled his eyes at the lack of response. Sighing, he leaned toward his queen and softly intoned, "She loves you." Observing the subtle movement of her neck muscles, he patiently waited.

Looking down at her hands, Regina fidgeted with the emerald ring on her right ring finger. She took a deep breath then another before saying, "She shouldn't." Her brow furrowed as she felt the all too familiar conflict battle within her. Finally, she looked at her commander, and with absolute conviction, she gently decreed, "She deserves better." Her eyes held his for a brief moment before she flinched, turning away.

Frowning, Elmwood pithily countered, "Better like Hook?" It was no secret the pirate pined for the savior. It was also known, at least by the Queen's Personal Guard, that their sovereign exclusively favored the fairer sex.

"That pirate's sailing against the wind if he thinks Emma's ever going to succumb to his charms," the former mayor snarled, glaring at the man at the ship's helm. She found his attempts at wooing woefully lacking.

Monty snickered, and after a short snort, he judiciously commented, "Sounds like someone's jealous." He gestured vaguely with his left hand, laying the wrist on top his bent, left knee.

"Of that blaggard?" Regina scoffed, straightening her posture. She glared down at the man beside her. It frustrated her how he so deftly maneuvered her emotions. "I think not," she insisted, not caring that her voice carried across the deck, ignoring Anne's curious glances.

"See, you do care," Elmwood countered softly. A broad grin stretched across his face as he held his queen's gaze.

Huffing, the former mayor crossed her arms. As her fingertips pressed into her biceps, her lips curled into a hard scowl, knowing the treacherous game her commander was playing; nonetheless, she found it mockingly cruel. "Stop trying to appeal to my possessive tendencies," she rejoined in a quiet voice. After all, she had warned Emma several weeks ago in Manhattan. However, she had never planned on admitting her fledging feelings for the savior to anyone because someone like Emma Swan wasn't meant to be hers, ever. Sighing softly, she slouched as she stared down at the decking.

"Oh, so you want to possess her, then," Monty suggestively teased with muted, yet clear, amusement. Walking the thin line between servant and friend, he believed in his liege's resilient and fiery spirit. His eyes drifted back to the newest recruit, and he believed with all his heart that for reasons beyond Rumpelstiltskin's machinations, a child of True Love was born the moment his queen cast the Dark Curse.

Regina blushed brilliantly as she spluttered, "What? No." She snapped her mouth shut, taking several deep breaths through her nose. Then, closing her eyes, she shook her head. "I'd thank you to stop putting words in my mouth," she growled, laying a glower on the man beside her.

Softening his expression and curbing his mirth, Elmwood held his sovereign's gaze for a long beat. "I've known you a long time, and you deserve to be happy, to find someone to love and who loves you in return," he intoned. It pained him to see her skepticism.

"With my mortal enemy's daughter?" the former mayor grimly responded with a huff, looking away. She scanned the deck and rigging, assessing if anyone had overheard. "You've gone mad," she dismissed, dropping her hands onto her lap. She lazily traced the pad of her left thumb over the nail of her left index finger.

Not so easily dissuaded, Monty rolled his eyes. "The princess drove you crazy by not listening to you. You didn't necessarily hate her," he sensibly reminded, looking across the deck. His gaze was drawn to the quarterdeck, spotting Mary Margaret by the rail, staring proudly at her daughter. "It's somewhat ironic when you think about it," he wistfully remarked.

A dour chuckle cooled the air, for Regina didn't hold a high opinion of fate or destiny. "Nevertheless, it would be unfair to drag Emma into my darkness," she stated. She rolled her neck and let her arms relax, her hands linking across her thighs.

"Didn't she already take that on when she bound you to each other?" Elmwood curiously questioned, turning back to his queen. There was so much he didn't understand about the mysterious spell. His eyes studied her downturned expression, and he frowned.

"A side effect of which she had no earthly idea, I might add," the former mayor quietly countered. She idly turned her emerald ring around her finger, staring blindly at the wood beneath her feet. Her brow furrowed as she remained silent for several long minutes. Then, releasing a soft sigh that was nearly carried off by the breeze, she explained, "A romantic entanglement would only further complicate matters."

His heart broke for his queen. Laying his hand on top the storage locker next to her thigh, he wished to offer some sort of comfort but was unwilling to breach the looming barrier of casual physical contact in such a public venue. So, he pressed his lips into a hard line and curled his resting hand into a tight fist. His glanced across the ship to the blonde sheriff. "She obviously wants a closer relationship with you," he rejoined. When her eyes met his, he gently suggested, "I should think it would simplify your situation."

"And if things didn't work out? What then?" Regina curiously probed. All of this was new to her because never, in all the years she had known Montague Elmwood, had her commander taken a personal interest in her romantic affairs or lack thereof. Looking up and watching Emma with Jason, she certainly understood the allure of the savior. The woman was beautiful inside and out and caused her heart to ache and body to waken in a manner it hadn't in over four decades.

Monty tilted his head and simply rebuked, "What if they don't now?" He gestured vaguely with his hand on top the locker. "You live together, work together. You share a son. Hell, you even share a bed," he elaborated, ticking off each item by extending a finger.

"You know we're not involved in a sexual relationship," the former mayor interrupted, growing annoyed by his all-too-sensible urging. She crossed her arms and glowered at the man beside her.

Shifting, Elmwood reached up and lightly touched his sovereign's elbow, his fingertips barely resting against her. "Maybe not, but eventually, she'll want physical closeness with someone," he warned. When he witnessed a soft blush creeping across his liege's cheeks, he raised an eyebrow, but when she bit her lower lip, he inquisitively asked, "Has something happened?"

Regina swallowed as her eyes darted about the deck. Clearing her throat, she answered with a rough voice, "I believe Emma occasionally forgets the extent of our bond."

"How so?" Monty asked, dropping his hand back to the storage locker.

Rolling her eyes, the former mayor cursed her luck; however, she was resolved to her fate. "Her role as the control allows her emotions and impressions to push through our connection," she dutifully explained. Her gaze traced the lines of rigging above her head. Sighing, she begrudgingly admitted, "I may have picked up on some of her solitary pursuits, as of late." That, of course, had been a startling revelation. As the length of time Emma spent bathing had increased, the stronger the sensations had become as they rolled through the bond. If not for the growing frequency, she might have shared the discovery. However, at this point, it would only embarrass the sheriff, not that it bothered Regina. Sex was a natural part of life, even though her own experiences had been anything but normal.

Elmwood's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh?" he husked. Opening his mouth, he attempted to ask a follow-up question but found the words wouldn't quite come out. He grunted in frustration at his ineptness, feeling too much like he was talking to his little sister before her wedding night. So, after a huff, he turned away, watching his queen out of the corner of his eye, and asked, "Did you find it pleasant?" His eyes widened at the darkening blush that appeared on her cheeks.

"It might have been," Regina admitted sheepishly. She worried at her lower lip, avidly searching her commander's profile.

