#cssns 19

Even after years of being together, Killian couldn’t ask for a better partner, for a better soulmate. In these two years as a wolf, he had learned what the saying “they mate for life” meant. His wolf - Fenrir, as she loved to call him - always threatened to take over, and sometimes it did. Fortunately, it had never attacked a human being, but it didn’t make Killian fear the wolf less. The half-life he led allowed him to keep himself sane, to not fall prey of the wolf’s most animalistic needs, but even in canine form, Killian knew he had to protect Emma, that it was his duty to stay by her side and watch over her. Rationally, he knew his wife could be her own savior, but there would always be a part of him, human or animal, that would fight tooth and nail to keep her safe.

The wolf didn’t know Henry, but Killian was sure it would recognize him. The curse was diabolical and he would’ve probably lost himself had he not had a purpose: his love for his family had been his North star through hell, and now he had the chance to put an end to it, once and for all.

The sun would set soon, he could feel the tendrils of the curse wrap around his bones, ready to break and rearrange them. His skin prickled, and he fought the impulse to scratch his arm.

Standing next to him, Henry was looking at the lake in front of them. Emma had decided to stay beside their son and not to take a swim. Killian wasn’t sure it would work, but he had to try.

It was Henry who broke the silence. «Why are we here?» he asked slowly, hazel eyes stealing a glance at his father’s profile.

Killian released a sigh through his teeth, the hand that wasn’t placed on his son’s shoulder clenching into a fist. «If we want to defeat Regina, we will need a suitable weapon.» It was so strange for him to talk about it, to explain who he was to his own son. Part of him worried that Henry would resent him for not telling him the truth sooner. He drew in a deep breath, turning to face Henry.

«When I was eleven, before I came here, your Grandmother brought Liam and me to visit the castle of Tintagel, our last family trip in England before crossing the pond.»

Henry furrowed his eyebrows, his nose scrunching up slightly like Emma’s. Killian felt a twinge in his chest. «Isn’t that the place historians believe to be King Arthur’s castle?»

My boy, so bright for his age, Killian thought with a sudden surge of pride. «Aye,» he replied, incapable of stopping himself from ruffling the boy’s hair. Then, he sighed. «We were having lunch near what they call Merlin’s cave, a wonderful place which opens on the sea. Mum had prepared sandwiches for our little trip, but Liam and I couldn’t stay put, continuously pranking each other.» He stopped again, scratching at his jaw, wondering how to explain what had happened next. «At some point, I ended up falling in the water, knees scraped and slightly bleeding. It was then that-»

Killian swallowed, shaking his head. No, although his son did believe in magic, there was only so much that he could accept. Taking another deep breath, Killian knew what the had to do.

«It’s best if I show you.» Hoping that it will work again.

From the inner pocket of his leather jacket, he pulled out a switchblade and walked to the shore of the small lake. Henry followed suit, curious as ever, and so did Emma.

The slight discomfort of the blade slicing his palm open made him shiver, a passing pain that helped amplify the tension he was feeling. He extended his arm out, tightening his fist to let a few droplets of blood fall into the dark waters below.

At first, nothing happened, the water stopped rippling the moment it swallowed the last drop and stayed still. Then, an inexplicable feeling washed over Killian, something akin to anticipation. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms rose.

A pale mist lazily approached them, sliding above the water without disturbing it. To Killian, it appeared as if he’d gone back in time, calves deep in the chilly water and his mother’s terrified cries piercing the air. Next to him, it had been his brother to clamp a hand over his shoulder, ready to shield him from any evil, and not his son tightening his fingers around the buttery leather of his jacket.

His lungs filled with cold air once more, and all around him everything quieted down: no bird sang, and the distant laughter of children faded, leaving an eerie silence upon them.

When he swept his eyes over the horizon, Killian couldn’t help but squint, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he studied the shadow behind the mist. The unmistakable shape of a tiny island seemed to have come out of nowhere. It must be just an illusion, he told himself, knowing that island couldn’t be actually there. But if I could call her here, perhaps it appears wherever she’s needed.

Although he wished he could keep wondering and making theories about her magic, Killian’s attention was averted from the island to the lake.

Tall, proud auger shells were the first thing they saw emerging from the water, and Killian couldn’t help but look down at Henry to gauge his reaction.

Pure wonder shone in the kid’s eyes, so impossibly wide, much like his mouth, hanging open as he witnessed something he never thought he would see.

The shells crowned a waterfall of ebony hair with shiny pearls intertwined in the silky strands, but what was most beautiful was not the white gown that spoke of ages past, or her delicate and innocent face, with eyes as green as seaweed and a smile that could bring any man to his knees.

No, the most beautiful thing was the sword fluctuating over her open palms.

It emanated a bright light, but Killian could still make out its form, though it was probably a trick of his own mind; he had, after all, spent many hours cataloguing its every curve and engraving and searching the meaning behind the decorations on the hilt.

«Killian Jones. It’s been a long time.»

The woman spoke with the voice of an angel, surreal and enchanting. She glided over the water without disturbing it, her dry figure finally reaching the shore. There, she stopped, eyes falling on Henry and then on Emma, features shifting.

Her expression startled Killian: she was heartbroken.

Sad eyes lifted to meet his. «You are enduring a harsh curse, my King, fated to live a half life and separated from those you love.» She tilted her head, not accusatory, just confused. «Why haven’t you called upon him, I wonder?»

A muscle pulsed in Killian’s jaw. He should have known the question would come. «I wished not to speak with him, for he would give me no answer to my questions, nor a solution for this curse. Both of you speak in riddles, my Lady, and this is no such time for those.»

As if chastised, the woman bent her head, but a small smile played on her lips. «I see,» she commented, reassuming her position. «I was surprised when Excalibur reappeared, I worried something had happened to your family. And yet, I knew you were not dead, nor was your heir.»

«This curse,» Killian began, waving his hand around, the blood now dry and uncomfortably coating his palm, «swept my home away, and all it contained with it. I assumed the sword wouldn’t just disappear, but I did not realize it could be so easily retrieved until-»

«Until the man you have loathed your whole life suggested you look here?»

Killian cursed the voice and the man it belonged to. Of bloody course, he thought, spinning around to see a hooded figure walking past the line of trees. It reminded him of the first time they met, only they were miles and miles away from the illuminated cave.

«Merlin,» Killian gritted through his teeth.

«Merlin?» Henry squeaked, looking up at his father. «That Merlin?»

A low, warm chuckle came from beneath the hood as hands came up to pull it back and reveal the infamous sorcerer.

After all those years, the man hadn’t changed at all, both in appearance and methods. He still seemed to be in his early thirties at most, and yet had the ability to appear ageless, with a tawny complexion and short, black hair, not at all what Killian had expected Merlin to look like, anticipating an old man with a long beard and a pointy hat instead. On his face was the usual, enigmatic smile that still riled Killian up.

«Aye, lad, that Merlin,» the sorcerer replied, walking over to them. His deep brown eyes seemed to smile as well as he talked to Henry, whose mouth was still hanging open in shock.

Licking his lips, Killian glared at the newcomer. True, Merlin had asked him not to blame Gold, and true, there was nothing to blame, not really. Besides, Killian knew when to admit he was wrong--treating Gold like he was the enemy hadn’t prevented Regina from casting the curse and damning them all.

«Cool,» Henry breathed, eyes shining with wonder, before looking up at his father. «So you are a descendant of King Arthur?»

Before Killian could answer, Merlin spoke. «It’s slightly more complicated than that, I fear. When he died, Arthur didn’t have an heir to whom he would pass his legacy on. I prophesied Arthur would come back when his kingdom needed him the most. The ability to see the future is tricky, and rarely gives a clear answer.»

Killian couldn’t help but chortle at those words, blatantly ignoring Merlin’s glare.

«I had my theories about how said prophecy would be fulfilled, and one of them involved reincarnation. Now, your father is his own person, of course, it’s not as if Arthur is trapped inside of him, dormant, nothing like that. Their souls, however, are intertwined.»

Henry was as confused as Killian had been the first and only time he talked with Merlin. Although Killian did know more about magic than he had when he was eleven, not even he could wrap his head around the concept of reincarnation and his soul being tied to the King of Camelot, the once and future King. Monarchy is not quite dead, but nobody would ever call me “King”, nor do I want them to.

