Once Upon a Time 1. Everlasting Light

**Author**: The Pris

**Rating: **T/PG-13

**Fandom: **Once Upon a Time

**Title: **Set Fire To The Rain

**Summary: **AU: "Because this is my happy ending." Regina is unable to cut out the heart of the one person that still loves her and does not enact the curse. Instead, she opts for ruining Snow White's happiness in a different way – by stealing her happy ending for herself. [Emma-centric]

**Disclaimer: **"When you wish upon a star the dream that you wish will come true…" it's all a lie. I can in _no way _take any credit for the amazing show that ABC has given to us, no matter how much I wish that I could, and no amount of wishing and praying on my part will bring back Graham. Edward Kitsis & Adam Horowitz are the ones that created the show and came up with the amazing twists on the classic _tales as old as time _that we have all grown up with and all love. I'm just borrowing their characters.

& the film _The Swan Princess _is a beloved one from my childhood, and there's no way that I can claim ownership to it, just like there's no way I own the rights to _Tangled _or _Barbie as Rapunzel _– they just provided the inspiration for this story, and therefore there may be some similarities between this story and the plots of those movies. (ie, in the Barbie version of Rapunzel, Mother Gothel stole Rapunzel out of spite, to hurt King Wilhelm, because she thought Rapunzel should've been hers by right.)

* * *

**Chapter 1 – Everlasting Light**

Emma has no doubt that she is loved.

Her mother tucks her into bed each night and presses a gentle kiss to the crown of her head before she assures her of the love that she feels for her, for her little Emma, and she _knows _that her mother is telling the truth. Emma can tell when people are lying – and she appropriately scolds the numerous knights around the castle when she catches them lying because telling fibs is bad – and she knows that her mother has never lied to her. And that's how she knows she's loved. Because her mother tells her she is.

And because she feels it. She feels her mother's love in every hug, in every kiss her mother places on the crown of her head, and she hears it when her mother tells her that she loves her because she's her little ray of sunshine.

Her mother loves her more than anything else in the world and that's enough for Emma.

It's _more _than enough for her and she hates the thought that she's made her mother think otherwise because she didn't mean to, _honest_, and tears well up in her bright eyes as the memories from earlier that day resurface in her mind. Spring arrived over a fortnight ago and the snow has melted, leaving lush grass in its place, and all she had wanted was to go outside.

Emma woke up that morning to warm sunshine spilling into her bedroom and she hastily ate her breakfast and got her handmaid – an intelligent woman named Belle who tells her the best stories about a dark castle and a beast and true love – to help her into one of her dresses before she ran to her mother's chambers, begging and pleading her to allow her to go outside, and her mother agreed until she realized Emma wanted to go outside the castle grounds.

She wanted to go outside the castle grounds so she could skip and run through the forest that surrounds her home for miles and miles and miles, to relish in the freedom that comes with traipsing around the forest, soiling the bottom of her silk dresses with dirt and grass strains.

But her mother said no, telling her to return to her room and play in there for the day, anger seeping into her dark eyes, and Emma listened because she loves her mother and didn't want her to be cross with her.

And hours have passed since then and she's eaten her dinner and been readied for bed, but her mother hasn't come to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight yet, and she refuses to go to bed until she does.

So Emma sits up in bed, holding her woollen baby blanket tightly, waiting for her mother and she grins madly when she hears the click clacking of her mother's heels against the marble floors. She throws off the covers and prepares to run to the door but she pauses when she hears her mother's voice, still angry and tight, and then she sees the shadows that dance across the floor as her mother paces back and forth outside her door.

Emma blinks, crawls to the edge of her bed, and pouts in concentration as she tries to hear what her mother's saying. She _knows _that eavesdropping is just as bad as telling fibs and talking back, but she _has _to know what's being said because she thinks it's about her, and she _has _to know if her mother's still mad with her.

"She's just a child," frustration laces her mother's voice, "and she is _not _to go outside."

"Darling –" another voice follows, his voice warm and comforting.

"It isn't safe!" Her mother continues, cutting off the voice that's warm and comforting, panic taking over as her voice elevates. "Someone could find her and take her away from me, and I won't lose Emma. She's _mine _and not _theirs_."

Emma's eyes go wide at the thought of someone taking her away from her mother and her family, away from her home, and she finds herself agreeing with her mother: the forest isn't safe. Being stolen away is the last thing she wants and she decides then that she doesn't like the forest and she'll happily stay within the castle grounds if it means she won't be taken away from the ones she loves with her whole heart.

She holds her breath and waits to see if her mother will continue but that's apparently the end of the conversation because, next thing she knows, her mother's turning the door handle and Emma's scurrying back up to the top of her bed so her mother won't know she was eavesdropping on _purpose_.

Light spills into the room when her mother pushes the door open and enters the large bedroom, not at all surprised to see her young daughter sat up in bed, and her eyes are soft instead of dark and angry like before. The sight fills Emma's heart with unspeakable joy and she knows she's beaming because she's her mother's little ray of sunshine and she's loved, and the thought of the bad men that would steal her away fades from her mind.

"Hello, my own darling," her mother coos as she walks further into the room and, just like her eyes, her voice is soft and warm as she smiles at Emma: her little Emma, her little ray of sunshine, the joy that fills her life with everlasting light.

Her smile widens as she continues to beam up at her mother and she listens when she's urged to get under the covers where it's warm, and she feels the love once more when her mother sits on the side of the bed beside her, kissing the crown of her head as she mumbles an _I love you _and an apology into her blonde curls.

"Mama didn't mean to be cross with you earlier, sunshine," her mother assures, brushing the curls out of her face.

"It's okay, Mama." Emma whispers because it _is _okay and because she understands now, she knows that her mother's just scared because of the bad people that would steal her, but curiosity ebbs away at her and she has to know why someone would try to take her away from the mother that's perfect in her eyes.

"But why isn't it safe to go outside? Why would someone take me away?" Her voice sounds small and fragile and she hates it, even at her young age, because she doesn't want to be scared. Emma wants to be bold and brave.

A flood of understanding fills her mother's eyes and Emma knows that she's been caught, that her mother knows that she was eavesdropping and listening to things she had no business listening to, but her mother doesn't scold her. Instead her mother scoops her up into her arms, holding her tightly as if she'll never let her go ever again, and she places another kiss to the crown of Emma's head.

But her mother's eyes darken once again. "Because some people will stop at nothing to destroy the happiness of others, ruining lives and thinking themselves innocent, never knowing the heartache that their actions cause," hate and venom fills her voice as she continues to hold Emma, running her fingers through her blonde curls. "And, because of this, they wouldn't hesitate to take you away from me so you _must _stay inside where it's safe. Promise me, Emma."

"I promise, Mama." Emma replies as she tightens her chubby arms around her mother's neck, turning her head and placing a sloppy kiss to her mother's cheek.

She feels her mother smile in response before she pulls back and tucks the covers tightly around her small body, awarding her with another smile that's warm and comforting before kissing her forehead, murmuring: "I love you, sunshine."

Emma grins at those familiar words, and feels the love in them.

"I love you, too, Mama." She assures earnestly, not wanting her mother to doubt that she returns the love just as fiercely, and she favours her with a toothy grin as she reaches for her baby blanket. She loves her baby blanket. It's soft and warm and her name's etched into it in pretty purple writing and she can't sleep without it, just like she can't sleep without being tucked in.

For a moment, she thinks her mother's expression darkens, _again_, when she sees the blanket.

But Emma knows that's silly.

**-x-**

Sunshine spills into her room the next morning, just like the one before, but Emma doesn't ask to go outside because she's content to stay inside the castle with the people who love her and where she's safe and sound, out of the reach the ones that would take her away.

And it's when the three of them – her family – are eating breakfast that she voices that she wants to learn how to dance because she's no longer a baby, she's _five_, and big girls know how to dance.

The voice that's warm and comforting fills the air as he laughs, "I believe you're right, sweetheart."

Emma fights a grin as she nods seriously, watching as he balls up his napkin in his hand and tosses it on the table in front of him before he rises from his chair, moving to her side and taking her hand in his before leading her out of the room.

Her little legs find it difficult to keep up with his much longer ones, though his pace is slow, and she breaks into a run as he leads her through the numerous corridors until they reach a large room with plenty of open space. The room is bright and airy and the sun pours into the room once he opens the curtains, and her smile is wide as she looks around the room.

It's so _different_.

Most of the castle is dark. All of the curtains are made from heavy velvets of the darkest blues and reds and greens, the floors are a black marble, and Emma thinks that the dark colours make the castle look cold and empty. But those feelings fade when the curtains are opened and the light fills the rooms, brightening her home with light, just like her presence does. That's what her mother tells her. Her mother says she doesn't notice how dark the castle is because of Emma, her little ray of sunshine that lights up her entire world when she smiles.

But he's back at her side and all thoughts fade from her mind as he gently takes her small hand in his own, humming the most beautiful melody she's ever heard, before he leads her to the middle of the room.

Emma dips into a curtsey and beams up at him when he guides her back up to her feet, placing a gentle kiss to her fingers before he bows, and then he stops humming as he explains the steps to her as he walks her through them. They move incredibly slowly but she hangs onto his every word as she follows his steps, pure concentration etched into her pretty features, and she resists the urge to scowl at him when he scolds her because she's watching her feet.

Because how is she supposed to know where she's stepping if she can't _look_?

He chuckles lightly at her question as the dance draws to a close and he bows once more, quickly followed by another curtsey. And then they start the dance over again. She curtseys, he bows, and then they circle each other, right hand to right hand, going clockwise before they switch to their left hands and move in the opposite direction.

"Does Mama know how to dance like this?" Emma asks as they stop moving counterclockwise and press both their hands together, palm to palm, before walking towards each other, taking a step back, and repeating the action two more times.

He doesn't answer at first. "Good," he compliments as they move through the dance but he sees the determination that's burning in her eyes, so he answers her question. "Yes," he nods, clearing his throat, "Your mother knows how to dance like this."

Her head tilts to the side as he gently leads her into his arms and takes one of her hands in his own, her other one resting on his forearm since she's not tall enough to reach his shoulders, and her green eyes sparkle. "Has Mama ever been to a _ball_?"

She's heard of them, but she's never been to a ball, and she can't ever remember her mother attending one.

"Your mother attended many balls when she was younger," he tells her.

Emma feels a frown tug at her lips and she resists the urge to ask why her mother no longer attends balls, because her mother is _far _from old, but she sees something in his eyes that stops her from asking. So she accepts the answer with a nod and laughter escapes her lips when he twirls her out of his arms.