Sighing in relief, Monty relaxed his posture, and with every ounce of affection he could muster, he gently rested his hand on top his sovereign's forearm and gazed up at her adoringly. "I know it's not my place to tell you what to do, but it seems to me she's worth the chance," he bravely shared. With all his heart, he believed his queen deserved a happy life, and she sure as hell deserved a partner who would cherish her beyond measure.

The former mayor's stoic exterior melted at the heartfelt statement. She smiled softly with absolute fondness as she cupped his cheek, dislodging his hand from her arm in the process. The intensity of his faith in her still startled her, but her tired heart treasured it. Dropping her hand onto his broad, muscular shoulder, she promised, "I'll think about it."

~SQ~

Henry stumbled slightly as he stepped out of the dinghy but was caught by the shoulder by Knight-Corporal Eremon. He glanced sideways at the man as he was guided forward firmly but without malice. Even after several days with these people, he still had no clear idea what they needed him for, only that Greg and Tamara had been responsible for his mom having been in the hospital and that they seemed to hate magic even more than he did. As the rest of the men from the two dinghies settled around them on the beach, Henry shifted restlessly.

A rustling in the foliage where the trees met the beach heralded the arrival of another party, and a few Templars placed their hands upon the hilts of their swords. Their grips only tightened in distrust as several adolescent boys stepped through the lush greenery. There were only six boys in the group, ages appearing to range from eight to seventeen, and the soldiers relaxed infinitesimally when it was apparent that none of them were armed.

Knight-Lieutenant Bettonis stepped forward to address the newcomers. He waved vaguely in Henry's direction and stated flatly, "We brought the boy, as requested."

A young man of fifteen moved to the front of the group of boys, his tunic and breeches once rich and vibrant now well-worn and dark green, blending perfectly with the jungle behind him. "I see," he replied cheerfully, flashing a bright smile at Henry. He cut a sharp glance at the oldest member of his group, a gangly almost-man with sunken eyes and a sullen cast to his thin features. Still looking at his compatriot, he added, "It's nice doing business with someone who can follow through," earning a scowl in return. Turning to Henry, his round cheeks bunched up in a broad grin, once more. "Hello, Henry. It's so nice to finally meet you. Welcome to Neverland!" he greeted, arms outstretched as if trying to encompass the entirety of the island.

"I'm sure he'll enjoy himself," Bettonis interjected smartly. Sweat was already running down his back, causing his shirt to stick uncomfortably beneath his armor. The Templar was ready to finish the exchange and be that much closer to getting off this Maker-forsaken world. Inclining his head slightly, he prompted, "Shall we conclude our remaining business?"

Eyes wide as if he'd forgotten the Templars' presence, the young man nodded amiably. "Of course, here's a token of my appreciation." Gesturing at those behind him, two of the younger boys moved forward, carrying a bulky bag between them. They set it down in front of the Knight-Lieutenant and scampered back to the other boys. "You'll find it to be of an exceptional quality," the designated speaker assured him.

Bettonis checked the contents of the bag with a frown. He lifted out a large crystal of blue lyrium, inspecting it in the early morning sunlight. "This isn't what we agreed upon, Pan," he growled lowly, eyes narrowed in suspicion. They had bartered for access to a large vein of the precious mineral, not a mere sack of the stuff.

Squinting in confusion, Henry studied the strange crystal with unmasked curiosity. These people were exchanging him for a bag of rocks? There had to be more to it. Glancing around, he noticed most of the soldiers were eyeing the blue stone oddly. It made him uneasy, and by the way Greg was shifting on his feet, he wasn't too keen on the situation, either. Then, he registered what the Templar had said and focused on the boy who had greeted him. That was Peter Pan? He didn't seem especially unique from what Henry could tell.

Tsking quietly, Pan scolded, "So, impatient. What you have there is but a sample." Producing a rolled, parchment map in his right hand with a flourish, he held it out to the knight towering over him. "This will lead you to what you seek."

Lips pursed in irritation, the Knight-Lieutenant took the proffered map, unrolling it and glancing over the sketch before handing it off to Eremon. "You're not going to escort us?" he asked, eying the young man warily. His instincts were screaming that something was off about the entire transaction, but the Lost Boys were following the letter of their agreement—the location of an enormous lyrium deposit in exchange for a very specific boy.

"Sadly, I have other business to attend to. You see, while you mine your precious stones, Henry, here, is going to save Neverland," Pan proclaimed boldly. He tilted his head in thought, tapping his forefinger against his lips as if contemplating a particularly difficult problem. Finally, he perked up somewhat and offered, "However, if you wish, one of my lads will gladly show you the way to your reward."

After considering the situation for a moment, Bettonis nodded once and gestured for Eremon to pass Henry over. "Very well," he agreed with a hint of reluctance. He knew some of his men felt uncomfortable handing over a child to the care of other children. But the payoff, a vein of lyrium large enough to supply the entire Order for decades to come, was too valuable to worry about the morality of selling off the boy of a maleficar of the worst magnitude.

Pan stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Henry's shoulders, drawing him toward the jungle, all but one of the other boys in tow. "Come, my boy, we have much to discuss," the jovial young man informed his newest charge. As he passed into the tree line, he shot a meaningful look at the oldest boy who had stayed with the Templars.

Henry's continued perplexity had him half stumbling, half trotting alongside Pan as he was led away from the shore. Several moments passed in tense silence until he blurted a stream of questions that had been simmering under the surface during the encounter on the beach. "Who were those soldiers? What do they want with that weird-looking crystal? Why do you need me? Does it have to do with what you said about me saving Neverland? Am I a prisoner here? How do you know my name?"

Laughing boisterously at the boy's outburst, Pan clapped him on the shoulder a couple of times and replied, "Let's start with the easiest of those questions, Henry. You are not a prisoner on this island. You're a very important guest with a very important mission to fulfill." As he led the little group further into the dense jungle, he began the painstaking process of answering as many of Henry's inquiries as possible.

Back on the beach, Tamara looked over her shoulder as Pan disappeared with Henry and the others. Something felt wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Leaning slightly into Greg, she muttered apprehensively, "I don't like this."

Snorting irritably, Greg said, "It's not our problem. Eyes on the mission, Tamara," he reminded her. After all, she had been the one to insist they follow the Chantry's instructions in dealing with Regina. A nugget of bitterness welled up as he thought about how close he had been to his vengeance, only to have it ruined because of her determination to join the Templar Order. He'd had the opportunity to shoot the bitch while they were down in the cavern as the failsafe destroyed that damned town, but Tamara had made him stick to the plan and drag the boy away, instead. This mission had better be worth it.

A heavy sigh left her as she nodded reluctantly. "Eyes on the mission," she reaffirmed, squaring her shoulders and turning in time to hear the remaining Lost Boy introduce himself as Felix.

Bettonis ordered two of the soldiers to remain with the dinghies and the bag of lyrium as he and the others followed the teenager into the jungle, opposite the direction Pan had taken. The group traipsed along for a good forty minutes, their leather armor squeaking in the humidity and chainmail rustling with each step.