«My King,» a gentle voice called out to get his attention.

Killian couldn’t help but blush at that, forcing himself not to look at Emma who, he imagined, was surely interested in what was happening as much as their son.

«Aye, my Lady?»

The Lady of the Lake, who had introduced herself as Nimue the first time they met, gave him a contrite smile. «I fear my magic won’t last for much longer. We must make haste.»

«Nimue is right, Killian. I can feel myself weakening with every second,» Merlin added, an apologetic expression etching his features.

«Why can’t you stay and help us?» Henry asked, almost pleading. To have someone as powerful as Merlin on their side would smooth their way to success.

The sorcerer gave him a pained, sorrowful smile. «The curse prevents Avalon from fully manifesting itself. Nimue and I are both just a realistic illusion. Only Excalibur is immune to the dark magic at work here, and thus it can be returned to its true master.»

Killian nodded, turning to the Lady. A shiver ran down his spine when he realized he could see through her, now, the shape of Avalon almost fading as well.

Nimue smiled kindly, like a proud mother. «I return Excalibur to you, my King. May it serve you well against the darkness.»

Feeling his heart thundering in his chest, Killian stepped forward. The moment his fingers wrapped around the grip, he felt as though a surge of magic had shot right through him, lighting up his blood and awakening something buried deep within his soul. Just like the first time.

Solemnly, Killian drew the sword in front of him, letting it stand tall with the setting sun catching the edge of the blade. Unlike when he first wielded it, Killian felt something else awakening inside of him, the knowledge that he now had a purpose and that he wouldn’t have peace until it was fulfilled.

When he lowered the sword, Killian bent his head. «Thank you, my Lady,» he said solemnly, only to watch her disappear into thin air soon after with one last, encouraging smile on her face.

A slight pressure on his shoulder made him lift his eyes to meet Merlin’s, his form slightly less transparent than Nimue’s but fading still. «I trust you won’t use the sword unless you have no other choice. Remember, even the smallest cut can condemn someone to death.»

A nick is all I need, Killian thought to himself, nodding. He glanced furtively at Henry, who was listening to the conversation as well. «Excalibur will serve its purpose, Merlin. I will be careful.»

The only reason why Killian had not thought about a gun or his own magic was because he had no clue whether Regina had somehow found an enchantment to shield herself. If he shot her, she would stop the bullet mid-air; if he cast a spell, she could counterattack. Excalibur, however, was immune to any kind of magic.

It was a good thing that he’d kept his true nature hidden all these years, otherwise who knew what Regina might have done. Thankfully, she wouldn’t be able to wield the sword, for it turned to dust when touched by anyone who wasn’t worthy.

This would make things easier, though.

Merlin studied Killian’s face, reluctantly accepting his words. «I bid you farewell, then, Killian. Master Henry. Lady Emma.»

Killian watched mutely as the wizard disappeared and the air suddenly became lighter. In the distance, birds began to sing again.

«So,» Henry started, slowly, «you are a king. And you have a magic sword.»

Killian scratched behind his ear, looking at Emma as if she could help him. There was a look in her eyes that said “you’re on your own, buddy”, and he knew her well enough to be sure that she would be looking at them with her arms crossed over her chest and a raised eyebrow. What would he have given to see her standing just like that.

At last, Killian returned his attention to Henry. «Aye. It’s… difficult to accept, I know, and I will understand if you aren’t able to-»

«Dad,» Henry cut him off, frowning, «how could I not accept something so cool?»

Killian almost choked on his breath. «Cool?»

Henry nodded. «Cool.» He shrugged. «It doesn’t change who you are, Dad, you are and always will be my hero, as is Mom. You being a king doesn’t change anything to my eyes. You are my Dad. You could turn into a blobfish every time you touched water and I wouldn’t love you any less.»

For the fraction of a moment, Killian saw Henry’s words become true in front of his eyes. It took all he had not to shudder and focus on his son’s words instead, love spreading through him like a tidal wave that touched every inch of his body. He wrapped his free arm around Henry’s shoulder, drawing him to his chest and hugging him tightly. With a deep sigh, Killian bent his head and kissed the top of Henry’s hair, eyes closing in bliss.

Henry’s thin arms wrapped around his torso and hugged him just as tightly. Killian didn’t actually care whether he could breathe or not.

Soon, too soon, Killian felt the call of the moon, the curse reaching out to him again. They needed to get away from there soon.

With another kiss on Henry’s forehead, Killian said: «Come, we need to go back to the pawnshop. The sun is about to set and we there’s so much to do.»

Henry’s eyes widened, knowing all too well that he had to get back to the house soon, or Regina would send a search party. This breaks the routine, he thought restlessly, tightening his grip on his father.

«Is it time already?» he whispered with a small voice.

Killian sighed, sensing his son’s fear. «After so many sunsets?» he murmured almost to himself. He would’ve fought with all his being to keep Henry by his side, and would’ve sacrificed the chance of sharing a complete life with Emma if it meant keeping their son away from Regina tonight, but he also knew Henry, and he would’ve not let them lose the only chance they had of finally being reunited.

Slowly, Killian started towards the trees, Henry beneath his arm. He glanced at the swan on the other side of their son. «Did you hear, love? I’m cool.»

The sound Emma made, something that could probably be classified as a scoff, had her two boys succumbing to a fit of laughter.

-/-

The pawnshop was closed to the public, but not to the three figures moving in the shadows created by the setting sun.

They entered through the back door Mr. Gold had left open for them; they arrived to find the wizard bent over several open tomes scattered over the table. When he looked up and saw Henry, his expression softened and a smile curved his lips.

«I see you kept alive the family motto,» he observed, using irony to conceal his relief and glee. His eyes fell on the sword in Killian’s hand. «Ah, you’ve found what you were looking for.»

Killian’s eyes narrowed, noticing the light in Mr. Gold’s eyes. He knew he had nothing to fear, Excalibur had its own self-defense mechanism and he was sure the wizard wouldn’t be immune to that, as powerful as he was. Yet, the thought of someone else wielding that sword just felt… wrong.

Safely in Henry’s arms, Emma started to grow restless. Killian looked at her, sensing the curse start to claim him.

As if reading their thoughts, Gold announced: «I took the liberty of preparing a room upstairs. It’s not been used in a while, but it’s safe.» He gestured to a tiny door on the other side of the room.

Killian’s jaw clenched, but not because of the thoughtfulness of the wizard: he didn’t want to shift and lose time with Henry, not now that they’d finally found one another. However, he couldn’t let his son see the transformation, he couldn’t be the cause of more heartbreak.

Slowly, Killian knelt in front of Henry, looking up at those wide hazel eyes that had already seen too much for their young age. «I need to steal your mother away for a few moments, lad. I wish I didn’t have to say goodbye to you this way, that I could stay, but soon the sun will set and I-» He cut himself off, shaking his head to put an order to his thoughts. «I will understand if you don’t want to see me as a wolf, after-»

«Dad,» it was Henry’s turn to cut him off, «do you remember what I said about the blobfish thing? It goes for wolves as well. And, wolves are cooler than blobfishes.»

Killian couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He stood, kissing the top of Henry’s head as he effortlessly gathered the swan in one arm. «Come, then, love.»

The swan protested, almost snapped her beak at Killian, who arched an eyebrow.

«Come on, Mom, go. I will wait here,» Henry reassured her, smoothing the feathers on the neck still wrapped around her boy’s shoulders.

Reluctantly, she let go, neck twisting to circle Killian’s as if trying to make up for the warmth she just lost.

Bending forward to wrap his other arm around Henry, carefully maneuvering Excalibur around, Killian placed another kiss on top of Henry’s head and hugged him tight. «Take care of our Lady Swan, tell her I love her,» he murmured in his ear, almost choking on the words. «You two are my life, my last and best reason for living.»

Henry’s arms seemed to want to bruise Killian’s ribs, but he didn’t care.

Killian conceded himself another minute before stepping away. He turned to Gold, who had gone back to his books, giving them as much privacy as he could. «Thank you,» he said, not bothered in the slightest. It was true, he was thankful, and now, he understood Merlin’s words better. Besides, as much as he might not like it, the man was in love with Belle and had changed. Perhaps they would never be friends, but he might not mind having the wizard around.