The dance draws to a close once more and they begin again, and it's then that her mother enters the room.

"Are you having fun, my darling?" Her mother asks as she walks into the room, watching the two people she loves most with a smile on her face.

Emma nods vigorously as she looks over at her mother, blonde curls falling into her face. "Watch me, Mama!" She pleads before she looks back at her dance partner, "again," she instructs simply and curtseys, he follows the action with a bow, and then they begin moving through the steps once more and she's proud when she sees her mother smiling at the two of them.

"I'm watching, my darling, I'm watching." Her mother promises when her bright eyes dart over to make sure that she _is _watching.

Emma eyes her a moment longer before she favours her mother with a toothy smile, turning her attention back to her dance partner, beaming when he praises her and tells her that she's just as graceful as her mother.

He leads her around the room once more, twirling her around several times and eliciting giggles from her, and then he draws the dance to a close before crouching down to place a kiss on her rosy cheek. "Thank you for the dance," he smiles as he straightens his back and bows to her, "it's an honour to dance with such a pretty, pretty lady."

Emma grins, but then a new voice interrupts the moment, and she feels the happiness diminish.

"A pretty lady indeed."

Emma blinks and allows herself to be pulled behind her dance partner, and his voice is as warm and comforting as ever when he tells her not to be afraid, but she can't help but _be _afraid when her eyes dart over to her mother. Her mother's expression is tight and filled with anger, her eyes appear black, and she's shaking with rage as she addresses the visitor that has interrupted their family moment.

"What are _you _doing here?"

Emma is unable to stop the shiver that runs up her spine when she hears her mother's tone.

"Such contempt," the visitor muses as he walks into the room, walking over to her mother, "we were once mutual benefactors that understood each other quite well – has it really come down to this, dearie?"

Her mother grits her teeth together and forces out a response, "_Yes_."

The visitor seems amused by this response. His smile is wide and his eyes are beady, his skin seemingly _sparkles_, and Emma can't help it as she eyes the man curiously.

Is he even a man?

He then notices her standing behind the older man's legs and he grins. "Well hello, Missy." He coos as he walks closer to Emma, dropping into a crouch and ignoring her mother's warning to stay away, "_Missssy_," he coos again.

Emma moves out into view and scowls at him, "My name is _Emma_, not _Missy_."

Recognition lights up in his eyes as he stares at her, his gold eyes sweeping over her wild curls and round cheeks, noticing the determined glint in her eyes. "Emma," he practically purrs, his smile widening more and making him look crazed, "what a _lovely _name."

Emma opens her mouth, but her mother interrupts her. "Emma, go to your room."

She blinks and looks over at her mother, only to notice that she's not looking at her, instead her mother is glaring at the visitor and Emma nods and allows her former dance partner to lead her out of the room, suggesting that they go to her room and have a tea party while her mother talks to their guest.

"You enjoy your day, _Emma_." The visitor calls out before the wooden door closes behind her, his manic giggles echoing in her ears.

**-x-**

A few more years pass and she's eight, and everything starts to change.

Months pass and she brushes off the small differences that she feels, but suddenly the changes are so drastic and so obvious that she can't help but to notice them, and each one chips at her heart. Emma remembers the gentle smiles her mother used to favour her with, she remembers when she was her mother's _little ray of sunshine_, and she remembers when her mother used to tuck her into bed each night – but those days are long gone.

But that's not what truly upset her. She knows that she's no longer a baby and it was only a matter of time before her mother started treating her like a young lady instead of a little girl, but she can't help but think it's more than that. Something's changed.

She sees it in the way her mother looks at her sometimes and pauses, her features tightening before she speaks, and she hears it when her mother speaks to her. Her mother's voice used to be infused with warmth and love but now it feels empty somehow, as if those feelings have begun to fade.

Emma's always been told she's the sunshine in her mother's life.

The light to the darkness that threatens to engulf her mother. A ray of everlasting light.

But lately it seems as if the light she brings to her mother's life has lessened and, with it, the love her mother feels for her.

She mentioned it to her mother once, asking her if she had done something wrong, but her mother merely shook her head and smiled at her.

_Don't be ridiculous, Emma._

But the response wasn't immediate. Her mother's eyes had widened as she paused, looking her daughter over like she always did, and then she responded. _Don't be ridiculous, Emma. _Emma knows she isn't being ridiculous, though. There's something different about the way her mother loves her and the way her mother looks at her. And it bugs the hell out of Emma that she can't figure out why.

Then she can't take it anymore and she's walking through the castle, looking for one of the few people she trusts with her innermost thoughts.

She finds him reading a book in the library and his smile is wide when she pushes the door open and enters.

It's a genuine smile that's wide and full of love, and Emma can't believe how relieved she is to see it, to know that their relationship hasn't changed even though everything else in her life has. He loves her and tells her constantly that she's the apple of his eyes, one of the two people that possess the love in his heart, and she knows that he's telling her the truth.

Emma can still tell when people are telling the truth and she _knows _that he's never lied to her, and he's promised her that he never would.

"Emma," he grins as he sets the book aside, his voice just as warm and comforting as ever.

Emma smiles, her heart soaring upon hearing the familiar tone, but then tears well in her eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart, what's the matter?" He asks as she sits in the chair beside him, his gaze concerned as he reaches out and takes Emma by the hand.

"I think I've done something to cost me Mama's love," Emma whispers, and she hates the way that her chin starts trembling when a stray tear rolls down her cheek.

"Don't be ridiculous, Emma." He soothes, brushing away her tears with his finger.

Emma looks away and resists the urge to roll her eyes upon hearing his words – the same words her mother said to her.

_Don't be ridiculous, Emma._

"You don't understand," she mumbles, "the way she looks at me…"

Emma trails off and looks back up to his face and she sees the way his gaze softens when he takes in her appearance, and she looks down, furiously searching for what they see when they look at her, but she doesn't find it.

"You see it too," she accuses, a fire lighting in her eyes as she looks at him.

His face falls, "Emma…"

"No," she huffs, "what is it? _Tell me_."

But he shakes his head and climbs to his feet, cupping her cheek gently. "It doesn't matter," he insists, "believe me when I say that she _does _love you. You're her happy ending."

And then he's gone.

Emma scowls as he walks out of the large library and closes the door behind him, flopping back against the chair with a huff and ponders over the responses that she managed to get out of him, few as they'd been. There was a reason her mother looked at her the way that she did, he basically confessed as much.

_It doesn't matter._

That's what he said when she demanded that he tell her what her mother sees when she looks at her, but he said that it doesn't matter because her mother _does _love her, and his words weren't a lie. When he told her that her mother loved her, he was telling the truth, but he was lying when he said it didn't matter.

It does matter.

It matters to her.

It matters to her more than she's willing to admit, even to herself, because she _can't _lose her family. Her mother still upholds the belief that it's safer for Emma to stay within the castle's grounds instead of wandering through the forest – though her mother's never elaborated on _who _would take her away – and that means her entire world is within the castle.

Her family is all she has, and the fear of losing them is what keeps her from leaving the castle like she promised, but it would be so easy for her to leave. Her home rests on a lake where ducks, and sometimes swans, can be seen, and it's surrounded by thick forest. If she wanted to leave, all she would have to do is slip into the forest. Her mother would never be able to find her.

But her mother would send someone after her, Emma knows this.

Hubert, her favourite knight, an old huntsman, knows the forest and he knows how to track. He would find her.

But she would never leave. She would never leave because her whole world exists within her castle. Her whole world is her mother, the man whose voice is warm and comforting; her world is her beloved handmaid and her Hubert.

Moments tick by and she's not sure how long she sits in the chair, but suddenly she has to do _something_. Because, even though she would never leave, there are times where she feels like she's going insane and she just wants to get up and do something that doesn't involve sitting around the castle. There are times when she yearns for freedom, in spite of the fact that the castle isn't her prison. It's her home.

She juts her bottom lip out into a pout as she climbs to her feet and starts to browse the books that fill the bookshelf, hungry for the histories and stories they show her, and she runs her fingers along the spines of the books as she walks past. Emma's not even sure she's actually reading the titles until one catches her eye.

The book looks old and distressed, but she pulls it out anyway.

She flips through the book quickly to see if it's somewhat interesting, because she doesn't have the patience to read the first couple chapters of a book and _wait _to see if it'll get interesting – a fact that always seems to horrify Belle because Emma _swears _that Belle is the biggest bookworm in all the realms – but her lips lift up into a slight smile when notices that it's a book filled with different stories. A treasury of old folktales.

She closes the book and runs her finger over it before she tucks it under her arms, hopeful that the book will manage to draw her thoughts away from the worries and questions that have been plaguing her for far too long, but she pauses when she goes to exit the room catches her reflection in the mirror.

It doesn't surprise her to see a mirror; the castle is filled with them.

What _does _surprise her is her reflection, and it's like she's looking at her whole self for the first time. Her skin is pale except for the rosy tint that highlights her round cheeks, her hair is a mess of blonde curls that always falls into her face even though she tries to hold them back by having a red ribbon tied in her hair, and her eyes are a bright green.

Emma realizes that she looks _nothing _like her mother.

She's always known that they don't look alike, her mother was dark and Emma was light.

Her mother's ray of sunshine.

But she's never really processed what that means, and now she wants to scold herself for being so stupid. It suddenly makes sense why her mother pauses and looks at her before answering. Each year her features develop more and more and, if she doesn't look like her mother, then she must look like her father.

Emma's not sure what happened to her father, and she doesn't even know who he was, but she knows that he's gone. And now she realizes that it must be painful for her mother for her to look like him, a constant reminder of someone that she's lost.

She nods to herself, gazing at her reflection a few moments longer, and then she exits the library with the old book of folktales still tucked under her arm. And it's on her way to her room, the highest tower in the castle, that she promises she'll never ask her mother why she looks at her the way that she does ever again.

**-x-**

She tries to understand.

She tries to understand why her mother has audiences with that man. With that _thing_.

Truthfully, he's only visited her mother a handful of times over the years since he interrupted the blissful dance lesson, but there's something about him that makes Emma feel uncomfortable. It's the way he says her name, drawing it out and emphasizing it whenever he sees her, and it's because of this that she makes herself scarce whenever he shows up unannounced, requesting an audience with her mother.

He arrived earlier that day, just before lunch, and she caught her mother before she went to receive him, saying what she always says when he comes around. Emma has told her mother repeatedly that she doesn't trust the imp and she doesn't like it when he comes around, she's demanded to know what business her mother could possibly have with that foul thing, but her mother simply gives her a dry stare, tells her that it's none of her business, and, when she protests further, claiming distrust for the imp, her mother says the four words that she's grown to hate over the past five years.