As they walked, Eremon fell back to keep pace with Tamara and Greg near the rear of the column of eight soldiers. "Once this is done," he began in a quiet tone, "I think you will find a great deal of training in your future."

Tamara's head snapped around with unconcealed excitement. "You've heard something?" she prompted eagerly.

"The Knight-Lieutenant has sent a missive to the Order informing them that your hard work and diligence are what have gotten us this far. Regardless of how this pans out, he has recommended that you be brought forward as a recruit," the Knight-Corporal told her with a grin. "It is rare to see such dedication and loyalty in one who is not from Thedas. You have impressed many with the completion of your quest."

A bright smile lit up her face, and Tamara hissed gleefully, "Yes!" She glanced at Greg, noting his pinched expression, but before she could question him, their group came to a sudden halt as their guide had them pause so he could relieve himself.

As soon as the boy slipped between the trees, a large group of Lost Boys descended upon them. They dropped from the canopy above them and closed in from all sides, brandishing crude but effective weapons made of wood and stone. The Templars flew into action, using swords and axes and maces to cleave through the attackers.

Tamara drew her gun only to have it smashed out of her hand with a heavy club by a boy who couldn't have been older than twelve. Pulling a dagger from her boot with her left hand, she lashed out at her foe, slashing deep into his abdomen. She watched him fall to the ground as she held her right hand tightly to her chest and frantically scanned the immediate area. "Greg!" she yelled, moving closer to Eremon so they stood back-to-back to fight. Hearing no response, she called again, "Greg!"

"I think I saw him run into the trees," Irminric informed her as he parried a blow from an incoming cudgel.

Growling low in her throat, she snarled, "Fucking coward." As much as she loved the man, she couldn't abide the yellow streak he tried to hide behind bravado and bluster. She stabbed at another boy who had ducked beneath Eremon's sword, catching him in the side and feeling her blade grate along his ribs before he staggered back.

Eremon fumbled at the leather pouch with the map, finally managing to loosen the ties that held it on his belt, and handed it over his shoulder to Tamara. "Take this and make your way back to the boat. Tell the others what happened," he ordered while blocking more strikes from his newest opponent. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of vicious teenagers slipping from the jungle.

"I'm not going to abandon you!" she protested hotly. These men were her brothers in arms, and she would not willingly leave them to such a pitched fight.

Whirling around to face her, the Knight-Corporal shoved the pouch at her, tucking it between her right arm and her chest. "This map is more important than all of us combined. You have to get it back to the Order." Seeing her continue to hesitate, he gave her a slight shove. "Go! That's an ord—." His words were cut off in a hideous gurgle as a blade slid around his throat, a Lost Boy clinging to his back and peering at her over his shoulder.

Tamara shook her head in disbelief, but as the initial shock of watching her friend die wore off, she turned and fled into the dense foliage. She stumbled over roots and careened into trees in her headlong rush to reach the shore. Tears of anger and grief rolled down her cheeks as she escaped. Though she was completely turned around, Tamara didn't stop running until long after the sounds of pursuit had ceased. Finally, breathless and trembling, she collapsed at the base of a tree, well concealed by several ferns. As the adrenaline left her system, she bowed her head and said a prayer to the Maker for the souls of the Templars she had left behind.

~SQ~

Warnings: Graphic sexual violence

Regina strode slowly across the flagstones as she made her way to the woman lying in the center of the room. She came to a stop beside the supine, naked body, refusing to look at the other woman's face, instead focusing on the honey-colored hair matted with filth. She stood silent and rigid as the prisoner began to beg, bruised arms reaching for her.

"Please, Regina," came the high-pitched entreaty, broken fingernails catching at the hem of the queen's skirt. "Help me. Get me out of here, please."

Laughter erupted around them, and a soft, masculine voice mocked, "Yes, Regina, help her."

The queen clenched her jaw, remaining unmoving when warm hands came to rest on her shoulders and squeezed slightly as the king stepped up close behind her. When her loose gown was pushed from her shoulders to puddle at her feet and leave her bare, she didn't react, even as greedy eyes fell on her body. Those same hands maneuvered her to stand just past the prisoner's head and pushed her to the floor, compelling her to kneel on the stones.

"You're going to help her, aren't you?" Leopold taunted, leaning over to murmur in her ear. At her obedient nod, he straightened and stroked his palms possessively up and down her upper arms and over her shoulders. "You know what to do. Hold her arms good and tight, now." Grasping her chin in his hand, he pulled her head back painfully to make her look up at him. His tone was unyielding as he instructed, "Don't let her go, no matter what. Understand?"

"Yes, Husband," she acknowledged impassively. Deftly, she caught the prisoner's wrists in her hands, ignoring the fact that the skin was broken and raw from having been restrained by ropes. Regina shuffled backward on her knees until the woman's arms were stretched out on the floor, pulled over her head as far as they would go, a small cry escaping the prisoner.

Tears fell from red-rimmed eyes, creating clear tracks through the dirt along the woman's temples. "Why? Why are you doing this?" she beseeched the young queen, eyes wild with fear and pain.

She hung her head in shame and cringed back, attempting to avoid the dark, almond-shaped eyes searching her for answers. "I'm so sorry, Ida," Regina whispered, a sob catching in her throat and swallowed down as she felt the king's slippered foot tap the inside of her thighs. Meekly, she spread her legs further, kneecaps digging into the hard floor. There was the familiar, soft thump of a cushion being placed between her calves. Then, her husband's hands were holding her hips as he knelt and took her from behind.

Regina forced herself to relax as much as possible, letting her body sway along with the king's thrusts. After two and a half years of marriage, she had learned that compliance sometimes meant she could walk to her chambers under her own power when he was done with her. As the first of the king's inner circle climbed on top of the prisoner, the queen let the mask of apathy she'd perfected slide into place, compelled to watch for fear of retribution. She did not relish the idea of more broken bones, her ribs only recently healed from the last thrashing at her husband's hands.

Ida's struggles and screams began anew with each subsequent attack, and she jerked hard against her captor's unforgiving hold. The queen panicked as she lost purchase on one of the wrists she held, the prisoner's hand flailing out to claw at the man above her. Frantically, Regina snatched the thrashing limb, bringing it back to the floor. She gripped Ida more tightly and leaned forward, shifting her weight onto her arms to pin the woman in place. It was too little, too late, as her husband grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling hard enough to make her eyes water as he switched to anal penetration as punishment for her lapse. A brief cry of pain left her before she bit fiercely at her bottom lip to stifle any further sounds.

The queen pressed down on her hands as firmly as possible, feeling the delicate bones under her palms grind into the flagstones and break under the added force. And as she watched nobles and council members rape and beat the woman she held to the cold, stone floor, the overriding emotion she experienced was relief. Regina let the guilt wash over her, accepted it, as she considered herself fortunate that the king remained opposed to sharing her in that manner. She'd be bruised and hurting in the morning, but only one man would have defiled her, not the five mauling the milliner's wife.