Gold raised his head and nodded, thus burying the hatchet. «The lad and I will prepare hot chocolate for Mrs. Jones.» He looked at the grandfather clock, then at Henry. «I’m afraid the time at your disposal is running out.»

It was almost six in the evening, and though the curse might have changed some aspects of most people’s routine, Henry didn’t want to push his luck. Having to spend another night in that dreadful house wouldn’t be as bad now that he knew his torture would end tomorrow.

With another tight, heartfelt hug, Killian forced himself to leave his son downstairs, along with his heart.

The apartment above the shop was tiny, suspended in time, just like the rest of the town. It opened over a kitchen and a living room, with a corridor on the opposite side, one door on the left and one on the right.

As he peered inside the door on the left, he was pleasantly surprised to see the sack with his belongings on the bed, along with an old-looking sheath. His eyebrows shot upwards. Can’t say the man doesn’t think of everything.

After sheathing Excalibur, Killian placed the sword next to the bed, a bed Emma had made herself comfortable on. He knew she was tired, he was as well, but the knowledge that she could soon hug their son was enough to keep her awake.

Begrudgingly, Killian began undressing, not wanting to tear those clothes apart, too.

The bedroom faced west, ironically enough, the last rays of sun casting a golden orange light that made everything appear ethereal. Even Emma’s swan form seemed to glow. Had it not been so heartbreaking, Killian would’ve been fascinated.

It was not often that they changed like this, trying to catch a glimpse of each other in that fraction of a second the sun needed to completely fall behind the horizon. After the first few times, the cognizance that they couldn’t touch or talk to one another made it even more heartbreaking, crushing all hope they had left.

If he closed his eyes, Killian could see her naked form, spun gold hair curling over the creamy skin of her back, a goddess before his eyes. He fought back tears, sitting cross-legged on the side of the bed, one arm outstretched to caress her neck, imagining that there he would roll a strand of her golden hair between thumb and forefinger, wondering why that goddess had chosen him.

Painfully, Killian forced himself to open his eyes. He felt the curse grip him so tightly his bones almost snapped in a half.

Not yet, he pleaded, but even if they wept for the star-crossed lovers, neither the sun or all the stars in the sky could stall long enough to let them steal a moment of happiness.

«I love you,» he murmured, wishing he could shift in a way that allowed him to still touch her.

Without thinking twice, Killian used the last of his human will to lie on the bed next to Emma, knowing that Fenrir would never hurt her.

Fighting the light, he kept his eyes trained on her, gritting his teeth against the pain.

Emma’s eyes shone with heartbreak. She was this close to placing her head over his chest when she felt the same pain snapping her bones and elongating them.

Neither could define how shifting worked, though she was pretty sure it was almost the same thing Ruby went through every full moon - at least for Killian. Emma, on the other hand, had nothing to compare that sensation to, but after years, she’d learned to live with it.

Will I miss it, somehow?, she found herself wondering, another sign that her body was about to become hers once more.

The return of conscious thought was even more proof that the change was near, so near she could taste the magic on her tongue, even.

She stared right into Killian’s eyes, not wanting to miss any single moment, this time, the last sunset they’d have to spend apart.

Her heart started to beat faster in her chest, and suddenly, her small body elongated, feathers turned into skin and the world she’d lived in since dawn tilted on its axis, and she felt more like herself, more human.

Or maybe, just human.

She opened her eyes, which had fallen shut in the midst of the change. Her vision wasn’t entirely right, not what she was used to in her human form, but she could see him, she could see how blue were his eyes, how long lashes framed them and the memory of them fluttering against her cheek when they kissed washed over her.

A sob caught in her throat, as she lifted a very much human hand towards him, wanting, yearning to touch him but scared to do so. She felt tears filling her eyes. He was so beautiful, with the rays of the sun highlighting those tiny specks of gold in his irises.

The light filtered between her fingers, creating a distorted shadow over his jaw, as if she was caressing him. She didn’t dare speak, marvelling that she was finally conscious enough to treasure that moment. Was it the curse on the town that, somehow, allowed them a bit of respite and peace, even just for a long, endless second, more than what they ever had?

And then, as soon as Emma felt a spark of relief blooming in her heart, the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and Killian changed into the most beautiful wolf she’d ever seen.

The hand she’d lifted in front of her fell almost lifeless on the luscious, soft pelt, nothing like the skin she now barely remembered.

The tears she’d pushed back broke the dam of her self-control, and Emma could only bury her face in the wolf’s neck and cry, because yes, it all would be over soon, but it didn’t mean the separation hurt less.

-/-

There was no need for a leather jacket inside the shop, but Emma wouldn’t be separated from it, just like she couldn’t be separated from her son.

They were sitting next to each other, her arm wrapped around his tiny shoulders and her lips always finding their way to his forehead. On the other side of Henry, sat the wolf, his head on the boy’s lap. As he’d declared earlier, Henry wasn’t scared of Fenrir; in fact, he was quite taken with him, scratching behind his ears like he would any dog.

Perhaps we should get one, Emma thought quietly to herself, remembering their life before the curse, when she and Killian were debating dogs. They had also talked about having another kid, but…

Emma banished the thought, it was not the time to think about that. They would have time, after.

The plan Gold had come up with was solid, tricky, yes, but Killian would be distraction enough to allow the wizard to conjure the magic. Even if magic came and the eclipse didn’t happen immediately, Regina had not spent the last two years learning new spells and tricks. They had to confide that her abilities were rusty and that she would have the same difficulties she always had.

Her other hand lifted the mug of hot chocolate that was slowly getting cold. After one sip, she leaned her cheek on Henry’s hair, breathing in his scent, glaring at the grandfather clock ticking time away. Every tick-tock meant another second lost, her time with her son running out. It was unfair that Killian had had more time with him, but there was no one else to blame but Regina. Emma could never resent her husband for that, especially not after all this time.

«It’s about time you head back, Henry,» Gold murmured, limping into the room. He’d given them time to be alone with each other, no talk of what tomorrow would bring.

Emma felt like growling, but she was beaten to it by Killian, his growl low and menacing. But Henry only sighed in defeat, dropping his head.

If it were up to her, Emma wouldn’t have let him go back to Regina’s house. How could she, as a mother, allow that? True, Henry would do it without a second thought, but Emma was having a hard time accepting it. She wanted to keep him in her arms and never let go.

«Mom,» Henry murmured, squeezing her in a side hug. God, how she’d missed him calling her that, Mom. She almost started to cry again. «I have to go. I will be fine. Now that I know that you two are here, there’s nothing I fear.»

She couldn’t contain the sob that erupted from her throat, and she hugged him even tighter. My boy, my wonderful, brave boy. She wasn’t surprised by the young man he’d grown up to be, bearing the knowledge of being all alone in the town he was raised in, but it was painful that she had not been there for him in the time of need.

But she was here now, and she wouldn’t let the fear of losing her son again keep her from doing her duty. It would be painful, much more than being in Misthaven and knowing that he was here, but she would resist, and hold on to the promise that, tomorrow, everything would be over, that her family would be whole once again.

Feeling more than a bit awkward and embarrassed standing before her in the previous day’s clothing and obviously late for the group’s scheduled departure time, Henry shuffled from foot to foot before clearing his throat and attempting to smooth his sleep-disheveled hair back into lying calmly on his head. Violet, as was her way, looked impeccably neat and professional in sturdy khakis and a pale lavender sleeveless shirt that he knew must have a matching cardigan or jacket somewhere in her suitcase. She didn’t look judgmental in the least though, only concerned for him, despite his growing embarrassment. 

“I’ll be fine, just a little off balance,” he offered uncertainly, already reaching behind him to begin shoving necessary items into the satchel he carried with him on their excursions. “Would you just, please, make my apologies to the others, and our driver? Ask them to give me five more minutes, and I’ll be right down.”

He was scrambling by then, to find his shoes, locate his keys, and get dressed almost all at once, so that he didn’t realize Violet had not left yet after agreeing to his request. She had instead taken a step forward into his room, one more question of if he was really alright on the tip of her tongue when he whipped off his old T-shirt, ready to pull on the clean one he’d found.

Her startled gasp arrested him in the midst of raising his arms to pull the new shirt over his head, turning wide-eyed to face her and already flushing red in his cheeks and well down his neck and chest. Slowly lowering his arms, and the material down to cover his bare torso as well, he couldn’t dismiss the hopeful idea that Violet seemed unable to stop staring at his chest, even once again clothed in one of his usual tops, and that she was swaying just the slightest bit toward him, as if drawn by a magnet.