_Don't be ridiculous, Emma._

Her eyes narrows as those four words resound in her head, taunting her, and she reaches for another arrow and notches it in her bow. She draws back with all her might, inhaling deeply, trying to control the anger pulsing through her veins, and then she releases the arrow.

It sails through the air and then hits dead center with a satisfying _thump_, just like the previous arrow she fired.

Emma smirks to herself, her lips curling into a charming grin, and her hand reaches for another arrow. Momentarily she wonders how she managed to convince her mother that she should know how to use a bow, but she could care less because she finds is cathartic, and she repeats the process and sends another arrow flying through the air. Her green eyes follow it as it soars, watching as it pierces through the target. Just shy of the last one she shot.

But anger still fills her veins instead of satisfaction so she bends down to retrieve another arrow and notches it, just as before, and pulls back on the string, but an arrow flies past her head before she has the chance to release it. Her eyes widen and her entire body goes still before she whirls around on her heels, her blonde curls blowing in the wind, and she scowls when she sees who's responsible.

"What the hell?" She demands as her scowl deepens, "you could've hit me!"

He spreads his arm wide and shrugs as he walks towards her, a grin on his face. "I _never _miss."

Emma grits her teeth, wishing she could refute his words, but she can't.

She's known him as long as she can remember and, even though she gets the feeling that her mother doesn't approve of the amount of time she spends with him, he's one of the few true friends that she has within the castle's walls. Him and Belle.

And it's _because _of how long she's known him that she can't refute his claim, because she's never known him to miss an intended target. It's why, when she decided that she wanted to learn how to use a bow a couple of years ago, she went to him and asked him to be the one to give her lessons once she got her mother's approval.

He works for her mother, as one of the numerous knights she has at her disposal, but Emma trusts him and likes him more than the others. There is something cold and sinister about the other knights that guard the castle, at least in her eyes, but she's never gotten that feeling from him. He's kind and pure of heart. He's _her _Hubert.

Hubert: that's what she calls him because he was never given a proper name, which was unacceptable to her at four years of age when she asked him what his name was, so she decided to name him herself. And she chose Hubert, because Belle used to tell her numerous stories about all the kingdoms she's never seen, and probably never will, and one that stuck with Emma was one about a noble knight named Hubert.

"_All of the land doubted Hubert, thinking that such an outsider could never be a hero, for he was not as refined or as well-educated as many of the other knights." Belle recites for the millionth time as she runs a brush through Emma's blonde curls, a gentle smile on her face, "but he had one thing that they did not: heart."_

_Emma catches her handmaid's eyes in the mirror, still as enthralled by the story as she had been the first time she heard it, and her smile is wide and bright. And, with the candlelight that highlights her face and golden hair, she truly is a ray of sunshine amongst the darkness._

"_His heart was pure and unselfish like the other knights who only wanted to save the lost princess for themselves, knowing of the rewards that they and their kin would receive for returning her to her father, King William, and it was because of his pure heart that he found the Princess Rebecca. His heart led him to the fair princess, acting as his guide, leading him through the obstacles in his path, giving him the strength to fulfill his quest."_

"_And the great animal," Emma insists as she turns her head to look at Belle, "you _can't_forget the great animal! The one that took the princess!"_

"_Patience, Emma! We're not there yet," her handmaid admonishes fondly as she shakes her head, brown curls falling into her face before she arches an eyebrow at the small child, "or would _you _prefer to tell the story?" Belle smiles to herself when the child instantly quiets and she places the brush down, braiding the blonde locks as she continues, "as I was saying: Sir Hubert battled many obstacles on his quest to find the princess – treacherous forests, quicksand, ruffians and thugs – and he finally found her, locked away in tower, guarded by the great animal." _

_Emma beams, tapping her foot, resisting the urge to interrupt now that they were at her favourite part of the story._

"_Sir Hubert drew his sword, fighting the vicious beast, and he was victorious. He threw the sword at the beast, hurling it over his head, and the great animal let out a mighty cry when the sword embedded itself into its heart, the echo of its cry filling the entire land as it fell to the ground." Belle leans forward, wrapping her arms around Emma's small waist, resting her chin on the little girl's shoulder. "And do you know what happened next?"_

_Emma nods vigorously. "Hubert rushed into the tower and found the princess, freeing her from the dungeon."_

"_That's right," Belle nods, "and when they returned to the kingdom, the king was happy to be reunited with his beloved daughter, and he thanked the noble knight and repaid him generously. But what he offered Hubert in reward was something much more precious that jewels or gold or status, for he had finally found someone worthy of his daughter's hand. The noble knight and the princess were married –"_

"_The princess __**always **__marries her saviour," Emma mumbles, aiming an exasperated stare at Belle._

_Belle exhales deeply, ignoring Emma. "And, though they were an unlikely match, for she was a princess and he was a mere knight, the princess saw his pure heart and they fell in love. And, like most fairy tales, the princess and the knight lived happily ever after."_

And the huntsman that works for her mother reminded Emma so much of the noble knight Hubert, for he was an outsider among the other occupants of the castle, but he possessed a pure heart, and then Belle told her that the name Hubert meant _bright heart_. It was for that reason that she chose to give the name to the huntsman because it suits him and, as she told him when she gave him the name, he's the most noble knight she's ever known and his heart is the brightest she's ever known, too.

He seemed sad then, when she mentioned his heart, but she had climbed up into his lap and kissed his scruffy cheek, telling him that there was no need to look so sad because it was true. He was kind and his heart was brighter than all the stars in the sky, and he was _her _favourite knight and that made him all the more special.

He cracked a smile then, and then told her that he would love it if she called him Hubert, and it was only then that she realized that she hadn't asked if he wanted a name or if she could give him one.

Emma chuckles under her breath, her scowl fading into a light smile at the memory. "So, what was with the entrance?" She asks as she turns her head slightly and juts her chin in the direction of the arrow he fired; the one that sailed right past her head, before she turns her eyes on him and silently waits for an answer. She trusts him and she knows he would never actually try to harm her, but she can't help but think calling out to her would've sufficed.

"It's _so _hard to get your attention," Hubert shrugs once again as he runs his hand over the scruff that covers is jaw, a smirk tugging at his lips as he walks closer to the blonde that he considers to be his family – especially since it's been years since he's been in the forest, living amongst his brothers.

Emma frowns, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure calling out –"

"I called out to you, but you never answered." He interrupts smugly as he walks closer to her and Emma loves how sweet and soothing his thick accent sounds to her ears. "Now," his smile widens as he gestures to the bow that she still has aimed at him, "would you be kind enough to lower your weapon?"

Emma lowers the bow and purses her lips together as she tries to fight the blush that wants to cover her face, because she really hadn't noticed that she was still aiming her weapon at him, but she knows that her face must already be stained and flushed red because she can feel the heat emitting from her feverish skin.

But she knows it's pointless because of the embarrassment she feels burning beneath her skin, and because of the way that Hubert is watching her carefully. His dark, soulful eyes that are seemingly blue and hazel at the same time are trained on her intently, watching her every move, and Emma knows that he can tell that something's bothering her. And she hates that about him; at least she says she does, because he _knows _her. With a single glance he knows her innermost thoughts, and he says it's because her eyes give her away.

She shakes her head and turns around to face the target again, her back to Hubert.

He'll make her talk about what's bothering her, because it's unhealthy for her to keep all of her emotions bottled up inside where they'll only hurt end up causing her pain, and because he can't stand the thought of her hurting. Emma _is _hurting though, she's been hurting for the past few years. Because it feels like her world is unraveling around her, slowly.

He moves to stand beside her but she doesn't look him in the eye, even when her eyes sting when tears of frustration swell up in her eyes, because she doesn't want to talk about it. Because _it doesn't matter _and _don't be ridiculous, Emma_.

But Hubert's never scolded her, has never told her that it doesn't matter, and he's never told her that she's being ridiculous, so she finds herself confiding in him even though it's the last thing she wants. Because he's _her _Hubert and she trusts him, and because whatever she tells him is in confidence. He won't tell her mother.

"Whatever it is, you _can_ tell me, Princess." Hubert insists softly, and Emma cracks a smile at the nickname. He's always called her princess, as long as she can remember, really, even though she isn't one.

"Why does Mama have audiences with that man, with that _creature_?" Emma asks after several moments in a soft voice, looking up at Hubert with her trusting green eyes, hoping that her friend will tell her the truth, unlike all the others she asked. Everyone else tells her that it's her mother's business who she does and does not have an audience with, or they hush her and tell her to keep her nose out of things where it doesn't belong, but she has to know the truth. She _has _to know.

"It's…"

"Don't tell me it's her business or that I'm being ridiculous and don't lie to me," Emma pleads in a firm voice that wavers near the end, as if she'll break completely if he lies to her. "No one will tell me anything. No one will tell me why Mother meets with him, they won't even tell me _who_ he is, but I need to know, Hubert. I don't trust him."

She watches his eyes darken as he presses his lips together in a thin line and she can't help but think that he agrees with her assessment – that Hubert thinks it's wise not to trust the imp, but that doesn't ease the trepidation she feels.

Hubert wrestles with what to say, if he should answer or leave it be, she sees it in his eyes, but in the end he gives in and tells her what she wants to know. "Listen to me very carefully, this is important," he insists as he drops into a crouch in front of her, taking her hands into his own as their gazes lock. "I do not know what business your mother could have in talking to him, I would tell you if I knew, I swear to you, but you must promise me that _you _will never deal with him."

Emma creases her eyebrows together, confusion evident. "Deal with… Hubert, what are you talking about?"

"He's _dangerous_, do you understand? Rumpelstiltskin utilizes his magic to make deals and, no matter how _desperately _you want what he offers you, you must never deal with him." Hubert insists frantically, his eyes wide and imploring, "the price of magic… _his _price… _nothing _is worth that. Do you understand? You can never strike a deal with him. Promise me you won't. Promise, Emma. For me."

Emma stares at him, knowing how serious he is by the use of her name, and after a long pause, she nods. "I promise, Hubert." She vows as he pulls her close to him, cradling her in his arms, and she holds him just as tightly as she whispers in his ear, "for _you_."

She closes her eyes, breathes in and breathes out, soaking in the comfort she feels as he murmurs _thank you _and holds her tight, and commits everything she's learned to memory. The imp – Rumpelstiltskin she now knows his name to be – cannot be trusted and he's dangerous. If Hubert's frantic behaviour was any indication, he is _very _dangerous.