~SQ~

The sun had finally set for the day, and Emma stood midship at the port gunwale, forearms resting on the rail as she gazed out across the dark waters. The faintest pink tinge still reflected on the surrounding waves, and she glanced up at the stars emerging in the deepening sky as night truly began to fall. Already having freshened up from the day's activities, she was taking advantage of a rare moment alone while providing Regina the privacy for her own sponge bath. She heard the measured steps of the ship's captain approach and remained silent as he joined her in quiet contemplation. After several minutes, the sheriff finally commented, "I never realized how beautiful the ocean was."

"Aye." Hook replied softly, eyes leaving the horizon to fix on Emma longingly. Finding her attention to the scenery unwavering, he added, "The open sea is an alluring mistress." She may have been a princess by birth, but as he had watched her since their journey had begun, the captain had come to realize that her life had been a harsh one. The manner in which she held herself back from others and her wary stance told him much about her history and had him yearning to know more about the elusive savior.

Deciding the pirate seemed to be on good behavior, she asked a question that had been burning in the back of her mind for a while. "How long have you sailed?"

His eyebrows rose in surprise that she hadn't automatically led with him being a pirate. It was where most people chose to focus their attention, after all. "For most of my life. I'd say," he drawled as he tapped the gunwale contemplatively with his fingers, "380 years, give or take a few."

Emma barked out a quick laugh. She had known he'd been around for a while, but the number was still startling to hear. With a brief quirk of her lips, she jokingly complimented, "You look good for your age."

Flashing her a roguish smile, the captain smoothly rejoined, "I'm glad you noticed, Love."

The blatant but tame flirting caused the sheriff to roll her eyes and smirk, having honestly expected something more crass from the man. "Have you been a pirate that whole time?" she queried after a moment, sobering as she looked back out across the waves.

There was a long pause as the captain considered how to answer that question before he decided to speak a rarely voiced truth. "Nay, I joined the king's navy with my brother, Liam." He swallowed hard as painful memories swam to the surface, and his words were heavy with melancholy as he admitted, "This was his ship, originally."

"What happened?" came the quietly interested response. Maybe there was more to the pirate than all the bluster and swagger with which he cloaked himself.

A heavy scowl marred his face briefly before he darkly uttered, "Neverland."

His tone spoke volumes, something for which Emma had gained a greater appreciation during her time with Regina. The woman was a complex puzzle for which she was just recently acquiring the missing pieces. She figured the infamous Captain Hook would be no less enigmatic if she started picking away at his rough exterior. "Must be a hell of a place," she mused, worriedly pressing her lips into a tight line as she wondered, yet again, how Henry was faring.

Not particularly wanting to make the princess worry more but also instinctively understanding her preference for the truth over platitudes, he elaborated, "Aye. If not for Neal and your boy, I wouldn't step foot on that cursed island." Still, he wouldn't tell her of the horrors of that place unless she asked directly. No need to worry the mother unnecessarily.

Knowing there was nothing she could do to help Henry, at the moment, the sheriff focused on the part of Hook's statement that had been intriguing her for a while. She turned her head slightly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "Sounds like Neal means a lot to you." Her natural curiosity was welling up at the prospect at finding out more about the man whom she had once loved. She had yet to sit down with her ex and discuss his past beyond the fact that his father had chosen power over him.

The captain nodded and returned his attention to the night sky, gaze automatically seeking out the guiding stars he had memorized centuries before. "He does, or rather, he did," he murmured into the silence. His eyes closed slowly as he said regretfully, "I want to do right by his mother."

Confused, her brows furrowed, and Emma shifted to face him while still leaning on the gunwale with her right arm. "His mother?" she prompted, needing clarification for the apparent non-sequitur.

"We were involved when Neal was but a lad, still called Bae, then." The words were difficult for him to say, as was anything having to do with his lost love, Milah. It was the one wound that time had not healed for him.

Emma shook her head as if it would help settle the words. "Wait, so the bad blood between you and Gold is Neal's mom?" In a way, it made sense. Don't most epic stories of betrayal and revenge revolve around some sordid, love triangle? she thought to herself before realizing that Regina's didn't, not once all the facts were known. The savior was pulled from the rabbit hole her thoughts were spiraling down when the man beside her spoke, again.

Seeing the contemplative look on the sheriff's face, the pirate told her, "Her name was Milah, and she chose to leave with me, despite what the Crocodile might say." With a flourish and grim smile, he held up his hook. "He cut off my hand for it after he killed her—crushed her heart right before my eyes."

The savior paled a bit, and she wondered how Regina had managed to maintain such a good and caring heart with the horrible parents she had been dealt. Her mind turned to Gold and the awful things he had said to the former queen shortly after their arrival in this world, and Emma felt righteous anger and indignation spike, her magic skittering restlessly under her skin. "Once a bastard, always a bastard, I guess," she muttered hatefully.

Jones had been staring at his hook and missed the murderous look that had flashed in the sheriff's eyes. Raising his head, he agreed heartily, "Aye. We'd returned for Bae, but by that point, Rumpelstiltskin had lost him and become the Dark One." It had hurt him to see Milah so heartbroken that her son was gone with no chance for a reunion to make things right between them. And then, her future had been cruelly snatched away by her scorned husband, and he had been left with nothing but revenge.

Blinking out of her dark musings, Emma voiced her earlier thought. "Wow, talk about a twisted love triangle." As she forced herself back into the present, her brows knit together in consternation. Realizing the intent behind her original observation had never been answered, she said, "But, that doesn't explain how you know Neal."

"Fate is a fickle thing, Love. I fished Bae out of these very waters of Neverland," he explained with a wry smile. The captain paused in fond remembrance of better times before elucidating, "We had a good year together before secrets came to light. I tried to explain, but the lad wouldn't hear of it. So, he sought out Pan's island, and I never saw him again, until I arrived in your fair town," he finished with a heavy sigh, weighed down by the reminder that he had ultimately failed Milah by alienating her son.

Emma pursed her lips at this revelation, trying to let the new information sink in and form a better picture of the man who was Henry's father. "Did you and Neal get to talk any in Storybrooke?" she queried, interested in whether the two men had interacted at all or if they had studiously avoided one another.

The pirate frowned as he recalled their conversation on the docks. "A little," he confessed. "He was more interested in his own boy. The notion of family has always been important to him." Hook understood it was why the lad had felt so betrayed by his omission of having known Milah. Had he admitted early on to their association and taken the time to explain things, their lives might have played out very differently.

Things finally began clicking into place for Emma. As she rapidly reassessed all of Neal's interactions with Henry and Regina since returning with them from New York, she realized that she was, at last, starting to understand his motivations. "That actually explains a lot," she murmured hesitantly. "Huh." The savior realized her sudden insight meant that she'd need to back off a bit once they got back to Storybrooke—if they got back. Her own family reunion had become bittersweet since her relationship with her parents had progressively soured. Neal's need to connect with what little family he had made perfect sense, now that she allowed herself to think about it.