The odd moment broke at last when Henry stepped forward, just as Violet did the same, and they nearly collided. Both jerked away again, Henry already apologizing and bringing a hand to his stinging chin, even as Violet rubbed her forehead where they had made sharp contact.

“It’s alright, Henry. Truly. It’s fine,” she assured softly, reaching out to clasp his wrist with gentle pressure and calm his rapid flow of words.

Her former professor’s deep brown eyes raised to search hers hopefully, clearly easing as she nodded in added confirmation. “Honestly,” she added with a small smile, patting his arm before releasing her hold. “I’m really just glad to see that you’re okay.”

Catching her hand before she could retract the soft, delicate fingers completely, he squeezed back with gentle gratitude. Shaking his head ruefully, Henry let out a low chuckle and confessed to her honestly. “Alright might be a bit of a stretch, really. In fact, you may think I’m downright insane when I tell you what’s happened, Vi. But, let me get ready before we make everyone else even later, and I’ll share on the way.”

She nodded, stepping back to go so he could change and be ready to leave for the site as soon as possible. Yet, before she slipped back out the door, with one last promise she added, “Whatever you say, Henry. But, just know this… whatever it is that’s going on...I doubt I’ll think you’re crazy. I believe in you.”

Henry’s breath stalled at her admission, and he turned toward her to thank her, to express a similar faith, but Violet had already fled the room. There was nothing else he could do but hurry to rejoin her; her words and his excitement at his vision too, driving him onward so as not to disappoint her galvanizing confidence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***~

By the time their bus had reached the crumbling remains of Emmaline’s tower once more, Henry had told Violet all he’d seen and heard in his vision. To his utter astonishment, though wide-eyed and stunned, she had taken every word as truth and believed him. 

Once they were at the ruins, she still seemed a bit overcome - Henry couldn’t say that he blamed her, as he was more than a little disbelieving himself - but they piled out of the van as everyone else did, perhaps even more anxious to know what else they might learn or see after his midnight vision. Violet did, however, turn back to look at him once they were both on solid ground, a light touch to his upper arm to convey her concern as she whispered low enough that the others bustling around them couldn’t hear. “You’re sure, that you’re alright to be out here, aren’t you, Henry? I mean… you aren’t disoriented or lightheaded or anything like that?”

Even if he were, there was no way that Henry Mills was letting his last day in this scenic escape, this place of legend at which he had worked and scrimped and saved to arrive, be lost to a weird dream or a strange bout of vertigo, whatever it was that had come over him. He was careful of course not to seem impatient with Violet though; her care for him touched him greatly, warming and thrilling him inside much more than he would like to admit. Instead, he merely shook his head slightly, hoping to assuage her worries by appearing unfazed and moving forward with this last day’s exploration of their site. “Thanks, truly. I appreciate you checking,” he offered, “but I’m fine - no lingering side effects.”

As he spoke, they neared the last vestiges of the archway where they had discovered the compass the day before. Henry could tell that Violet ached to explore further, to make sure there was nothing else of note, to study the intricacies of design and execution that were more to her interests than his, but that she was equally reluctant to leave him after the strange stupor in which she had found him just a short time ago.

Good naturedly smirking at his own odd behavior, Henry urged her to see to what she wished. “Vi, really, go on and have another look. It’s not like this opportunity comes around every day. I promise, I’m not going to keel over.”

She shook her head at his lighthearted teasing, all ready with the stubborn reminder that he didn’t get the scare of wondering what had happened, worrying whether or not he was alright, but she bit her tongue in the end. Bickering wasn’t going to make him see his health as more important than their find, and it would probably only make him feel badly to know just how concerned she had been at the pale, unsteady sight he had presented when he first opened his door to her that morning. Plus, it would waste precious time, and so instead she moved off with a nod of begrudging consent and one more gentle press of his hand.

Henry, meanwhile, when he had made certain that Violet wasn’t holding back on his account, moved carefully toward the crumbling frame of the window in an outer wall still partially standing some feet away. It was slow going for the bits of stone and splintered, weathered furniture scattered in the way between, but he picked his way through the detritus without falling himself or destroying anything which might be of value. The niggling feeling that the window he stood before was the very one he had seen in his vision, the one from which the rogue lieutenant visiting his imprisoned lover swung to escape the princess’ guard, and he could hardly fight the need to touch it - see it - for himself, as if he could somehow derive the rest of the story, what had happened next, from the space he had seen in that reverie.

And though as much as he had promised his concerned protegé that all would be well, Henry still felt a bit off balance and unsettled, as if whatever presence or power in the air was still lingering from his encounter that morning. No sooner had he neared the wall, than he was reaching out to rest his hand on what would once have been the window sill, now loose and partially eroded by time.

Taking a moment to look more closely at the cracked stone and dusty grooves, Henry curled his fingers into a gap curiously, the piece of rock still in place shifting to the side and allowing his fingertips to slide deeper into the opening. For a moment, he felt nothing, just empty space and a disorienting sensation of brushing up against a wide open void, then his grasp caught against an edge of paper or leather, almost like the corner of a book. Straining to reach just a bit further, he managed to grasp the item and clutched tightly to draw it out.

Several more bits of debris and rubble fell away as Henry attempted to carefully extract his treasure. Once free of its hiding place, however, the mystery was revealed as indeed being some sort of leather bound journal or logbook. Brushing off the cover the best he could, despite the determined cling of years and years of cobwebs and mildew, Henry held his breath, hoping the pages wouldn’t crumble to dust, that they were still legible. It might contain the proof and the answers he had been seeking.

Ever so gingerly, Henry carefully opened the cover to find a flourishing if faded script scrawled across the opening page of the book in his hand. And even before he could locate the author’s purpose or name, he felt his surroundings begin to swirl and fade to grey once more, for the second time in one day, he was seeing the tower as it had been and the princess within it long ago…

“What have I done?!?” Emmaline’s tormented wail echoes in the thin air of the tower’s height, as her sword clatters to the floor from her suddenly nerveless fingers. The guard she felled is clearly not dead, as his chest rises and falls steadily even in unconsciousness. Still, though her father had trained her well in swordplay, until her technique and form was nearly as flawless as his own, she had never before actually struck someone with such determined intent. To stop them - and even end their life if necessary, rather than see her lover caught and killed.

Turning at that, her eyes still frantic at the blood that runs from the slice across his cheek beneath his eye, all too close to putting out the brilliant blue light forever. Her lip quivers, and Princess Emmaline struggles to bite back the ridiculous show of weakness and emotion, even while stumbling toward Killian at the same time.

He catches her in his arms, smoothing her wild hair back form her damp brow and whispering reassurances that she only did what she had to, that she isn’t cruel or evil, only a brave woman taking her stand in an impossible situation, and - if possible - he loves her even more, “bloody brilliant” she is in his adoring eyes.

However, the stolen moment is not meant to be theirs for long. Shouts from below remind them that the man they have felled to make their escape was not the only one, and unless they wish to be forced to do even more damage, they must go - immediately. Pausing a mere second longer, Emmaline snatches up a small brown book from a desk in the corner of the room. Pressing it to her mouth as if imprinting a kiss in its surface, she hurries to the window where her sailor stands waiting to spirit her away - from her family, her kingdom, her duty - but also to freedom and a life, something it has become clear she will never regain locked away in some gilded cage.

Working loose a part of the masonry, she slips her private diary into the aperture created, hoping against hope that it will be found. That her parents and her brother will be able to read it and know that she has discovered a way forward, even if it isn’t what they had always planned. She hopes she will see them again someday, but if not…

Looking up to meet her rogue lieutenant’s pained but knowing gaze, she is relieved to see she needs give no explanation. He understands, just as he always has. 

Then, with a final backward glance around her prison, she is swinging over the side with him, his steady presence next to her helping as they begin their descent on sturdy ropes, toward the ground below where horses wait to take them to his ship in the harbor....