But, if he's as dangerous as Hubert claims, why does her mother deal with him at all?

Emma holds Hubert closer and squeezes her eyes together tighter, almost afraid of the answer.

**-x-**

Another two years pass and she's fifteen, nearly sixteen, and gone are the days when she was content to spend every moment in the safety of the castle, because she longs for freedom and the chance to truly experience life. Just like when she was five, she wants to be bold and brave, but she can't do that if she's trapped. And that's what she is. Trapped.

The castle is her home, but it's also her prison.

Emma hates that she feels like this because it's her home, it's her _family_, but even that thought fails to console her and she reaches for one of the books that are piled on the tables and picks one up – a novel filled with far off places, daring sword fights, and a prince in disguise. It's one of her favourites but even as she opens it and glances over the words, they blur before her eyes as she turns the pages, taking in none of their meaning.

"I've always found that books are more enthralling if you actually _read _the words on the page."

Emma stops flicking through the pages and looks up, a dry expression etched into her face.

Belle laughs at the expression, lifting one of her shoulders into a shrug as she enters the room holding a wicker basket filled with numerous dresses and Emma's beloved baby blanket.

Emma tosses the book to the side and sits up on her bed when her handmaid walks further into the room, depositing the basket on the bed before she goes about hanging the dresses in the large wardrobe that rests against the wall, while Emma reaches for her baby blanket and holds it tenderly in her lap, as if it's the most precious thing she owns.

Because it _is_.

Emma could care less about the lavish dresses and finery that her mother provides her with, because she much prefers simple dresses that don't constrict her movements, or even a pair of breeches. But it's more than that, she muses as she runs her fingers over the purple script that spells her name, because her baby blanket reminds her of what her life was like before.

Back when she was content to keep her promise to her mother, back before the want to rebel seized her heart, back when she had no doubt about how much she was loved. That's why she cherishes her blanket so much; it's proof that there was a time when someone loved her more than anything else in the world.

Sadness must seep into her expression because Belle stops what she's doing and moves to her side. But Emma doesn't look up, she keeps her eyes trained on her blanket, and it's only when Belle reaches out to brush her wild, blonde curls out of her face that she looks up.

Belle's face, though now slightly worn from the years that have passed, is nothing but a mask of sympathy and concern. And Emma knows why, she knows that her beloved handmaid and friend – the one that has been with her since forever, since her infancy, if she's not mistaken – worries about her constantly, just like she knows it breaks Belle's heart to know that she's troubled.

Honestly, Belle has always felt like more of a second mother than a handmaid.

"Emma?"

She rolls her eyes at the gentle urging, the plea for her to just _tell _Belle what's troubling her, and she hates how longing ebbs away at her. Emma doesn't want to talk about it. All she wants is to build up walls around herself, to harden her heart to the pain that threatens it, but they won't let her: Belle, Hubert, and the man whose voice is still warm and comforting. They won't let her close herself off.

"Talk to me, Emma."

Emma avoids her gaze, her green eyes staring at her baby blanket once more, but she finds herself answering in a soft murmur. "I used to be content to stay within the castle grounds, it was my whole world, there was nothing more I could want for, and it's my home. But as the days pass it feels like the walls are closing in more and more and –"

Belle frowns. "Emma…"

"– each day it feels more and more like a prison," Emma continues. "And I hate that I feel like this because I _know _why Mother refuses to let me leave the castle. She fears that I'll be taken away from her; that someone will steal me away, but understanding it doesn't mean that I can just accept it. It doesn't change the fact that I just _want _to leave, to make up my own mind, to be brave instead of cowering within the safety of my home, regardless of what Mother says or thinks."

"I understand," Belle says.

Emma snorts, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes, doubting her words.

Belle regards her silently for a moment before she moves back to the wardrobe, hanging several more dresses before she speaks up, looking to be millions of miles away, in another land. "War once swept across my land like a plague and, when it appeared all hope was lost, my father seemingly gave up. He was content to surrender, to stay within the confines of our castle out of fear."

Emma turns around, having never heard Belle speak like this before, her eyebrows furrowing together. "What happened?" She asks softly, wondering what this could possibly have to do with her own confession, but intrigued none the less.

"There was a way for me to save those I loved." Belle smiles, somewhat sadly, turning to look at Emma. "There was one who had the power to end the war, to ensure that they would be safe, and in return I was to go with them forever. Father forbade me to do so, but, as I told him, no one decided my fate but _me_."

For once in her life, Emma's speechless.

"So I _do _understand, Emma," Belle vows. "Believe me."

Emma nods, but a question gnaws at her, demanding to be asked, and her voice is small when she voices it aloud. "Is that why you're here? Was Mother the one that you –"

"No."

Confusion engulfs her. "But you promised to go with them forever."

"Forever," Belle sighs, sadness seeping into her tone once more, "Forever is _rarely _forever."

Emma opens her mouth, wanting to ask all the questions that she suddenly has, but she drops it when she sees the expression etched into her handmaid's face.

"My point is, though," Belle shrugs, "sometimes you have to do what you think is right and damn the consequences. Sometimes you have to do the brave thing."

Emma blinks at her, some unknown emotion soaring in her heart, and she nods and mumbles something under her breath before she leaves the room, ignoring Belle's reprimand that it was unbecoming for princess to mumble, because she isn't a princess and she is suddenly filled with a sense of purpose as she walks down the stairway.

She exhales slowly and allows for her resolve to build as she walks, and for the first time in her life, she's _glad _that her room is the highest tower in the castle. It gives her time to prepare, which she desperately needs, because she vows this time it'll be different.

Her heart pounds in her chest and she's almost sure that she could dance to the beat, but she has to push that thought away when she reaches her mother's chambers.

Emma doesn't hesitate in opening the heavy wooden doors, walking in as if they were her own chambers, and her mother looks up instantly from where she's sitting. Her dark eyes sweep over her and her face tightens, like it has for years, but it only lasts a second, so brief that Emma can almost tell herself that it's all in her head. But she knows that it isn't.

But that's not why she's here.

And her mother isn't alone. He's there with her and his face immediately breaks out into a wide smile, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling when he sees her. "Emma," he beams and motions for her to come further into the room, and she allows for his voice – still just as warm and comforting as it had been as a small child – to give her courage.

Emma allows a bright smile to cross her face as she walks over to his side, cupping his face before she leans down to kiss him on the cheek. "Grandpapa," she greets before she straightens her back and looks over at her mother. "Mother…"

She watches as her mother levels her with a pointed look, arching one of her eyebrows, and it's obvious that her mother knows what's going to follow. Her mother knows that she's going to ask for something because she's always led up asking for what she wants the same way – whether she asking if she could learn to fire a bow and arrow, or it was new books, new paints, that she desired – and not even her innocent smile can fool her mother.

"Yes, Emma?" Her mother asks, pretending to be oblivious, sharing a smile with her father before she focuses her attention on her own daughter.

"Mother," Emma exhales as she steels herself, prepared to fight for what she wants, to be the one who decides her own fate, "I'm turning sixteen tomorrow and I wanted to ask… what I really want… what I want more than _anything_…"

Her mother's smile widens slightly, amused by her antics. "And what is it that you want more than _anything_?"

Emma hesitates for a moment, knowing what her mother's reaction will be, but _sometimes you have to do the brave thing_. "Mother, I was hoping that I'd be able to have a picnic –"

"You want to have a picnic for your birthday? I'm sure that can be arranged."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Emma mumbles under her breath, "but the thing is, I don't want to have it on the grounds." Her mother's eyes widen and she sees the familiar glint in them, the one that appears before _don't be ridiculous, Emma_ and she continues before her mother can interrupt. "I was hoping to have it in the forest, not too far from the castle, I promise, but…"

"You want to go _out there_." Her mother's tone is hard.

"Well, yes, but –"

"Emma," a sigh falls from her mother's red lips as climbs to her feet and moves over to the table, pouring herself a drink and taking a sip before she looks back at her daughter. "We've been over this – numerous times, if I'm not mistaken. It's not safe for you to go off the castle grounds."

"Yes, I know that, but –"

"If you know that, then why do you insist on bringing it up? Because I thought we had closed the issue," her mother sighs, her frustration building as she shakes her head, "I don't keep you in here because you're a prisoner; I keep you in here so you'll be safe and sound."

"Yes, but it would only be for a couple hours! And Hubert could come along as well! I'd be safe with him." Emma continues, refusing to back down, but she sees the way her mother's face tightens when she mentions Hubert. She still doesn't understand why her mother is wary of the amount of time she spends with Hubert, wary of the bond between them, but she refuses to let _that _be the reason she's denied a couple hours a freedom.

Her mother relaxes her features and shakes her head. "I wouldn't feel comfortable with you only having a huntsman for protec–"

"Other guards can come too!" She insists, desperate now.

"The answer is no, Emma."

"But –"

"That's enough. I said the answer is _no_."

Emma clasps her hands together, begging. "Mother, please try to understand, I've never done a thing on my own!" Her lip curls at the thought of this, her independence shining through as determination lights up her eyes, and once again her mother's features tighten, but Emma continues. "I've _never _been off the castle grounds and all I ask is for one day outside –"

But her mother has had enough and she slams her glass down on the table before, loudly, before she stalks towards her. "Enough, Emma!" Her mother snaps, anger seeping into her expression and voice as her eyes darken. "You are not leaving this castle! _Ever!_"

Emma involuntarily takes a step back when she sees the pure unadulterated anger and hatred that seemingly emits from her mother, and she can't help it as the burning sensation assaults her eyes. She shakes her head, attempting to keep the tears at bay, but she can't hold in the dry sob that manages to escape her lips.

Her grandfather moves closer to her. "Emma," he soothes, his voice still warm and comforting, but now she hears the pity that's mixed in with it and she _hates _it.

So she turns on her heel and exits the room just as quickly as she entered, the heavy wooden doors banging shut behind her, and it was only then, out of their sight, that she allows the tears to swell up in her eyes as she rushes to her room.

But she doesn't let them fall.

**-x-**

Emma doesn't realize how late it's gotten until her stomach starts to growl.

She ignores it as long as she can because, even though hours have passed since her mother snapped at her, she's not willing to risk running into her. Emma doesn't want to have another argument with her mother because each one causes her heart to bleed and she doesn't want to have to apologize either because she _isn't _sorry. She's angry.

When she was a child, she never argued when her mother made her promise to stay inside, but she _isn't _a child anymore. And her mother can't keep her locked up in the castle forever, like she's a criminal under house arrest.