Having enjoyed the blessed solitude to wash and change, Regina quietly slipped out onto the deck clad in silk pajamas, cotton robe, and soft slippers. As she scanned the deck, she was surprised to see Hook still up and about. The man had started turning the ship over to one of the Salters around sunset so he could retire for the night. She was even more startled to see the pirate leaning on the gunwale next to the sheriff having what appeared to be a pleasant conversation. Something cold twisted in her gut, and letting her curiosity get the better of her, she covertly eased closer.

After several moments of companionable silence, the captain asked, "What about you, Lass? How have you fared with your parents?" He had been privy to several, uncomfortable interactions between the savior and her parents, though she seemed to be getting along fairly well with her father. If the animosity between the queen and Snow weren't enough, Emma's steady avoidance of her mother had only increased the tension on the ship.

"Ugh, we are so not going there, ever," Emma groused. She hunched her shoulders against the weight of parental expectations that the mere mention of the pair seemed to press upon her.

Hook eyed her briefly before offering, "As you wish. However, I can be a sympathetic ear when the need arises."

Lips quirking up in a faint smile, the sheriff replied quietly, "Thanks."

Realizing he had an opening, the pirate decided to test the waters as to the savior's feelings regarding her ex. Carefully clearing his throat, he queried, "Forgive my curiosity, but do you hope to rekindle your romance with Neal once you find him?"

Regina had been about to return to the cabin and let one of the guards inform Emma that she could come back when she was ready, but Hook's question caught her attention on a startlingly visceral level. Pausing in the shadows of the main mast, she placed her hand against the smooth wood, leaning lightly into it for unconscious support.

A low growl of irritation rose in Emma's throat at the suggestion. She might have been willing to set aside her past with Neal for Henry's, and now Regina's, sake, but she was not nearly ready to forgive and forget. "Nope," she spat out with a hard pop on the end of the word. "I have absolutely no plan to revisit that disaster." Twisting to give Hook a hard look, she clearly enunciated, "He framed me. I went to jail. I gave birth to Henry in jail." It didn't matter how many times she said it, it never failed to piss her off.

"A child out of wedlock isn't the worst of things," Jones scoffed, slightly dismissive of the thought.

The sheriff straightened and shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're missing the point. He set me up. I'm not sleeping with him." Her scowl deepened as she muttered fiercely, "Never again."

Giving her a somber nod, Hook asked leadingly, "So, no happy ending for the boy, then?"

Catching a faint flicker of something indefinable in the pirate's blue eyes, Emma found her own gaze narrowing. Hands going to her hips as her indignation grew, she exclaimed incredulously, "Happy ending? What the hell does me hooking back up with Neal have to do with Henry's happy ending?" Seriously, she thought, what is with these fairytale types and their hang-ups on this kind of shit?

Shrugging at her outburst, the pirate elucidated calmly, "I'm sure the boy would like his parents to be together." While he wasn't above wooing a woman away from another man, he wasn't about to betray Baelfire, again. But if the sheriff really wasn't interested in renewing her old relationship, it would be a different matter, entirely.

Immediately, Emma went on the defensive at the implication she was failing her son and retorted sharply, "Henry's doing just fine with Regina and me. If he wants to build a relationship with Neal, that's fine, but I want no part in it." The savior took a deep breath to push back her ire, and as if just saying her name had conjured the woman, she caught the scent of spices and wood smoke and petrichor that seemed to hover around her friend. It had only grown stronger after several days without fancy soaps and shampoos to cover it, and Emma had found herself breathing deeply whenever she was around Regina, intoxicated by her natural aroma.

There was a ping of awareness that resonated through the bond, but the former mayor didn't move from her spot by the mast. Initially intrigued by the turn the conversation had taken, she was now concerned about her companion's emotional agitation and decided to remain a quiet and discreet observer unless she was needed.

"Neal may have different ideas," the captain pointed out with raised eyebrows.

Emma snorted and said uncharitably, "Yeah, well, Neal isn't known for his brains." The man had street smarts, she'd give him that, and a type of wary cunning she'd only ever encountered in two other people—Regina and Rumpelstiltskin.

Laughing at the assessment, Hook admitted, "Aye, the lad can be a tad impulsive. He gets that from his mother." Many a time, he had had to redirect Milah from some rash decisions made in the heat of the moment. When the savior smirked and huffed with amusement at the remark, he grinned slyly and hinted, "Then, I suppose that leaves you free for other pursuits."

Not in the least surprised by the ham-handed segue, the sheriff rolled her eyes impatiently. She was the tiniest bit impressed that it had taken him so long to get around to pressing his case, again. "I have enough on my plate, Hook," she demurred politely, feeling generous since he was being polite and not smarmy.

The captain shrugged lightly in acknowledgement of that fact. The princess had a great deal of upheaval happening in her life, but that didn't mean she couldn't take some time out to have a little fun, once in a while. It was obvious she wasn't a chaste, naïve princess who had been locked away from the world. In truth, the prospect of her experience intrigued him more than if she had been an innocent. "Of course, but I'd be happy to oblige you in making the beast with two backs," he told her, leaning his left elbow against the gunwale and smiling casually.

"What?" Emma asked flatly, blinking. She wasn't sure she'd heard the phrase before, but from the increasingly dirty grin the pirate sported, she thought she could puzzle out the meaning.

With a light laugh, Hook muttered to himself, "Perhaps you're more of a princess than I thought." He leaned closer and clarified, "I'm speaking of shaking the sheets."

Mouthing the words slowly, the savior had no trouble figuring out that euphemism. "Wow. Okay, not in this life, not ever." The man's propensity to turn into an ass never ceased to amaze her. Uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, she took a step back, shuddering faintly.

Hook matched her step with one of his own, moving back into her space. "Come now, Love," he cajoled condescendingly, "I've seen the way you look at me."

"With contempt and loathing?" Regina retorted, striding confidently out of the shadows. The pirate's willingness to turn his unwanted overtures into a physical pursuit had been the last straw. The former mayor could not stand idly by while Emma was sending out precursory signals of panicked distress through the bond. And the idea of Hook so much as touching her companion's arm had made her go rigid under a wave of possessiveness she couldn't quite push aside.

Frowning at the interruption, the captain turned to Regina and reminded her insouciantly, "Your invitation has been rescinded, Your Majesty. This is between the savior and I." As he finally took the time to notice her nighttime attire, he tilted his head to the side in appreciation. She looked inviting in the moonlight, the wind blowing her hair around her face to give her a disheveled appearance. His lips curled up in a lascivious smirk when he said, "But I bet you could do with a bit of cock."

Emma's hands fisted at her sides in a flash of sudden anger, wanting to claw out Hook's eyes for the way he was staring at her friend. "Hey, that's way out of line!" she accused, ready to treat the pirate to the same right hook that she had introduced Monty to just the other night.