Henry jolts back into his own place and time more immediately with this second vision. Already anxious to read the book still clasped in his hands, his heart thrums with excitement in his chest at knowing just what it is he holds. He gulps in air like a fish floundering on the docks, but it doesn’t slow his haste or enthusiasm. This is it; the evidence he had always believed he would find. Princess Emmaline existed, she was real; her story had happened just as it had been said. And now, at last, he could show the rest of the world the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***~

Six months later ~

Hand in hand, Henry Mills and Violet Clemens stand in the sacred space once more - the site that drew both of them halfway around the world, but also to each other. Since their research venture to the Misthavian ruins, there has been widespread recognition that the tiny kingdom did exist and that its lost princess had been a real, living being of flesh and blood. Though it was asking a bit much for the reigning historical and scientific community to believe that she had been locked away due to a fear of her magic, as detailed in her diary, it had become accepted knowledge that Princess Emmaline had been held in the windswept and isolated tower they had explored, she had been denied her birthright and crown, and had - much like her homeland - vanished almost completely from history… if not for the tokens Professor Henry Mills and his team had discovered.

They are now both published and much-lauded experts in their field; both already had been experts, it was just a matter of the rest of the world realizing it. More important than glory and fame though, to both Henry and Violet, was that now they could return to this place, so close to both their hearts, and perhaps offer closure to two souls who had been awaiting it much longer than either of them.

As the couple stood at the small display which had since been constructed at the scenic overlook near the ruins, there was an absolute sense of accomplishment. It was just a small podium with a guest book for tourists and visitors to sign and a protective case allowing the compass and diary to be returned where they belonged, but still available for the curious, the lost, and the lonely to see, to read, and to learn from the Princess’ story and take heart again. It was just how Henry had wanted it and had fought against various museums and universities to have it be displayed - as he could only hope the long ago royal would have approved.

Looking lovingly to the woman at his side, Henry smiled unabashedly as the sparkle of her engagement ring caught his eye and he simply brought their joined hands to his mouth to kiss the back of hers. He could still remember that first dim evening, when he had ventured within the tower’s remaining walls with cautious reverence. He had sensed that he was not alone, the presence that - while not threatening - had still sent a shiver skittering down his spine. Violet had long since talked with him of a similar awareness as they worked within the aged structure, and it was what brought them back now, to say one final farewell before embarking on a joined life together, to bid another lingering pair of lovers rest at long last - impossible as that quest might seem.

“Do you think we’ll know if they’re here?” Violet whispered to him, her eyes wide and half-hopeful, half-worried.

“I’m not sure what to expect,” he answered seriously. “It was just a feeling I couldn’t shake when we were here before. I don’t know whether to believe it will be more or less this time around.”

They waited, breath caught between nervously bitten lips in silence, before Henry stepped closer to the preserved ancient stone walls rising around them. “If you can hear me…” he started, tentative but determined, hopeful, and in a voice gaining strength as he continued with Violet’s reassurance at his back. “Princess? Lieutenant?...The world knows now, about Misthavia and about you.  That you were real, that you existed, and about your love for each other. No one believes Killian stole you away against your will anymore. And though most people of the modern age don’t believe in magic, they know now that you were wrongfully imprisoned, your Highness. They understand that though Misthavia ceased to exist as a separate nation, you never had your chance to rule to try and save her. And…” Henry paused here, swallowing a lump that took him by surprise as it formed suddenly in his throat… “and, though we can’t for sure know what became of either of you, it is known that Lieutenant Jones saved you, Princess Emmaline. That you loved him and he loved you. And I’m going to choose to believe in a happy ending for you both… that you sailed until you found a place where you could be together, come what may.”

“I do too,” Violet echoed into their still surroundings, offering him a gently affectionate smile as she gazed up into his intense and open brown eyes - the moment stretching powerfully between the two of them, cementing their faith in each other and their bond, whether or not anyone else bore witness.

Then, surprisingly, Violet’s eyes widened as she looked off to Henry’s side. “They - they’re here…” she breathed, almost too stunned to speak at all in the quiet evening around them.

Peering in the same direction Violet was, awestruck, Henry was slowly able to discern two clouded white shapes in the murky grey dusk, becoming ever more solid and opaque as Henry and Violet stood watching. Though far from corporeal, they were two human forms, one slighter with almost an outline of a medieval, bell-sleeved dress and what appeared a flower crown upon its head; the other taller and wearing what seemed to be a sword at its side, with broader shoulders.

Though the apparitions seemed to turn toward Henry and Violet, as if offering their gratitude, they came no closer, and merely hovered in place as the two historians held their breath for fear the moment might vanish. Soon enough as it was, the two cloudy shapes, once princess and pirate sailor, appeared to bow in farewell, then move toward the overlook, as though seeing the bright horizon and the waves far below that they had been separated from for so long. Just before the modern couple’s eyes, their ghosts began to fade into nothingness, gradually losing consistency, as if finally slipping the tether that had held them to the ruin. Vindicated at last, and free to move beyond, they set sail at last for peaceful shores.

Indeed they were so close now, he was practically in her face. The look on his stony visage, sharp and uncaring as she had ever seen it, was completely at odds with the gesture of his hand coming up to stroke her smooth, fair cheek once more almost wistfully. She flinched at the touch, and he pulled away instantly at her reaction, the strange detachment vanishing and being replaced with disgust and outrage.

Both stunned Belle, as they seemed emotions more due herself than him, but the words he spat made her blood run cold - and cemented the error in judgement she had made in coming here. It had already been much, much too late for reasoning.

“You dare to recoil from me?” he hissed, the mere elder gentleman facade sliding from his features at last and revealing the hideous green monster that did indeed resemble a crocodile with razor-sharp teeth to devour, much as Killian had always said. “When you…” his chest almost heaved with rage and indignation, “you let that cur touch you and you’re carrying his mongrel pup?”

Belle stumbled back aghast at the venom for her unborn child, as stung as if he had physically struck her. Her mind reeled at the hatred he could have for a mere fetus of no threat to him and completely innocent of any ill or wrong, and she stretched her hand in an impotent protective gesture across her midsection as she gasped and stared at the unrecognizable man before her, no longer anyone she had ever known.

“You think I don’t see what you’re about my ‘Beauty’?” he gave the fairy tale appellation an almost mocking sing-song cadence as he made up the distance she had backed away, bringing them close once again. “You came here thinking you could appeal to the poor spinner who once tried to please you, who hoped to be “good” enough to make you happy, only to spare that lot of foolish heroes, the one you’ve replaced me with, and that abomination you carry within you. Let’s be rid of that delusion now… No deal.” He spoke icily, reaching toward her as she shook her head ‘no’, pleading soundlessly as tears of shock and terror streamed down her face, “Rumple, please,” she whispered brokenly, “don’t come any closer.”

Gripping her arm so that she couldn’t back away again, his clutch like an iron shackle at her wrist, Rumple’s other hand rested on the growing swell of her stomach, just above hers that still tried to shield the gentle curve from his touch. “Perhaps,” he murmured silkily, the calm resolve of deadly intent even more appalling than the unhinged rage and hurt had been. “Perhaps I should provide a demonstration of just how little any of those things you treasure, that you would hope to preserve, matter to me in the face of receiving my due at last.”

Belle was still shaking her hand in denial, trying to pull away frantic with desperation to free herself. It was all to no avail though, as his palm contracted on her stomach briefly, pressing firmly for a horribly long moment, and then he turned and strode purposefully back to his compatriot, who had been watching the whole exchange with fiendish glee once it had turned in the Dark One’s favor - almost as if she were sated by despair and anguish.

The scene before her blurred then, the effect of whatever Rumple had done creating a slight delay before it hit her and brought Belle to her knees. Her vision swam, the ground below and sky above spinning dizzily and exchanging places. A horrible pulling, tightening ache expanded from behind her naval out through the rest of her body, until she was falling to her side and curling in upon herself, every inch of her pulsing with pain.

And then she was screaming in utter agony, knew she was but still unable to stop, as if even her own reactions were now out of her control. All she knew was that her surroundings continued to dim and focused mainly on Morgana and Rumple’s legs as they stood by the rising whirlpool the lake had become, clearly continuing with their ritual, her inconvenient interruption of no further consequence.

Just as everything was about to fade away from her, she heard the unmistakable long howl of a wolf on the night wind answering her tormented cry. For that one second, she wasn’t even sorry that Graham must have woken to find her gone and followed her. Her heart panged in recognition, hoping she could see him before everything went dark.  Her mind lamented brokenly on how foolish she had been to ever come here, and yet she waited on a held breath, still pained and terrified, but pricked more by conscience at the hurt her love would suffer if her rash actions had brought harm to their little one as well.