_I don't keep you in here because you're a prisoner..._

Her mother's voice resounds in her head and causes Emma to roll her eyes as she pushes herself into a sitting position. Her legs swing over the edge of the bed and she sits there, her feet hovering over the cool floor, and the feeling of anger continues to build within her.

..._I keep you in here so you'll be safe and sound._

Safe and sound from _what_? From _who_? That's what she wants to know, but her mother's never told her who would take her away. Emma has asked and asked and _asked _but her mother still refuses to tell her – claiming that the less she knows, the safer she'll be. But that doesn't make sense either, because Emma doesn't understand how being clueless makes her safe.

She stares down at her feet and tries to make sense of the thoughts swimming in her mind, huffing in annoyance when her stomach growls once more. All she wants is to continue to ignore it, but she can't seem to quell the hunger that she feels, and she's halfway down the winding stairway before she realizes that she's left her room.

Her movements still when she passes her mother's study once more, wincing when she hears the sound of an argument, but she shakes her head and continues on her way to the kitchen. It's empty when she arrives and Emma's glad for that as she moves around the spacious kitchen, collecting everything she needs for hot cocoa. With cinnamon.

Hot cocoa with cinnamon has been her favourite drink as long as she can remember – she's never been fond of the tea that her mother drinks – and it always manages to soothe the emotions that rage within her. It's the most comforting thing in the world. It makes her feel warm and safe, much like her beloved baby blanket does, but Emma's never understood why.

A sigh escapes her lips as she scoops the cocoa into a mug before adding a hearty amount of cinnamon, tapping her foot as she waits for the water to heat, doing everything in her power to keep her chaotic thoughts at bay. Sadly it doesn't work, but the kettle whistles, signalling that the water is ready, before they have a chance to takeover.

She puts the finishing touches on her hot cocoa, relishing in how familiar and comforting the action is, and then lifts it up to her lips and takes a sip. It's warm as it slides down her throat and it's comforting, and instantly she feels better, and she moves to leave the kitchen once more.

But she reaches into the fruit bowl on the counter and her hand hovers over one of the red apples before she shakes her head and grabs a pear instead, taking a bite as she leaves the kitchen. Never has she been able to stomach apples, and she doesn't know why, but the thought of eating one of the apples from her mother's apple trees makes her sick to her stomach.

Emma has the pear gone before she's halfway to her room and just ops for throwing it out of one of the windows, pausing to stare at the lake that the castle surrounds, and then continues on her way once more. Loud voices fill the air as she passes her mother's study once more, and this time she can't ignore it.

She breathes in and breathes out before she creeps over to the door and pushes the heavy door open just a crack, just enough for her to see what's happening inside, and her stomach clenches when she sees Hubert standing in the middle of the room while her mother circles him. Suddenly Emma's mind is filled with the images of a predator circling its prey.

"Am I right in assuming that this is _your_ influence?" Her mother demands.

Hubert glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then let me spell it out for you, Huntsman," her mother coos in a voice that's sweet as honey as she walks up to Hubert, placing her hand on his chest, "were you or were you not the one that convinced Emma to ask for permission to leave the grounds?"

"For what purpose would I want Emma to leave the castle grounds?"

"I think you know," her mother continues to coo, leaning up so her lips rest near his ear, but her hiss is loud enough for Emma to hear, "You _want _them to find her!"

Emma freezes as a soundless scream falls from her lips and suddenly her heart is pounding in her chest because she doesn't want to believe that her mother is right, that he wants them to find her, to take her away, because it isn't some stranger that her mother is talking to, it's _her _Hubert. And because it doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense that Hubert would want them – the people who would steal her, the people that are the _reason _for her imprisonment – to take her away. But Emma knows when people are lying. And her mother isn't. Her mother truly believes that Hubert wants to take her off the castle grounds, deep into the forest, so _they _will find her.

She closes her eyes for a moment, but her mind continues to spin.

And her chest burns at the thought that Hubert could betray her.

"And why would I want that?" Hubert's voice cuts into her thoughts and she watches as he meets her mother's gaze, his jaw locked and his gaze defiant, as if daring her mother to answer.

But her mother doesn't take the bait.

"Watch yourself, Huntsman." Her mother warns, her voice still as sweet as honey, but her expression and eyes are cold as she trails her fingers through the huntsman's curls, "I would hate to have to punish you again. But make _no _mistake," her mother warns, "if you ever pull something like this again – if you _ever _try to take Emma away from me – you _will _regret it and your eyes will be as lifeless and vacant as your chest."

Emma feels like she can't breathe.

Pain fills her heart upon hearing the threat, her body going numb at the thought of her mother killing the huntsman. _Her _beloved Hubert.

"Do I make myself clear, _my pet_?"

Hubert looks like he wants to fight, to rebel, but he nods. "Yes_._"

"Good. Because I would _hate _to have to punish you, my pet." Her mother's blood red lips curl into a smirk as she moves to circle the huntsman one more time, her face tight and her eyes cold, "Now, wait for me in my bedchamber, I'll be along shortly. I just have to check on _my _daughter."

Emma gasps and rushes to her room, careful not to spill the now-chilled cocoa, her bare feet slapping against the floors as she makes her way up the stairs that lead to her room. Her heart pounds in her chest but she still hears her mother's heels clacking against the marble floors behind her, and she flings her bedroom door open quickly, placing the mug on a table before she scurries into her bed and pulls the cover up to her neck.

She doesn't move, doesn't _breathe_, when she feels her mother's presence at the door. Instead, she squeezes her green eyes shut, and it's only when she hears her door click shut that she opens them. Her mother is gone, her room is bathed in darkness, and Emma thinks that it's fitting.

Because, even though she's always been told she's a ray of sunshine and her mother's everlasting light, it no longer matters.

Because she thinks that light has finally gone out.

*** in case you were wondering, the castle from **'The Swan Princess'** is the one that i had in mind when writing this because I always wanted to live in Rothbart's castle as a child. And, even though I'm sure you all know where this is going, everything will be explained over the next few chapters through the use of flashbacks – aren't **_**italics **_**a wonderful convention? Where would we be without them?**


	2. All This Time Spent In Vain

**AN: **as was mentioned in the last chapter, the sections written in italics are flashbacks.

_But there's a side to you that I never knew, never knew._

_All the things you'd say, they were never true, never true._

_And the games you play, you would always in, always win. _

_But I set fire to the rain._

Adele, _set fire to the rain._

* * *

**Chapter 2 – All This Time Spent In Vain**

A nightmare.

Emma wishes that it had been a nightmare.

But she knows that such a wish is pointless. For someone to have a nightmare, they must first fall into a deep slumber, and sleep eluded her the previous night. All she could see was the scene that she witnessed between her mother and Hubert. She saw it every time her eyes fell shut and it haunted her throughout the night, leaving her with so many questions that she had no answers for, and it still haunts her because, even now, hours later, it doesn't make sense to her.

None of it makes sense to Emma.

It doesn't make sense that her mother truly believes that Hubert wants her to be found by the people that would take her away, because it's her Hubert and he's her best friend and he would never want her to be harmed. Emma knows this.

Hubert is filled with innate goodness and Emma has known him her whole life, she knows him and she knows his heart. It's impossible for him to be capable of the evil and betrayal that she heard her mother accuse him of the night before, but the words haunt her none the less. They haunt her and something foreign settles in the pit of her stomach.

Doubt.

Emma smothers it the moment it tries to consume her though because she knows Hubert and because she refuses to believe that such evilness exists within him. She refuses to believe that she was so wrong about him because he's _her _Hubert.

But the doubt is still trying to nestle its way into her heart because, even though she knows that Hubert would never harm her, she also knows that he hasn't been completely honest with her. His interaction with her mother the night before was unlike any interaction she's ever witnessed between the two of them before, and it unsettles her.

Her mother has never displayed any sort of affection for the huntsman in the past and Emma's sure she didn't see any last night, not in the way her mother spoke to Hubert or in the way trailed her fingers through his curls, but the image and her mother's words won't leave her alone.

Her mother threatened Hubert, threatened to kill him if he ever tried to take her daughter from her, and Emma knows when people are lying and she knows that her mother wasn't. But that doesn't make any sense either.

Emma's only heard such malice from her mother once before, when she was five and her dance lesson was interrupted by Rumpelstiltskin, and it shocked her to hear it in her mother's voice then and it shocked her to hear it again the night before. Though _shocked _probably isn't the right word – it _scared _her.

Hearing her mother's voice so cold had petrified her and she found herself wondering what had happened to _her _mother: the gentle woman that smiled at her and tucked her into bed each and every night without fail, kissing the crown of her head and calling her _sunshine_.

Where had this imposter come from?

She freezes when she hears someone knock on the door.

"Emma," Belle's voice rings out, "are you awake?"

Emma sighs and doesn't bother to answer because she isn't ready to get up and face the day. And it seems funny to her that the day before all she wanted was permission to leave the castle grounds when all she wants now is to roll over and spend the entire day in bed, but everything has changed since then.

"Emma?"

Emma exhales in frustration when the door opens and turns away from her handmaid as she enters the room. There's a part of her that hopes that Belle will think she's sleeping and leave her alone, but she knows that's a futile wish. It's just as futile as her wish that the past several hours were a nightmare.

"I know you're awake, Emma." Belle says, bemused, as she walks over to the curtains and yanks them open before she turns to face the blonde, hands on her hips. "Now get out of bed, it's wasteful to sleep the day away."

Emma forces herself to climb out of her bed, walks over to the vanity, and she stares at her reflection as her handmaid pulls her wild blonde curls into a braid that barely holds them, and she has to bite her tongue to stop herself from snapping at Belle. Because how can it be wasteful for one to spend the whole day in bed when you're a prisoner in your own home, forbidden to ever leave?

"Emma," Belle sighs as she finishes the braid, resting her hands on the blonde's shoulders, catching her gaze in the mirror, "I heard about the fight you had with your mother. If you want to talk about it, I'm here."

That's not what's bothering her, not now, but Emma shrugs anyway. "What's there to talk about?"

If Belle wants to believe that's what's wrong, Emma won't stop her.

Her handmaid sighs, tightening her grip on her shoulders, "Emma…"

"I can't say I'm surprised that she didn't give me permission to leave the grounds," Emma interrupts, "she never has before." Her tone is cold and tight and it reminds herself so much of her mother's voice from the night before that it terrifies her, and she wants nothing more than to apologize when she sees Belle wince because she's _not _the type of person to snap at the people she loves. Emma has never been that kind of person and she's not going to be.

But her tone _does _get Belle to drop the subject.