Regina chuckled ominously and rejoined in a flat tone, "I wouldn't recommend trying." Looking up at him from under lowered lashes, she crooned, "I killed the last man who did."

The captain feigned serious introspection, as if trying to remember something important. Finally, he snapped his fingers, affecting an epiphany. "That's right," he jeered, "the queen prefers tipping the velvet."

A sneer darkened the sorceress's countenance as her eyes flicked over the man from head to toe. "Are you offering, Pirate?" Disdainfully, she taunted, "You're not fit to lick my boots. What makes you think I'd let you anywhere near my cunt?" The smile she bestowed upon him, then, was one of pure contempt.

Hook leveled her with a reproachful grin and shook a finger at the former queen. "You mistake my meaning." Easing closer, he lowered his voice and alleged, "I think you want the princess, here, for yourself."

Inching forward with the slow deliberation of a predator, Regina replied, "And you mistake Emma's kindness for an invitation." She continued to press nearer until she was practically nose-to-nose with Hook. Tone taking on a hard edge, she said, "I distinctly heard her tell you no, yet you continue to pursue her. And while I'm well aware that Emma is perfectly capable of dealing with you on her own, there's something you should be aware of." Her voice was sweet as honey as she murmured, "I will flay you alive and strap you to the prow to serve as figurehead if you so much as lay a finger on her without her express permission."

Several beats passed with the pirate utterly still in light of the threat. He swallowed hard, then, coming back to himself, narrowed his eyes and puffed up with bravado. "No," he countered, "I don't think you will. I imagine your boy wouldn't be too pleased to learn his mother was returning to her evil ways." Swiveling to face Emma, he told her, "Come find me once the witch takes her claws out of you, Love," before turning on his heel and strutting off.

Emma had been incensed throughout the exchange, itching to step in and defend Regina against his crude barbs. "What the hell was that about?" she wondered aloud, incredulous that he could go from sensitive to slimy so quickly. "I mean, that got real nasty pretty fast."

Seething silently, Regina kept staring after the loathsome pirate, even though he'd already disappeared below deck. "Like most men from our world, Hook is under the impression that all women want him and has trouble believing anything contrary to that." She'd endured that attitude long enough in her home world and did not care to experience it, again.

The sheriff scoffed, "Yeah, well, that's not exactly limited to the Enchanted Forest." She shook her head, irritated at the captain's reaction to being rebuffed by two women. "Typical guy to assume a woman's gay if she doesn't want him," she grouched.

Regina blinked at the savior, nonplussed at her response. "The beast with two backs goes over your head, but that reference you catch?" The corners of her mouth tugged upward slightly in fond delight.

Sheepishly, Emma shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, muttering, "I saw the miniseries." A light blush rose to her cheeks, and she shrugged dismissively. "Still, what he said wasn't cool."

Head cocked in intrigued scrutiny, Regina softly replied, "He's not wrong, Emma."

"Seriously?" Emma startled, focusing wide eyes on her friend. Nerves flared brightly as she recalled Hook's implication that Regina wanted her for herself. The prospect that the attraction she felt for the former mayor—and endeavored to ignore—could be reciprocated was too overwhelming for the sheriff to contemplate. "You…." She trailed off uncertainly.

The former queen raised an amused eyebrow as she finished, "I'm a lesbian? Yes." Feeling an odd sort of disquiet roll through her companion, she grew apprehensive. She queried hesitantly, "Is that going to be a problem, especially considering our current situation?" The last thing she wanted to do was make Emma uncomfortable, though the sheriff had never seemed to have an issue with anyone's sexuality in the past.

Emma immediately felt guilty upon noticing Regina's worried expression. "No!" she blurted in a high-pitched voice, hands coming up in a conciliatory gesture. Clearing her throat, the savior blushed, embarrassed by her alarmed outburst. More calmly, she restated, "No, it's really not." A fluttering started in her stomach. Her previously-assumed-to-be, straight friend was now very gay, and suddenly, her crush didn't seem so ludicrous as it had mere moments ago.

Bemused by the darkening flush on Emma's cheeks, Regina flashed a relieved smile, replying, "I'm glad." The sheriff's rapidly shifting emotions allowed her brief insights to her companion's thoughts, and she almost laughed when everything clicked into place. Affecting an innocent expression, she redirected the conversation, knowing it would be appreciated by the other woman. "I had come to get a bit of fresh air and see if you were ready to turn in for the night. It's rather late."

"Uh, yeah," the savior drawled, mentally scrambling to catch up with the shift in topic. "I was just waiting for you to get done with your bath." The thought of Regina taking a sponge bath caused Emma to duck her head, not wanting her friend to see the heat that seemed to have permanently settled in her cheeks.

Regina's impish streak came to the fore, and she husked lowly, "In that case, I suggest we go to bed." She grinned as their bond lit up with a spike of longing, followed by an awkward rush of mortification. Biting her bottom lip to keep from smirking, the sorceress knew she shouldn't tease Emma in such a manner. It was just that the sheriff was so easy to get a rise out of, and it felt good to engage in a little harmless flirting.

Voice not quite a squeak, Emma nodded and acquiesced, "Okay. Sure." Still slightly dazed by this newest bombshell, she meekly followed the former queen across the deck and down the ladder-stairs leading to their cabin. As they settled into the bed and Regina snuggled up against her back, the savior felt very sure she would not be getting any sleep that night, too conscious of the woman beside her.

~SQ~

Tamara had been crouched at the edge of the tree line for a solid two hours watching the beach and listening for any sounds of movement. Both of the men left behind with the boats and lyrium were sprawled out on the sand, red staining the ground beneath them. She had caught the slight rise and fall of the larger man's chest and knew there was at least one other survivor. Finally, the sun was almost set, dusk wrapping the island in an ominous shade of grey, and she staggered for the boats.

Collapsing beside the still breathing Templar, she roughly shook him, letting out a sigh of relief as his brown eyes blinked open. "Thank the Maker. Get up," Tamara whispered harshly. Her gaze continually darted around the open shoreline, worried about another ambush. When the man only groaned at her, she jostled him again, demanding, "Wake up, Soldier!"

That seemed to do the trick, and the Templar struggled to sit up, hand going to the cut over his left eye. "How many made it back with you?" he asked, gaining his bearings quickly. Already reaching for his missing sword, he scanned the edge of the jungle warily, fists clenching in the sand upon discovering his weapons gone.

"None. I was hoping some of them would have made it back by now," she admitted as she got a better look at the deep gash in his lower, right leg. It went all the way to the bone which appeared to be shattered. Grimacing, she inspected the makeshift tourniquet he had managed before passing out earlier and knew that it had been left too long. He'd lose the bottom half of the leg if he lived. "Do you think you can move, Barbeta? We need to be ready to get out of here when the others get back."

As he watched the small woman lug the bag of lyrium to the nearest dinghy and heave it inside, he shook his head sadly. "No one else is coming, Green. They'd have been here already," the Templar informed her regretfully.