She knew Rumple and Morgana must have heard the warning cry as well, but her mind was too foggy and confused to focus on what they were doing from where she lay. All she saw, with grateful eyes, was a large, russet-colored wolf bursting from the brush above, near where she had been hiding not that long ago, and then plunging, teeth bared, to her side. Through her bleary, half-conscious perception, she found herself vaguely glad he was a wolf at that moment. It seemed so daunting, powerful - almost invincible to harm, even if not fully the case. True, both of these magic wielders he faced were powerful enough to be a threat to man or beast, but there was something solid, strong and intimidating, about the large lupine creature of old that Belle genuinely hoped would strike fear into the Dark One, down deep where he was still a coward at heart.

Once he reached the bottom of the slope, her wolf was at her side in seconds, a mere couple loping strides for the large animal’s ground-covering speed. Though his every quivering muscle was tensed and ready, his fur practically standing on end and a low growl rumbling constantly from the wide chest, the concern radiating off the man twined into the werewolf’s being was plain. Tawny golden eyes never left the witch and wizard before them, also braced for action - both sides seeming to gauge what the other might do - but his shaggy, reddish-brown ruffed head dipped briefly to nose at her forehead and brow, a cold, wet nose reviving her if just a bit. A concerned whine, so soft in the canine throat that Belle felt sure only she could hear it, let her know just how frightened for her he had been - and was still.

Trying valiantly, with pained and weakly uncoordinated muscles, she attempted to lift her hand and stroke his fur in reassurance, but her hand fell limp against the ground before making solid contact, and the tender way her wolf licked at the back of it resting on the dirt pained her almost as much as whatever Rumple had done to her. It was too late to stop the process they had set in motion, despite her efforts. She had tricked and hidden her intentions from him, and led Graham into danger anyway, even as she had tried to protect him from harm.

They both watched warily as Morgana turned back toward the churning body of water, lifting her hands and causing the eerily lit typhoon to rise above its banks in a menacing swirl, clearly reacting to her magical direction. “Isn’t that sweet?” Gold mocked, affording them one last cruel glance before holding up the cylinder as Morgana directed. Manic avarice lit his gaze as it turned indeed into the recognizable shape of a tall, pointed sorceror’s hat. “You will die here together, with your repulsive whelp. It was a heroic effort - foolhardy and pointless, but heroic nonetheless, dearies, I’ll give you that.”

Even as he turned back to his evil task, Graham appeared truly ready to spring and rip out the imp’s throat. The fact that one or the other of their enemies’ magic would no doubt strike him down before he could reach them, no longer seemed enough to hold the usually kind and gentle man back - not when his love and his unborn child’s lives were at stake. Belle looked up at him with tears in her eyes. If only she hadn’t thought she could handle this alone… If only she hadn’t been so stupid… If only...

Morgana’s resonant and chilling voice rose up over Rumple’s triumphant cackle of victory, her own soft sobs, Graham’s warning growl, and the whooshing of the rising waves towering over their heads now, chanting some incantation of what sounded like ancient rhyme. And then, before her spell could reach completion, everything seemed to happen at once.  Behind them, scrambling down the same embankment with more cursing and less grace, came Emma and Killian - the pirate surprisingly in human rather than wolf form. All the same, they were there, flanking she and Graham and eying their adversaries for just one chink or weakness. 

Belle wanted to stand to face them head on rather than lying in the dirt, but another blinding shock of pain ripped through her, curling her up even further and causing her to bite almost through her lip to merely whimper rather than scream in agony. Oddly, it struck her that even if they were too late to stop this ritual, if all of Rumple’s powers were unleashed again, they would still stand up to him together, and even if he took out the four - well, the five, of them her mind amended with a shudder - there were others on their side yet, and good would find a way. She had probably never sounded more like Snow or Henry, but somehow in this terrifying meeting with what might be their end, she somehow felt faith returning.

“Oh, how quaint,” Morgana simpered, “it’s the Savior herself and her own pirate knight.” She tilted her head slightly, as if considering them all like they were some sort of entertainment. With a dismissive gesture, she then levitated the cylindrical talisman, making it open and morph into the hat twirling in air. “You must know that you are too late to stop us, that soon you will be in the presence of an all-powerful Dark One, in the face of whom all attempts at resistance or control will be futile, and yet here you stand - as if it will do some good.”

As she spoke, the water crested even higher, towering over all their heads and the enchanted contents of the hat burst forth in multicolored light festooned across the sky above them like a new map of constellations.

Yet, in that unnatural glow, even as Rumple also laid the dagger on the ground beneath the levitating hat, making their preparations complete, a horrifying vision suddenly appeared before their eyes, not of Rumplestiltskin once more the cruelly green and glittering crocodile with sharp jaws wide to devour them, there is instead a terrible beauty. Morgana was the ultimate Dark One emblazoned with sudden clarity, silhouetted in unearthly flame as she reached out an unstoppable arm to crush them all. It was seconds from coming to pass, and suddenly Belle could see it unspooling with horrifying clarity. The sorceress, whatever her connection to Rumple, had never intended to aid him in cleaving himself from restraint. Instead, she meant to take his power for herself and full dominion over the realms as well. Just as her compatriot had needed the hat she could bring, she had needed his dagger to make her devious designs complete. This enchantress had somehow managed to convince the best manipulator Belle had ever known to believe she owed, or felt, some loyalty to him. Enough so that Rumplestiltskin had already laid down his jealously guarded weapon and protection in one at Morgana’s feet.

Without time to think, to plan, seemingly even to breathe, Belle knew what to do. It came to her with galvanizing certainty, a realization that rocked her to the core, even as the beams of power, like golden threads were streaming from dagger to hat to Rumple and back again over to Morgana as she chanted; a subtle, knowing gleam in her eyes now that the librarian was looking clearly.  The beams looped and re-circled back in and out between the four points of contact, both villains finally distracted by their greedy focus on the brilliant light magic and the tendrils of the dark as well, coming off of Gold and from the dagger itself, then rising in ghostly wisps to intertwine in a mantle that seemed to lie about Morgana’s shoulders.

Time moved as if strangely delayed as Belle lurched forward unsteadily, still unable to rise fully to her feet and run for her goal, still almost blinded by the pain centered in her abdomen, she soldiered on, almost rolling and then pulling herself the last few inches forward, sheerly on the desperate strength of her arms and shoulders.

Her fingertips barely grazed the now quivering hat, even as the magic seemed to sense the last strands of power from Rumple himself and the dagger, now centering over Morgana, and also to fully enliven the ancient token. Graham saw where she was going and pounced forward, practically leaping over her prone form to keep the witch away from her. Emma swung toward Gold with her own hands up, magic flickering to life between them to ward him off as well if need be. 

That proved unnecessary though, as Rumple cried out, an unearthly expression of rage, pain and bitterness when he discovered all too viscerally what Morgana had done and the extent of her betrayal. As the last vestiges of his power wreathed his former partner in crime, making her whole being glow insidiously, the hat sunk back to the ground, practically dancing upon the hard earth, shaking and moving so wildly from the amount of power thrumming between it and the Darkness’ new vessel - and it sought out more to drain from its surroundings.

“No!” the twisted imp wailed; no longer either smug pawnbroker nor controlling Dark One, but the poor, bent spinner so helpless and afraid of the world around him before magic had ever come into his life. “What have you done, you foul hag?! You’ll not even live to regret this.” Yet, even as he bellowed, his own self-maimed foot curled in again, his body bending weakly as he sought out the cane he needed not just as a dramatic embellishment any longer.

Gritting her teeth and exerting her last bit of strength, Belle managed to reach the tips of her fingers far enough to brush against the active hat. She was grasping at last chances, hoping against hope that she had timed her move correctly, that the villainess was too taken by the feeling of victory and the swell of power to notice a mere distraction as the last bits of both the Darkness and its magic settled upon her. Feeling the deceptively soft and inviting material of the hat’s wall, Belle bit her lip, said a hopeful prayer, and shoved the hat over to rest on its side, making sure to grasp the tip as she had seen detailed in her research, so that the opening, now seething as though it were a living and breathing thing, was pointed right at Morgana.