Belle nods and moves over to the wardrobe to retrieve a dress – she picks the white one with the large red bows that rest at the shoulders, Emma's favourite – and she gestures for Emma to take off her ivory nightgown. Emma complies and silence drags on between them and it's only when she's lacing the dress that Belle restarts their conversation, her voice soft.

"Don't let her ruin today," Belle pleads softly, "I understand you're angry and you're hurt, but hold off on _that _confrontation until tomorrow – don't let her ruin your birthday." She moves to stand in front of Emma, cupping her cheeks, smiling when the blonde nods slightly.

"Okay," Emma mumbles, despite the fact that not getting her birthday picnic isn't what's bothering her. Her birthday picnic is the last thing on her mind because it's filled with thoughts of her mother and the huntsman and the conversation she overheard between the two of them, the one where her mother threatened to _kill _Hubert.

Belle nods in approval and winks at Emma. "And happy birthday, Emma." She beams as she leans in to kiss the blonde's cheek, "you look beautiful."

Emma smiles in thanks and Belle moves to leave, telling her to be at breakfast in five minutes or she's coming back and _dragging _her there, and she doesn't exhale until the brunette is gone.

Because she promised, Emma vows that she'll do her best to enjoy her birthday.

But somehow, she doesn't think that will work out to well.

Especially not as her mother's words, the threat she made against Hubert and the ones that are really bothering Emma, echo in her ears.

_Wait for me in my bedchamber._

Emma doesn't know what that means, at least she doesn't acknowledge that she does, but she swears that she'll get answers to all of her questions and she'll get them soon. She'll find out why her mother thinks Hubert wants _them _to find her, she'll find out why her mother's voice was so cold and evil, and she'll find out what's really going on between her mother and Hubert. But today is her birthday and she isn't going to cause a fuss, simply because she doesn't want her mother to snap at her again, but she will get her answers.

She swears she will.

Emma just hopes she'll be able to stomach them when she does.

**-x-**

"Darling," he sighs with a shake of his head, "she isn't going to arrive any sooner just because you've got yourself worked up." His voice is laced with a mixture of exasperation and amusement but it's just as warm and comforting as always as he watches his daughter pace, circling the table like a caged lioness, pausing every few moments to ensure that the preparations that were made for breakfast are acceptable to her.

But there is no way that his daughter can fault the meal that the cook had laid out for breakfast. Platters of fruit, overflowing with slices of his daughter's apples as well as the pears that Emma favoured, had been laid out and numerous loaves of fresh bread lined the table, still steaming. Three healthy portions of porridge had been served with cinnamon sprinkled over top of one of the bowls and cakes, sticky with honey and nuts, had been brought out with the meal, regardless of the fact that his daughter usually scolded Emma when she ate too many of them, claiming that they were unhealthy.

When he saw them and remarked on them, surprise lacing his voice, his daughter simply said that she asked the cook to make them because it was Emma's birthday and they were her favourite.

But he knows different.

He doubts his daughter will truly apologize to Emma – because, in her mind, everything she does is in the best interest of _her _daughter, including her decision to keep the girl as a prisoner in her own home – and this, the cakes sticky with honey and nuts, is her way of making amends without saying the words aloud.

There's a part of him, the jovial, optimistic part, hopes that the silent apology will be enough to smooth out the rough patch that's existed between his daughter and granddaughter for far too long but he's realistic enough to know that it won't be. Both Emma and his daughter are far too stubborn.

His daughter is forceful and proud and won't be content until Emma fits the mould that she wants her to fill, one where she's obedient and listens without questions or demanding explanations that his daughter can't give, but Emma's bold and her veins are filled with a fiery spirit and determination, as well as a want to rebel.

He's seen it within her since a young age and it's familiar and it causes a slight ache to form in his heart because he knows that his daughter sees it too, and he knows how much it upsets her to know that it's there. His daughter wishes that Emma had adopted more of her traits.

And there are times when he too selfishly wishes that Emma had sponged up more of his daughter's personality traits because he knows that it's those unwelcomed reminders, unwelcomed similarities – Emma's quick wit and tongue, her boldness, and fiery nature – that have caused his daughter's attitude towards Emma to cool.

It never takes long for his selfish thoughts to fade, though.

Emma was always a delightful and clever child, always asking questions and captivating him with her charming nature, and that hasn't changed with her age. All it takes is one bright grin or a flash of the coy smile that graces her features when she voices a witty thought, and his selfish wish to change her fades, because he realizes that she's perfect, and he loves her, just the way she is.

"Perhaps I should have been the one to wake her," his daughter murmurs suddenly, interrupting the silence and tearing him from his thoughts as she toys with one of the silk napkins that have been laid out.

He disagrees, though he doesn't say so, and goes about making his second cup of tea. "Emma will be down once she's ready," he says instead as he offers his daughter a slight smile, "and I'm sure we can allow her to be a few minutes late. It _is _her birthday, after all."

His smile becomes more genuine as he adds cream to his tea before taking a sip, fond memories circling in his mind, and he can see his daughter's expression soften ever so slightly and he knows that her thoughts are the same as his. Every moment, every moment of joy that Emma has brought to their lives, flashes before their eyes and it's hard to believe that 16 years have passed.

He opens his mouth to voice that thought, but the words fade when the heavy wooden door is slowly pushed open, and he catches his breath when he sees her. Emma has her hair tied back in a braid that barely holds her wild curls and her smile is wary and she's wearing her favourite dress, a white one with red bows that he had given her, and his smile widens when she meets his eyes.

Normally he would be worried by the dark circles under her eyes and the way her fair skin almost seems translucent, tell-tale signs that sleep eluded her the night before, which he understands considering what conspired yesterday, but he pushes his concern aside when she beams at him. Her smile is warm and genuine when she sees him and he gently places his teacup on the table before he moves to her side.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart." He whispers, awed, because he still thinks of her as the five year old he taught how to dance but when he looks at her he doesn't see that small child, instead he sees a beautiful young woman. "Happy birthday," he grins as he gently pulls her into a hug.

"Thank you, Grandpapa." Emma whispers as she wraps her arms around his neck and holds him tightly, relishing in the embrace and the love that she feels pouring from her grandfather's words, and for a moment she forgets about the fight with her mother and the things she overheard.

"You've grown into a great beauty," he says as he pulls back from her and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a long gold chain with a dainty pendent, heart-shaped with a swan engraving, hanging on it. His brown eyes sparkle when she arches an eyebrow and he winks at her, "you're a _swan_."

Emma presses her lips together and tries to fight her smile, but her laughter bubbles over when he fastens the chain around her neck before he kisses her cheek, and her heart swells and it amazes her how much she loves him. Her entire world has changed, has been completely turned upside down, but nothing can change the affection between her and her grandfather.

"I love it," she murmurs as she reaches down and tentatively holds the pendent in her hand, taking in the intricate details of the engraving, but then she hears the sound of heels clicking against the marble floors and she freezes, her heart pounding in her chest when her grandfather moves off to the side to give them a moment alone.

"Emma, my dear," her mother coos and her voice is sweet like honey.

Emma looks up and her bright green eyes lock onto her mother, desperately looking for signs of the cruel woman from the night before, but all she sees is the flawless image of a doting mother. And that angers her more than anything, because she now knows it's a mask, she knows it's a mask because she can't forget the images she saw the night before or the realization that followed. The realization that her mother, the woman she believed to be perfect and good and loved with all her heart, was gone. Faded.

"Happy birthday." Her mother is in front of her now and she cups her cheeks and leans in to kiss the crown of her head, but Emma is unable to stop herself from cringing at the loving touch, and her mother draws back, surprise and concern and some other emotion swimming in her brown eyes. "Sunshine," it now kills Emma to hear her childhood name fall from the lips of her mother, the one whose voice was so cruel and angry the night before when she threatened Hubert, "is everything alright, dear?"

Emma pauses and resists the urge to tell the truth, to claim that everything is far from being alright, but she made a promise to Belle.

And it's a promise she intends to keep, so she plasters a smile on her face, fake as it may be.

"Everything is fine, Mother." Her voice is cool but resolute.

"Are you sure?" Her mother persists, putting one arm around her shoulders, an action that she clearly thinks is comforting, but Emma feels her skin prickle and she has to resist the urge to tear herself out of the embrace. "If there's something you'd like to talk about, we could go for a walk through the gardens after breakfast and speak privately, if you like."

"No thank you, Mother." Emma whispers as she slips out of her mother's grasp and moves over to her place at the table, adding slices of pears to her porridge, ignoring the two pairs of brown eyes that are boring into her.

He watches the scene from the sidelines and he frowns, pain swimming in his eyes, because he sees the mixture of dismay and anger that is etching into his daughter's face, and he sees the obvious pain in his granddaughter's green eyes, even though she's trying to pretend that none of this hurts her. Fights between them – the two people he loves the most, the two people that own his heart and make up his entire world – are still rare though they occur more now than they ever did, but to make up for it his daughter always spoils Emma with new books or paints or her favourite cakes and then they talk in the gardens as his daughter tends to her apple trees. And it's in the gardens that they set aside their differences and make up with whispers of _I love you _and _I love you more, Mama _and, finally, _I love you most, Sunshine._

It what always happens, except for today. Today Emma turned down her mother's offer.

It makes him wonder – makes him _fear _– that his daughter has pushed Emma too far.

And, if she has, all of his daughter's attempts at apologizing will be ignored. Rejected.

And the thought of what would happen if that was true, scares him, so he intervenes.

"If you want me to talk to her," he offers as he moves to his daughter's side, "I will."

"Good," his daughter nods as she moves to walk away from him.

"But she's going to keep fighting," he continues as he reaches out grip her arm, preventing her from walking away, his voice barely above a whisper, "and I know you, darling, you're going to keep fighting back. And you will do whatever it takes to keep her here and you may succeed but –"

"No! I _will _succeed!" Her eyes narrow as she yanks her arm out of his grasp, "she's _my _daughter! This is what's best for her!"

His voice is warm and comforting when he speaks. "I know that's what you believe, but if this escalates, it seems to me that the one that's going to get hurt the most is _Emma_."

His words make her falter. He sees the way her shoulders slump ever so slightly and he sees the anger fade from her eyes as they soften as she turns to look at Emma. Hurting Emma is the last thing that she wants – it's the last thing either of them wants – and he knows it's only a matter of time before it happens. Unless Emma is given a bit of the freedom that she so desperately wants.

"Regina," he murmurs softly, "perhaps letting her have a picnic –"

"No," his daughter interrupts as she scowls at him, her eyes flashing with anger, "Emma is not _leaving_. We're happy here; we've always been happy _here_. All three of us." Regina insists, blind to the fact that the blonde sitting at the table is anything but happy, "and here we shall remain."