Pausing in her efforts to gather the downed soldier's effects, she whirled on her remaining companion and bit out, "You're wrong. More will show up. I'm sure of it."

Barbeta had painstakingly made his way to the boat in an awkward, dragging crawl through the wet sand. Bracing his hands on the bow of the dinghy, he pushed it a couple of inches into the water with a grunt. "We'll be lucky to get off this island alive. And that's not going to happen unless you help me get this hunk of wood off the beach," he told her pointedly with a quick glimpse over his shoulder.

"Greg's still on the island!" Tamara reminded him even as she leaned against the front of the boat. Her heels dug into the soft ground as she pushed with her back and shoulders.

A snort of disbelief escaped the large man. His gaze settled on her strained expression as he replied tightly, "Too late, he's probably captured or dead by now." Their progress was slow but steady, and soon, the waves were lapping over the Templar's legs, his wound flaring hotly with the stinging scour of salt water. Sweat was rolling down Barbeta's face and back, a combination of exhaustion and agony; however he kept inching further into the tide, determined to get back to their ship and update his commander.

Tamara's eyes welled with tears at the thought of leaving her partner behind. It didn't matter that he had run off during the fight. She still loved him. Wiping hastily at her tears, her voice came out in a wavering whisper as she pled, "We have to save him."

"We have to warn the others," Barbeta refuted sternly as the water reached the middle of his chest. In a moment of frustration, he grabbed her left arm, giving her a hard shake. "That demon child betrayed us, and who knows what else he's planning." Desperation had crept into his tone, and he made a concerted effort to swallow back his rising panic. Releasing her arm, he continued more calmly, "Our duty to the Order comes first, Tamara. Greg knew the risks. We all did."

She took a deep breath and stared into his dark eyes, just as frightened as her own but full of a certainty built upon faith. Nodding briskly, she placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance. "Yes, of course." Tamara gripped his belt with her left hand and helped him stand on his good leg. A short struggle later, and both of them sat nearly collapsed in the dinghy, panting from the pain of their exertions and injuries. "You're bleeding again, Fede" she murmured with a gesture at her companion's leg.

He shrugged it off and grabbed the oars at his station, putting all of his strength into getting them back to their ship. "It's nothing worth fretting over. Maker willing, we'll live to serve another day." He stared fixedly at her countenance, refusing to spare even the tiniest glance at the island.

Casting one last look back at the beach, she scanned the tree line before facing forward, eyes on the rolling waves. She thought of all the betrayal and loss she had endured in her life, how lost she had been until the Chantry had come along and given her a purpose. Greg had been lost to her when his need for vengeance had nearly cost them their mission, she decided. Her future was with the Order. Tamara met Barbeta's curious stare and replied resolutely, "Yes. Yes, we will."

"You have the makings of a fine Templar, Tamara," Fede complimented her seriously. "Never lose sight of your faith, and the Maker shall reward you." His mouth turned up in a grim smile as he rowed in the dwindling twilight until he heard her announce she could see the sails of their ship.

~SQ~

Meanwhile in Storybrooke…

"Why are we even having a meeting?" Ruby asked, wiping off the countertop in her grandmother's diner. Business had been pretty typical for a Wednesday, and with the big names out of town for the last several days, the gossip mill had started to peter out. However, she had spied Mother Superior talking to the dwarves at lunch today, but the noise of the lunch crowd had kept her from eavesdropping. She tossed the wash cloth in the rinse sink and crossed her arms. Her eyes swept the nearly empty diner, landing on Stephen Doggle, the dentist down the street, drinking his afternoon tea. Looking at her grandmother, she quietly remarked, "Things have reached a new level of boring."

As she counted the money in the till, Widow Lucas quipped, "Then, the meeting tonight will liven up your social life." Pulling out most of the cash, she rolled the money up and tucked it inside her cardigan's right pocket. She'd write a deposit slip for the bank as soon as she made it back to her office in the bed and breakfast. Hearing her granddaughter's overly dramatic groan, she smirked and added, "They're our friends, Ruby. We should spend time with them."

"Archie and Marco are friends. We're family. The dwarves have some weird brotherhood thing going on, but we," the waitress explained, gesturing between herself and her grandmother, "are not friends with them." She turned her back to the open diner and glared at the drink fountain. "You, Marco, and Archie talk and sometimes hang out, do stuff, but nobody wants to hang out with me," she admitted sulkily. Ever since Albert Spencer had rallied half the town against her, people had given her a wide berth.

Eugenia asked, "I thought you and Emma had hit it off?" while she casually straightened the items stowed behind the counter. It had been a long time since her granddaughter had opened up to her. "You enjoyed going out skeet shooting with her," she reminded her. When she didn't hear a reply, she turned to the young woman. "You've been spending a lot of time at the house."

"I like it over there," Ruby shared with a sigh. Her gaze dropped down to the spotless floor. "The Crows Guard are cool." She paused and cut a sideways look to her grandmother before saying, "And Regina's actually nice."

Rolling her eyes, Widow Lucas scoffed. She crossed her arms and pinned her granddaughter with a hard scowl. "You need to watch yourself around that woman, Ruby" she warned. It worried her sometimes, how close her kin had gotten to the Evil Queen.

"Granny, come on," the waitress huffed, tossing her hands up in exasperation. "Emma lives with her, and she hasn't turned evil," she retorted in a sharp tone.

"The savior doesn't live there by choice," Eugenia countered, stomping past her granddaughter.

Arms crossing defiantly, Ruby snapped, "Yeah, well, whose fault is that?" She turned to face the woman who raised her. "Emma cast a spell out of desperation because her parents were driving her crazy," she added. Snatching the damp wash cloth from the sink, she wrung it out and draped it over a towel bar. "And what did Regina do? She nudged Emma into a moderate hero, one everyone could get behind."

"What are you talking about?" Widow Lucas asked, casting a cautious glance at Stephen, well-known as one of the town gossips. "The Evil Queen isn't causing trouble because the savior is keeping her in line," she explained. "I'm sure if Cora Mills hadn't been apprehended, mother and daughter would be terrorizing the town."

Scrunching her face, the waitress disbelievingly replied, "Is that what you think?"

"It's what all the good people of Storybrooke think, Ruby," Eugenia immediately responded. Noting her granddaughter's disappointed expression, she sharply probed, "What?"

"Nothing," Ruby quietly rebuked, turning away. She bent over and pulled out a tub, starting to restock the napkin-wrapped silverware.

Sighing, Widow Lucas shook her head and stepped toward her kin, saying more gently, "Tell me what's on your mind."

Glancing at her grandmother, the waitress took a moment and worried at her lower lip. "Do you think the Crows Guard are bad people?" she asked tentatively, halting her movements. As the silence stretched, she idly prepared another bundle.

"Bad? I think their loyalties are misplaced, but bad? No," Eugenia answered. Her brow furrowed as she leaned against the counter. "Get to the point, Girl," she urged, not wanting to have this conversation drag on for too long in the open.