The sorceress’ unnaturally violet eyes landed on her then, widening in anger and zeroing in with a wicked shriek. “What are you doing, you measelly little girl? Haven’t you learned your lesson yet?” She made as if to stride forward and swipe the object from Belle’s grasp, but it was already too late. Belle had gotten the hat centered on their foe in time, and now Morgana was in its vortex, its sucking power already pulling at her robes and whipping her raven-dark hair about her head wildly, drawing her inexorably into itself.

“Nooooo…” the witch screeched, but she was already elongating in form, being swallowed up into the void of the Sorceror’s hat. Her final thwarted wail faded away slowly, even as Belle let her arms fall to the ground, nearly drained once more. But she couldn’t quite rest, no matter how much her body begged for it; they had to take this chance to be rid of the Darkness while they could - once and for all. 

The foreseeable immediate threat gone, she sensed almost as much as saw Graham shifting back into the man she loved, already calling her name as he ran to her side. Emma was closer, kneeling beside her and asking where she was hurt, what she could do, even as Killian still flanked them both, eyes sweeping the area as if waiting for more foes to descent. She could hear Rumple in the background, groaning and snivelling, but Belle struggled to focus just one minute more.

There! Right by Killian’s boot, near the once more nondescript looking pointed cloth hat lying calmly on the ground, was the dagger.  “Killian,” she gaped breathlessly. “The dagger, give it to me. Quick!”

Thankfully the pirate didn’t question her, merely bent, grabbed the item he had quested so long to hold in his hand, the means for his long postponed revenge at last in his grasp, and handed it over to her without even flinching.  It reiterated the difference between himself and his nemesis, Belle realized later when she thought back over the whole thing, how he could hand over the one thing he had once most desired due to the judgement that something else was better and worth the sacrifice. It was the same reason he had shown up as a human, even if his wolf was physically stronger. He wanted to support Emma, in whatever way would help her most, and so had done what allowed him to be most fully by her side. It was a sort of strength and power Rumplestiltskin had never mastered for all the magic he had held in his fingertips… the ability to share oneself fully with another and drawn strength from the bond.

Gripping the dagger’s hilt tightly, feeling the cool edges against her palm, the satisfying weight of it, now that it would finally be doing what it had been forged for, one way or another. She raised it as much as she could, and plunged the tip into the hat. Sharp steel sliced through material, piercing deep, and she waited, breath held tightly, the blade going all the way through both sides of the hat and into the ground beneath, until slowly, with a thick black cloud spewing forth before rising and evaporating into the sky, the hat disintegrated into nothingness itself. The hat was gone, and supposedly, hopefully, so was the Darkness at long last. Though it almost seemed to much to trust might finally be true after ages of battle to conquer it.

Tossing the weapon aside, Belle heaved a sigh of relief, glad she finally felt as if those around her, those she loved, were safe. As she did so however, the pain and the weakness crept back over her, making her vision swim sickly again.  Another violent throb of pain ratcheted through her, and she cried out in spite of herself, unprepared for the severity of it. She shivered, hardly registering that she felt as though she had gotten her legs in the water, even if that sensation made absolutely no sense.

“Belle!” she heard Graham’s hoarse tone call out to her in alarm, and then he was there, cradling her head and shoulder in his lap and begging Emma’s help; the only one of them who still had any sort of magic that might be able to fix whatever Rumple had done and was still wrecking havoc within her. It all seemed to be growing more distant and of less concern to her, as she let herself since back into her love’s comforting embrace. They were safe now, she thought, appeased from her own worry and self-recrimination with that knowledge. 

And then all was quiet.

Violet flushed prettily, her cheeks pinking as her gaze fell to her toes for a moment before glancing back up to meet his. “I’m sorry, Professor Mills. I know it’s late. I was just wondering...I mean…” she finally blurted the rest out in a rush “...you went out to see it already, didn’t you? What was it like?”

Henry truly couldn’t hold back his wide grin at her question. Another person who held the same enthusiasm for the princess and the ruin of her family’s legacy, was not someone he came across often, and a part of him basked in having someone to share the thrill with - someone who just might understand. “You’re not a student anymore,” he offered with a self-deprecating chuckle. “You don’t have to call me Professor. But, to answer your question, yes I’ve been out there and it was incredible. Even with the light failing, it took my breath away.”

Violet merely nodded, taking his words in with an awed smile on her lips. “Oh, I can’t wait to see it for myself,” she murmured. Then a twinkle of mischief flitted into her eyes as she added, “but if you no longer want me to call you Professor, then you’d better just call me Violet.”

“Deal,” Henry affirmed, reaching out a hand which she took to shake on their agreement. The moment their hands were clasped together, a tremor of awareness caught him off guard, running up his arm with a heat and intensity that surprised him. Though he’d heard of such reactions to another many times in the books he’d read and stories he loved, he had never experienced anything so arresting in real life.

“Well, then, Henry,” Violet added, taking her hand back, though he didn’t think he was imagining the sudden breathiness of her voice and the way she shook her head as if to refocus, causing her dark waves of hair to shimmer. “I guess I should leave you in peace for now. We want to get an early start tomorrow after all.”