Her words leave her red lips as a hiss and he recognizes them for what they are. A dismissal.

Regina walks over to the table to join Emma, and he sighs, before moving to take his own place at the table.

**-x-**

_The years she spent as a king's consort are obvious as she walks, seemingly gliding across the floor, her chin held high and her face blank. Nothing about her expression gives away her innermost thoughts and she walks with purpose as she walks through the corridors, ignoring the pestering voice as it follows her, jumping from mirror to mirror. Regina ignores the voice because she doesn't hear it, because she's numb to it all._

The heart of the thing you love most. _Rumpelstiltskin's words echo in her head, taunting her, because that's what she has to sacrifice in order to enact the curse. She must cut out the heart of the person she loves most, the one person that she truly loves; the one person that she has left._

_She knew enacting the curse would come with consequences because all magic comes with a price. Rumpelstiltskin warned her as much when she made the deal for the curse, as he warns all those who are either brave or naïve enough to deal with him, but she wasn't prepared for this._

_In hindsight, she should've been._

_Cutting out the heart of the one person she loved, killing__him, is a great price to pay and it was the sort of price that a curse of this magnitude required in order for it to be enacted. Because all magic comes with a price, and sometimes the price was so small that it was no more than a trifle, but then sometimes the price was too much for one person, for one soul, to bear._

_But was this price too much to pay?_

_Was nothing – even her revenge against Snow White – worth a sacrifice this big?_

_Or could she do it, this heinous deed, knowing that it would leave a huge hole in her heart?_

_Her heels continue to clack against the floor and suddenly she's in her chambers, far quicker than she'd hoped, and he's there lighting candles, immediately turning to walk towards her when he hears her enter, and it pricks at her heart when he speaks because his voice is warm and comforting._

"_Did Rumpelstiltskin tell you what you needed to know?"_

_She stalks past him, refusing to look him in the eye. "Yes," she admits with confliction glimmering in her eyes, brown eyes that are identical to his own; eyes that used to shine and glimmer with love and happiness._

"_And?"_

"_I'm not sure I should say," she murmurs with a slight shake of her head, "I'm conflicted." Her heels clack against the floor once more as she walks over the fireplace, trying to put as much distance as she can between the two of them, unable to bear the sight of the love in his eyes – especially now that she knows what she must do to enact the curse and finally have her revenge against Snow White._

"_How bad is it? Maybe I can help." He insists as he follows her, his heart aching when he sees how much pain that her struggle is causing her, only for a frown to tug at his lips when she finally stops pacing. He can't see her face, her back is to him, but he can see the slight tremble in her shoulders._

_And understanding assaults him when she murmurs her next words._

"_I have to cut out the heart of the thing I love most."_

_He straightens his back. "Me."_

_Her eyes fall closed when she hears the understanding in his tone, when she hears that it's just as warm and comforting as ever, and it pains her more than if his tone was laced with hatred and disgust. "Daddy," she mumbles finally as she turns around, tears in her eyes as they open, "I don't know what to do."_

"_My dear, please," he rasps softly as he walks towards her, his hands held up in surrender, "you don't have to do this."_

"_I have to do _something!_" Her tone is hard once more as she stalks past him because she can't to nothing. She has to make her wretched stepdaughter pay for everything that she's done because this, watching Snow be happy, is killing her inside. It's Snow's fault that she never had a chance at that sort of happiness._

"_Then move past this!" He pleads as he turns to follow her once more, his brown eyes locking onto hers as he prays that she makes the right decision; one that she can live with, "I know this may sound self-serving, but you don't need to enact the curse."_

"_But I can't keep living like this! What Snow did to me, what she _took _from me, it's eating me alive, Daddy!" Her pain, the same pain that she's been carrying around for two decades, laces her voice because the burn of Snow's betrayal still lingers. It was more than Daniel she lost that day, she also lost the little girl who she loved, the little girl with skin white as snow and hair as dark as night, and she lost all hope of ever finding happiness._

"_Her very existence mocks me," she continues, a fire lighting in her eyes, "she _must _be punished."_

"_But if the price is a hole that will never be filled, why do it?" He asks as she walks away from him once more, because the thought of his daughter leaving a hole in her heart over something as petty as revenge breaks his heart. "Stop worrying about Snow White and start over," he insists as he places a hand over his heart, "we could have a new life."_

"_But what kind of life?" His daughter demands as she whirls around to face him, but there is also a hint of desperation in her voice, she wants to believe that they can find happiness together but she doesn't have hope. "All I've worked for, all I've built will be gone! My power will disappear!"_

_All these years, all the years she's spent planning since she lost Daniel, will have been spent in vain._

_Sadness fills his gaze, remembering a time when she loathed her mother's magic, a time when she was happy. _

"_They already think I'm nothing," she continues, knowing that numerous people claimed that the threat she made at Snow's wedding nearly a year ago had been idle and nothing more than the ravings of a bitter, scorned woman._

"_Power is seductive," he admits, remembering his wife, "but so is love. You can have that again."_

_Her eyes shine and shimmer with hope as she searches his gaze before allowing herself to fall into his arms for the first time in years, showing a rare sign of vulnerability, and she sinks into his embrace as she murmurs: "I just want to be happy."_

I just want to be happy. _That's all she's ever wanted, for as long as she can remember, it's what she told her mother when her mother insisted that she could be so much more than what she was. All she had ever wanted was to be happy, truly happy, to love and be loved in return. Being Queen had never interested her; it had meant nothing to her and everything to her mother. _

"_You can be, of this, I'm sure. I believe, given the chance, we can find happiness – together." Her father murmurs into her ear softly, rubbing comforting circles on her back as if she was once again a small child, "But the choice is yours."_

_He's giving her a choice._

_The two of them can try to find happiness together, or she can enact the curse._

_The choice is up to her and, no matter what she chooses, he won't condemn her for her decision._

_Her eyes fall closed once more and she soaks in the love that she feels within his embrace, and for a moment she allows herself to picture what she needs to be happy, and she sees herself with a child; a sweet, innocent child that she loves and who loves her in return._

_The vision makes her heart swell, but she can't forget about her revenge against Snow White._

_And it's then, with that thought lingering in her mind, that she realizes what she must do._

"_I think you're right," she whispers softly as she leans out of her father's embrace, smiling gently at him, happy when she sees him return the smile, "I can be happy."_

_His smile widens, his pleasure plain, but fear quickly replaces it when he hears her next words._

"_Just not here."_

_He swallows and closes his eyes, preparing himself for the pain, knowing she's made her choice but the pain never comes and then he hears the clicking of her heels as she walks away from him. His eyes flutter open and his eyebrows furrow together when he sees her smile at him and then she's gone in a puff of purple smoke, but not before vowing to be back soon._

_Dread immediately settles in his stomach._

**-x-**

Emma knows she can't avoid everyone forever. Hours have passed since she's found sanctuary within the walls of her bedroom – it's only a matter of time before someone comes to retrieve her. It's a miracle that they've left her alone this long, undisturbed, and she's thankful because she had to get away from the sadness and pity in her grandfather's eyes and she had to get away from her mother whose voice was smooth and sweet like honey.

Because, as much as she wants to believe that her mother is sincere when she talks to her in that voice, it contradicts with everything she overheard the night before and it leaves her questioning what's real and what's not.

She doesn't want to believe what she overheard. Hubert has done nothing but be a friend and shoulder for her to lean on, and for him to be guilty of something as preposterous as betraying her? It couldn't be true. It just _couldn't_.

She doesn't want to believe that any more than she wants to believe that she could've been so wrong about her mother and who she was. She doesn't want to believe that her mother was capable of killing Hubert.

But she was. Emma had seen it, seen it in the way her mother's lip had curled and her eyes had flashed when she spoken those malicious words. And Emma had known then – even though she still doesn't want to admit it – that her mother was capable of murder. Capable of _Hubert's _murder.

Which was why she had barred herself in her room – where it was quiet and she was away from all the people and thoughts and feelings that she _doesn't _want to face – and it's why she's now flipping through the new book that Belle gave her for her birthday. Emma hopes that it will occupy her mind and keep it from wandering to places that she doesn't want it to, and so far, it's worked.

Emma isn't as much of a bookworm as Belle but the new book still manages to make her smile and laugh in the right places, and the words on the page bring her to a far off place, and she thinks that's the point of reading. The book her handmaid gave her was a play, a comedy, and it's filled with people wandering around in disguises and mistaking each other's identity only to find each other and live happily ever after.

She isn't really surprised by that.

Belle is a sucker for happy endings, always has been.

But what _does _surprise her is the message that she finds written on the inside of the back cover – and it truly is surprising because Belle throws a fit when someone breaks the spine of a book or bends the cover, let alone writes on one – and the message itself leaves her feeling confused. It isn't a simple birthday wish. It's a single sentence that's cryptic and makes no sense to her at all.

Emma sighs, her lips falling into a pout, her eyes scanning the line once more.

'_In hopes that the days of disguises and mistaken identities will fade, and you'll find where you truly belong.'_

It's heartfelt and honest, but it means nothing to her, because she knows where she belongs. She belongs in the castle, safe and sound, with her mother and her grandfather, with her handmaid and her Hubert – she belongs with her family.

Because everything she's overhead, everything she doesn't know, doesn't change the fact that _this _is her home. It doesn't change anything because her want to leave the castle was never fuelled by the belief that she didn't belong.

Emma rolls her eyes, slamming the book shut, before walking over to her window and pushing it open. Fresh, crisp air immediately washes over her face and another sigh falls from her lips as she slumps against the window sill, staring at the lake where she can see the moon's reflection.

She wants to be bold and brave, she yearns for freedom, and the chance to experience adventure out in the great wide somewhere – but the thought of running away, of never returning, has never crossed her mind. Not once.

Where would she go?

This is her home, the only home she's ever known.

If she doesn't belong here, then where does she belong?

Emma shakes her head and pushes the questions from her mind, because she doubts Belle intended for her to give so much thought to the message inscribed on the book, and closes the window once again after casting another glance down at the lake.

She grabs her pale blue cloak from where it hangs on a hook, quickly fastening it around her shoulders as she exits her bedroom, holding her breath as she races down the stairs and through the corridors until she's face to face with the great mahogany doors, the ones that open to the outside.

Green eyes dart around to make sure no one else is around, and when she's satisfied that she is alone, she uses all of her strength to push one of the doors open. Fresh air hits her immediately, just as it did when she opened her window, and it refreshes her and brings a smile to her face as she walks along the cobblestone that leads to the lake.