"The Crows Guard have helped a lot of different people. They stopped Spencer from rigging the mayoral election. They even saved him from inhumane imprisonment, which David and the dwarves did, by the way," Ruby elucidated, dropping the silverware bundle in the tub. She faced her grandmother and continued, "They helped out at the nursing home during the snow storm. It turns out some of them were keeping an eye on Nicolas. They're even helping Widow Granger rebuild her greenhouse."

Widow Lucas harrumphed and bitterly countered, "Jetta is married to one of them. Of course, they're going to help."

"You know Granger. How many times have you bitched about her no cash, no service policy?" the waitress argued. Shaking her head, she lowered her voice and added, "Isn't she the one who told you about the wizard who made my red cloak?"

Eugenia looked away. She had traveled for days out of Hanover and into Angevin to reach Helena's hut within the Dark Forest. "Yes, she brokered the deal for it," she admitted, closing her eyes. She'd spun the tale of finding a wizard to protect her granddaughter from the truth.

Ruby quietly interjected with a frown, "I thought you went to a wizard." However, she quickly shook her head and waved her right hand, cutting off anything her grandmother might have said. "It doesn't matter," she sighed, snapping the lid back on the silverware tub. "My point is the Crows Guard have done good here in Storybrooke. They stepped up and fought off Cora."

Pushing away from the counter and standing up straight, Widow Lucas snipped, "Only after we nearly got ourselves killed." She narrowed her eyes at her kin. "That woman's poisoned you against us," she accused in a soft snarl.

"Will you please stop!" the waitress cried, practically throwing the tub under the counter. "My supposed best friend almost got us killed," she corrected as she stared her grandmother down. "I told you it was a bad idea. I told everyone at that stupid meeting that it was dangerous and we shouldn't do it," she hissed. Slipping past the old woman, she stormed back into the kitchen.

"Hold on, there," Eugenia warned following the irate girl. "Ruby!"

"No," Ruby snapped, whirling around to face the last of her blood kin. "If I wasn't a werewolf, Cora could've killed me with a flick of the wrist. I was covered in bruises, Granny. My clothes were ruined," she explained for the first time. Her frustration bubbled toward the surface as she paced the length of the kitchen. Thankfully, the short order cook was out on a break. "You never asked where I went after," she quietly stated. Squaring off with her grandmother, she lifted her chin as she recounted how she ran to Regina's and found the Crows Guard squaring off with the heartless sorceress. "I bit her and she didn't turn, Granny," she finished, pursing her lips.

Widow Lucas laid a hand on top a stainless-steel worktable and softly admitted, "I thought you went for a run to work off some steam."

"I went to check on Emma and Regina," the waitress admitted. She huffed and shrugged. Walking over to the punch-clock, she pulled her card from its slot. "You know, during all our meetings after that day, nobody once considered how Cora could treat her daughter like that," she quietly muttered before stamping her time card.

With a furrowed brow, Eugenia watched her granddaughter. "She'd figured it out, Ruby. Our cover was blown," she reminded the young woman.

"Sure, the witch figured out I wasn't her kid pretty quick, but you weren't looking her in the eyes. You didn't see the flicker of hope and want," Ruby countered, dropping her card back in the slot. "Emma told me that Cora attacked them afterwards," she explained as she retrieved her coat off the hook by the clock. "She told me some of the stuff she said," she trailed off, slipping on her jacket.

"Cora Mills is crazy," Widow Lucas proclaimed with finality. She pursed her lips and kept her eyes on her leaving grandchild.

Spinning on her heel, the waitress raised her left hand and pointed at the old woman. "No, Cora was heartless, and that was how she treated her own daughter. She nearly killed Regina that night," she sternly corrected her grandmother's assumptions. Roughly, she buttoned her coat and yanked out the gloves stuffed in her left pocket. "What happened in that cemetery should've been a wakeup call," she growled with frustration.

"To what?" Eugenia questioned, her eyes fixed on the young woman.

With her coat and gloves on, Ruby felt herself relax. She was about to head out the door and go to her second job at the Sheriff's Office. "Snow has always professed how good Regina was until the king died," she casually reminded her grandmother. When the old woman nodded, she continued, "So, maybe we should ask ourselves what the hell would have to happen to someone who survived a mother like that to turn her bad?" Then, with her piece said, she whisked herself through the kitchen, out the side door, and into the cool, night air.

Widow Lucas stared at the door long after her granddaughter had departed. Her brow furrowed as she turned and headed back into the diner. The next shift of wait staff wouldn't be in until right before the dinner rush. So, she returned to the till and stashed her wad of bills underneath the tray, and as she pushed the drawer shut, her gaze drifted to the counter where Regina and Emma had sat for lunch one day. She remembered their conversation about Gertrude, King George's wife.

Looking up, she noticed Stephen still sitting in his booth. When their eyes met, she gruffly barked, "I suppose you heard all of that."

The dentist smiled as he slid out of his seat. "Nothing I didn't already know," he admitted, walking up to the cash register. He pulled out his wallet and passed a few bills to the old werewolf. "There's a lot that doesn't make sense over the feud for the Angevin throne," he remarked. Then, without another word, he left the diner.

Eugenia frowned as she deposited the money. A heavy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, and she shook her head because Stephen was right. Quite a bit of the animosity between Snow White and the Evil Queen didn't make much sense, not with knowing what she currently did.

~SQ~

END OF PART 17

~SQ~

Translations:
Vodovahkiin – false dragonborn; pretender mortal born with the blood and soul of a dragon
Lo – to deceive; associated with illusion and trickery
Bovul – to flee; flight from destruction, death, or doom; connotes cowardice, terror, or hopelessness

Second Flashback Synopsis: It is revealed that after having Tristan (who is twenty months-old here), Regina had a second son who was stillborn in a breech birth. Now, Regina has just had a little girl who is only a few hours old in this scene. The baby is born premature at only 28 weeks due to a beating Leopold gave Regina when she got sick while serving him. The baby dies, and of course, Regina is heartbroken and fights Helga and her attendants when they try to take the infant away. She finally lets her go after naming her Dolores.

Third Flashback Synopsis: We finally find out what happened to Ida, Jefferson's wife and Paige's mother. She was not captured by bandits but by Leopold's men. Leopold makes Regina kneel and takes her while forcing her to hold Ida's arms and watch as five of the king's associates (nobles and council members) rape and beat the woman. Regina feels simultaneously relieved that she's not the one in Ida's place and guilty for her role in Ida's defilement. This scene is meant to bring several things to light. First, it gives an example of some of the things Regina has been forced to do under her husband's tyranny and helps explain some of the self-loathing she continues to feel and that we saw in her reveal to Emma in the previous chapter. It also gives an idea of her frame of mind during this point (about two and a half years) in her marriage. She is learning to distance herself during these encounters in the sense that while she's unable to tune out what is happening, she's beginning to disconnect from her emotions in order to maintain her sanity. Finally, this scene points out that these types of occurrences are becoming commonplace to her and blending into her everyday life.