“That we do,” Henry agreed, seeing her to the door and hoping he wasn’t smiling wide enough to make him look giddy. Once she was gone, he leaned back against the solid oak, shaking his head in disbelief.  It would seem this adventure was going to bring about more than one incredible discovery.

~~~~~~~~~~~***~

The next morning dawned all too early for Henry’s taste; his alarm waking him from such a solid sleep that for a full minute he was too bleary to remember where he was at all. Between the jet lag and staying up another two hours pouring over notes and manuscripts to be certain he was prepared for their first day cataloguing finds onsite, he wasn’t sure he would even be able to pry his eyes open without coffee. It was almost funny to think back now on the days when he used to laugh at his mom and stepdad for their need to have a hot chocolate and black coffee respectively before they could face their days. He understood all too well as an adult.

Once he got himself moving, saw himself down to the continental breakfast provided on the first floor, and was waiting at the van to make sure all his assistants and fellow scholars were on time for the ride out, Henry did begin to feel more awake and alive. It wasn’t long before their small group had gathered, all had been accounted for, and they were loading onto the van. Rolling out of the city proper and into the Italian countryside, Henry began to lay out his game plan for the day, and the rest of his lethargy was swept back by excitement and purpose. 

When they reached the ruins, gathered the tools, instructions, and research which would guide them, they all stood a bit awed, gazing up at the remnants of the tower walls before them, quite possibly full of clues to be discovered. His travel mug providing a further jolt of caffeine as he took a last sip, he then stepped forward to begin directing the tasks to various assistants.  Those with him moved out with care through the ancient, crumbling bricks and mortar, leftovers from an exiled life, off in the directions he had indicated. Undeniably, her felt more than a bit of pride wash over him at the gravity and industry his little group displayed in tackling their assignments. The members of his team were clearly well-chosen.

He wasn’t, however, too selfless to have left one particular team member for last, to work with him one-on-one. Henry firmly fought down the urge to fidget with the hem of his shirt or stutter nervously as Violet edged closer to his side once they stood relatively alone. Her eyes were shining as they drank in the sight before her, more than a bit stunned and affected if her hushed voice was any way to judge. “It’s… splendid…” she nearly whispered, clearly struggling for the right words.

Henry nodded wordlessly, then turned to explain what he hoped to get her help with, just as Violet looked up to him and they bumped into each other awkwardly, both stumbling away a step and chuckling. His hand darted out to catch her elbow, not wanting to knock her to the ground, and Violet wavered closer at the touch unconsciously.

“Oh, Profess - Henry… I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

He waved her off gently, “No apology needed. I bumped into you just as much… Vi...olet…” His tongue tangled on her given name as if he were still thirteen and worried about it squeaking. “I mean, there’s no harm done. As long as you’re alright?”

The young curator flushed prettily and nodded with her reassurance of “Absolutely, I’m fine. What did you intend for the two of us to work on?” She was clearly anxious to shed her embarrassment - and to explore this place they both had fallen in love with before even reaching, but for a moment Henry was stymied. He couldn’t speak or think, so struck was he by the intelligence and enthusiasm shining in her eyes and the classical beauty of her face. He wondered helplessly how visitors to her workplace could appreciate any of the art hanging on its walls with Violet standing before them.

Her light touch on his forearm finally brought him back to the moment as she asked again, “Henry? Was there someplace in particular you wanted to start?” Even as those curious words escaped her, Violet’s chocolate-y brown eyes widened noticeably, this time unmistakably also feeling the same jolt of electricity that ran along Henry’s skin where her fingers touched.

Valiantly seeking to ignore the attraction fighting for his attention, Henry redirected his focus to the curious detail he had noticed the evening before, leading his partner toward what still stood of the column that had once been part of the support to a vaulted ceiling. It seemed obvious to him, again if the details of the legend he had heard were true, that this tower had once been an incredibly lovely haven - even if to its inhabitant it had proved a gilded cage. Which was why an oddity in the surface had caught his attention upon first look. There appeared to be a spot where the join between the two sides of the arch didn’t match up - a strange and careless anomaly in a building that otherwise had the look of careful and exquisite design in the other parts that remained.

Pointing up to the spot he had seen, Henry directed Violet’s eyes to the same strange seam that he had noticed. Hearing Violet’s surprised little intake of breath and the way she immediately stepped forward, tracing careful fingers along the obvious malformation in curiosity, told Henry he had indeed been onto something. Soon Violet nodded to herself, drawing closer yet, both hands now up to help in her exploration, and seemingly forgetting Henry, the bustling site, and everyone else around in her rapt focus. 

“Often times,” she murmured lowly without looking away from the movement of her fingers on the old stone, now gingerly but determinedly probing and prying, “in buildings of this age - especially ones which would have belonged to families of importance - an inconsistency like this might often indicate…” she paused for a moment, wedging her finger into the impossibly small opening she had managed to pry, the very tip of her tongue peeking from between her lips in concentration adorably (to Henry’s mind at least).

“Ah ha!” she exclaimed in a breath of triumph, the arch giving enough for what appeared a hidden panel to fall open and a still dully glistening bronze object to fall into her open palms. “As I was saying,” she continued proudly, “might indicate a hidden compartment for items of value.”

Beaming with excitement, Violet held her prize up for Henry’s inspection. In her hands lay an ornate, yet solidly constructed compass on a chain. The piece appeared to have some definite age on it, and yet its quality and beauty still shone through. It looked like an instrument which would have been used for ship navigation on sea voyages prior to the advent of modern navigational systems, and Henry’s thoughts could not keep from flying to the princess’ lieutenant of the stories and tales. Might this artifact serve as his first major proof of the legend that had captured his imagination?

His gaze lifted from the compass to meet Violet’s expectant one, ready to speak his hopes. But, even as he did so, the sound (or so he could only imagine) of a sword at someone’s hip as they moved and the creak of leather arrested Henry’s ear. He turned, startled, at such an incongruous noise for a research site, only to find that no one stood anywhere near he and Violet, as if the sound had come from nowhere beyond his own imagination.

Uncertain eyes flew to his companion, who looked back at him in concern, but Henry forced himself to swallow the strange impression he’d had, sure he would sound crazy if he brought up what he’d heard. Instead, they wrapped and catalogued their find properly for transport back with them, talking about what it could mean… and to whom they both had to wonder if it might once have belonged.  Even in the elation of success and discovery, the feeling of lingering over his shoulder did not leave Henry easily, staying with him for the rest of the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~***~

That evening after dinner, once more in his quarters for the night, Henry’s thoughts were still on the compass as he plunged back into his accounts and stories, all the information on the Princess and her legend, and though he had mostly committed to memory all that was before him, he still pored over the details in hopes of a mention of the compass they had found in order to confirm his suspicions.

As the team leader, items discovered and picked for transport or further research had been logged and stored with him. And though Henry attempted to reason the need away, tried to convince himself that there were no details he had missed, nothing else to see, and that he needed to go to bed, to not spend another night with too little sleep, and instead be rested and well-prepared for the next day’s work, he was still impelled to stand and go over to take out the compass once more; the need would not be denied.

Once the instrument was cradled in his hands, the weight of it steadying to a surprising degree, Henry sunk down on the side of his bed, scrutinizing the relic with focused curiosity. What was he still missing?  Several deep breaths, a few pounding heartbeats, went by as he pondered the instinct guiding him.

Then, with a disconcerting effect that shook him and sent a tremor down his spine, the air around him seemed to waver, undulating dizzily and clouding the borrowed room before his very eyes. Drawing in a shuddering breath, Henry blinked, in hopes of clearing his sight, only to find his perception unchanged as they opened again. The lightheadedness forced Henry to lie back on his pillow, a rather clouded grey beginning to close in on his awareness, vision tunneling to his fingers still clutching the compass tightly - until it was all he could see.

His eyes closed, as surely as if he had been suddenly put to sleep, and then he felt as though he were floating, moving through space even as he knew he was lying still. And then, though he couldn’t fathom how, he stood in the tower of his dreams - whole and shining new as it had not been for some hundreds of years - unseen and right next to a stunning, golden-haired woman who could only be Princess Emmaline…

“Killian, go! You must be away from here before they come with my evening meal,” her voice is quick and urgent as she tries to push him toward the window of her cell, through which he had climbed not even an hour before. “If they catch you, you’ll be arrested. You’re wanted for piracy.”

The dark haired young man, lean and strong, despite appearing more long haired and less neat than he had as a royal navy lieutenant stands firm, well-muscled enough from days spent steering a ship through wind and rain and all other obstacles besides, impossible for her to move unless he allows it. He has waited too long to see her again, and he is not anxious to relinquish the sight of her beautiful face now that it has been restored to him.

“Easy, lass, easy,” he soothes, looking for all the world as if soldiers and guards, arrest and punishment, holds little concern for him.  In truth, he would face those and more as well for her sake, but he has also changed much in the months since his flight from royal service. He is a captain now, not the uncertain, eager-to-please junior officer he had been. Now he gives the orders, his crew (those loyal few who’d followed him into exile) follow his lead and go where he sees fit. “I’ve plenty of time yet… and...I wish to spend every second that I can with you.”

Only here, when addressing his true feelings for his princess, his first and only love, does he show a moment’s hesitance and a lingering sign of the shy young man he once was. Truthfully, he does not know whether or not there is a price on his head, or if he is being sought after diligently; Emmaline’s parents themselves did not agree with the steps taken to hide their daughter away. Whether they truly view him as a dangerous criminal to be apprehended, or more of a rebel with the freedom to act where they could not, Killian Jones is not sure. The King and Queen are constrained by duty to all of their people, where he is loyal first and foremost to his Princess above all others.

Unfortunately, their time is drawing to a close. He can hear the muffled tread of booted feet hurrying up the winding staircase, and knows that soon those who stand guard over Emmaline’s safety, but also make sure she remains in her prison, will reach her room. Much as he loathes leaving her behind again, he knows she is right. He dares not remain and have to fight people who are on the same side, compatriots in service of Misthavia, even if they interpret their orders much differently than he.

Turning to her once more, taking Emmaline’s hands in his, and gazing into her wide, green eyes and her tense face full of worry for him, Killian voices the question he has asked every time he steals back to her side in this long year past. “Come with me. You don’t have to stay locked away here. We could sail the world and be free.” It kills for her to be trapped and alone, paler with each visit he manages, dark purple bruises from sleepness beneath her eyes. Though he knows what her answer will be before he finishes speaking, Killian still has to ask.

His brave, bright angel shakes her head, yellow-gold hair flying around her like a halo, even as a slow tear makes its slow trek down her cheek. “You know I can’t, Killian. My place, my destiny, is here. Though my people fear me now, they need me… My parents need me… I can’t desert them.”

Much as he regrets it, Killian knows her honor will allow her no less. Sadly, he bows his head over their joined hands to kiss the back of hers, murmuring, “As you wish, my Love,” against her skin. Before he turns to climb into the window frame and grab the rope he had used to climb once more, he presss an object into her grasp - the compass he had received upon his naval promotion to lieutenant. “Hold onto this for me at least, aye?  As promise of my return.”

His Emmaline nods tearfully, letting him go and stepping back, but pressing the compass to her breast. “You always return, Killian,” she replies. “I know that.” 

His blue eyes brighten the smallest bit at her faith in him, allowing them both to hold onto hope. “And I always will,” he vows. Then he grasps the rope, swings from the window, and is gone.