This is tradition. Emma does this every year on her birthday and it's exactly what she needs now, something that's familiar, and she feels the heaviness within her heart lessen with each step she takes towards her normal spot by the lake.

Every year, ever since she turned three and watched the hundreds of lanterns light up the sky from her bedroom window, she's watched them. They light up the sky once a year, just after nightfall on her birthday, and she always watches them with Belle and Hubert because, even though she watches them from afar, she can't help but feel like they're meant for her.

Emma shakes her head at how ridiculous she's being as she sits down at the edge of the lake, pulling her cloak tighter around her before she draws her knees up to her chest, resting her chin against them as she waits for the lanterns. A part of her has always wanted to know more about them, wanted to know who launches them and why, but she's never asked because she thinks knowing will ruin the magic behind it.

Besides, she doubts anyone knows why they're launched. Anyone she can _ask_, anyway.

Hubert and Belle once told her that it wasn't an old tradition, that it started after they both started working for her mother.

An eyebrow arches as she looks around, looking for the two in question.

Her lips lift into a smile because she hears them before she actually sees them.

Hubert's laugh floats through the air, loud and gruff, as he teases Belle.

"There was a _root_," her handmaid insists in annoyance, and Emma chuckles under her breath.

"Oh, sure," Hubert deadpans, his tone dry, "blame the forest."

Both come into view then, bantering back and forth as they sit in their usual spots on either side of Emma, and it doesn't take long for the blonde to understand what had happened. Belle had almost tripped in the forest because _not all of us were raised in the forest, Hubert _and the huntsman merely shrugs because _that may be so but most don't blame the forest when they stumble._

Emma's face breaks out into a smile, because she can handle this because this is normal, but then her eyes catch sight of something on the other side of Hubert and she frowns. "What's that?" She asks, trying to look around Hubert, curious as to what it is.

Hubert looks at her and his smile is genuine when he answers, "a picnic."

Her eyes dart up to his and words escape her for a moment because she feels like she wants to cry, but she laughs instead when he hands her the basket and kisses the side of her head, his accent drifting into her ear when he wishes her a happy birthday.

"Happy birthday, Princess." Hubert whispers softly as he hands her the basket.

Emma smiles in thanks and peers into the basket, grinning when she sees bread and roast lamb and all the cakes that she didn't have the heart to eat earlier, the ones that are sticky with honey and nuts, and she turns to look at Hubert.

_You want them to find her. _That's what her mother accused the night before, but she knows it can't be true.

So it's with a light heart that she bites into one of the cakes, because even though her world no longer makes sense, at least she can trust Hubert. At least she can trust Hubert, Belle, and her grandfather.

"Are you gonna share, Princess?"

Emma rolls her eyes as she hands a cake to Hubert, mumbling, "don't call me, Princess."

Laughter then – a beautiful mixture of hers and Hubert's and Belle's – fills the air, just as the first lantern is launched into the sky.

**-x-**

_Green eyes watch as the first lantern is launched into the sky._

_It was peaceful. The night was unblemished and the reflection of the moon was seen on the surface of the water, clear as crystal, pure, and the ominous clouds that have been lurking over the realm for months, hovering with a promise of despair and darkness, are gone once again. And, for the first night since her wedding, the summer palace that was built for her mother, her home, felt safe._

_And, as she watches the lanterns that drift through the night sky, she knows she's not the only one that feels it. Panic and fear consumed her earlier when her water broke and she felt the first contraction, signs that the baby was arriving much too soon, and she had fought to keep her daughter rooted in her womb as Geppetto rushed to complete the wardrobe._

_But her dear friend's hard work had been in vain because hours passed and the curse was nowhere in sight and her daughter, already as charming as her father, was nestled in her arms and everything felt _right_. Everything felt perfect, just as perfect as she once dreamed it would be, and relief had washed over her when her husband kissed the top of their daughters head, murmuring: _"nothing can hurt you, my little princess, we're all together."

_Her heart warmed hearing those words and, just like when she first met him and he vowed he would always find her, she almost found herself believing those words, but fear had still lingered. Her stepmother vowed to destroy her happiness if it was the last thing she did, and her stepmother did not make idle threats, and not even the absence of the wretched curse could put her at ease._

_Her husband understood though, of course he did, and he asked Grumpy to keep his post and keep a vigil eye out for the curse before he sent scouts into the forest to find out what happened to the evil witch's plan, the one that haunted them all for far too long. _

_Hours later, the scouts came back empty-handed._

_There was no sign of the curse or the Evil Queen._

_Hope fluttered, and then soared, amongst the people in the kingdom and it didn't take long for celebrations to pop up everywhere. They celebrated the birth of a healthy princess, a symbol of hope for the future, and they celebrated the fact that the Evil Queen's plan as failed – though they did not know _why _her plan had failed._

_Even now, though, she's still afraid. She has seen enough of her stepmother's destruction, seen enough of the thirst for vengeance that fuels Regina, to know that the non-appearance of the curse doesn't mean that she's given it up. It merely means that she has come up with some new plan to inflict pain, something they're not prepared for._

_But, as she watches the first lantern take to the sky, a smile tugs at her lips when her husband wraps his arms around her shoulders and she leans back into his embrace and gazes down lovingly at her daughter. The lanterns – which had been Grumpy's idea – that were being launched were meant to be a symbol of their hope; a symbol to all those that saw them because hope is the most important thing anyone can have._

_Granny then enters the room and bosses the royal couple around like only she can. She annnounces that she'll take the little princess to her nursery and ensure that several knights are placed outside the door – just to be safe – and that they should rest because it's been a long day for everyone._

"_No one more than you, my dear." She announces, eyeing the new mother with a stern glare before she lifts the baby princess into her arms, tucking the woollen baby blanket with pretty purple writing around the infant before she promptly leaves the room._

_Her husband tightens his hold on her more, but he's still gentle because he knows how sore she is, and she feels him laugh before he leans down to kiss the crown of her head, his voice warm and loving and relived as he speaks._

"_We made it," he whispers thankfully, "we all made it, darling."_

_She nods, because it's true, but she wishes she could banish the anxiety that ebbs away at her._

**-x-**

She pretends to sleep because she knows how much her husband worries when she doesn't but, the truth is, it's been years since she's had a restful night of sleep. Everyone, all of her dear friends that she loves like family, have tried to help her by recommending different teas and tonics and infusions that usually help lull one to sleep, but it's useless. They never work for her because it's at night, in the silence of her home, the summer palace that was built for her mother, that her thoughts get the best of her.

And, when she does manage to sleep, her dreams are invaded and replaced by nightmares.

Nightmares that cause her to toss and turn as her mind fills with darkness and images of a man lying on the floor as blood stains his white shirt, a man who doesn't wake up even as she kisses him, but it's the sounds that are the worst. She hears the broken sobs of a woman, and it always takes her a few seconds to realize that she's the one that's sobbing, and then she hears the sound of a baby crying but even that sound is eventually drowned out and she finds herself in the middle of a black abyss with the sound of a cold, wicked laugh cackling around her.

That's always when she wakes up, shooting up in bed, with the laughter still resounding in her ears. Her breaths leave her in pants and she struggles to quiet them as she reaches out with one hand to touch her husband, to reassure herself that he's there and she hasn't lost them, and the other always curls around her stomach as if to protect a child that is rooted in her womb. And it always startles her at first when she finds that the swell of her stomach is gone.

But then heartache and regrets of all sizes assault her, plaguing her during the late hours of the night and right into the early morning, just like they do on nights when sleep eludes her altogether, and nothing can ease the sorrow that she feels. Nothing can quell the guilt that the accusing silence brings because they should've done more; _she _should've done more.

All of this happened because of her. It's all her fault and she's told her husband this numerous times, more times than she can count, but he always shakes his head sadly and tells her that she's wrong. By now she knows all of his arguments by heart – they've been having this fight for years, since they were married nearly two decades ago – and he never fails to disappoint when he tells her that it isn't her fault, that none of the blame falls to her, that it all falls to her stepmother, and, even when she brings up the images that haunt her nightmares, he insists that it isn't her fault. He tells her that _they _did all they could; that they are _still _doing all they can.

But it isn't enough.

It's not nearly enough.

It's so far from being enough because it was never supposed to be like _this. _This is supposed to be happily ever after because they live in a world where true love conquers all, where magic exists and good can never lose, and the fates know that she and her husband fought long and hard for their chance at a happy ending.

And every time they thought that _this _was it, that they could finally be together, a new obstacle would block their path in the form of her stepmother, a bitter old king and an arranged marriage, and even a poisoned apple. The story of their love was one ordeal after another, but none of that had mattered to either of them, because they had known in their hearts that there would be a time when they could be together.

So they held onto their love through it all; through all the pain, the heartache, through everything that a bitter king and her stepmother threw at them, holding onto the truth that theirs was a true love and that they would keep their promise to always find one another.

And her husband, her beloved Prince Charming, _did _find her and he woke her from a slumber from which she was not supposed to wake and they took back her father's kingdom. In that moment, in that one moment, everything seemed so possible. The long years that she had suffered, the long five years that she had hid in the forest, wanted for the murder of her beloved father, a murder that she did not commit, had been over and she had everything she'd ever wanted.

True love.

Because true love was like magic.

Happiness and hope had fluttered through the kingdom, and in her heart, but nothing lasts forever and the happiness and hope faded before either had the chance to soar. Fear and despair took their place, hanging on the threat of a promise, a vow, to take away everything that they – everything that _she _– held dear.

_I shall destroy your happiness, if it is the last thing I do._

She squeezes her eyes shut as those haunting words resound in her head, a lump forming in her throat, and she removes her husband's arm from where it's thrown over her waist in a protective hold. Her heart pounds in her chest and she watches, waiting to see if he'll stir, and when he doesn't, she easily slips from the bed as quietly as possible because he's not as heavy a sleeper as he once was.

It's been years since he's had a restful night's sleep, too.

Her movements still and her eyes sweep over him, taking in the appearance of his still handsome face, though it was now lined with fine wrinkles, particularly around his eyes and mouth. It's a familiar sight and her eyes fall closed as she listens to the sound of his breathing, soft and constant, before she slips into a pair of forest green slippers, throwing on the matching dressing robe as she ventures out of their chambers.

The door squeaks as she pulls it closed behind her, exhaling softly when she doesn't hear her husband stir, and she reaches for the torch from the sconce just to her right, the light from the flame dancing across her pale features as she makes her way down the corridor.

She wanders without purpose or without a specific destination in mind but, when she reaches a familiar doorway, she quietly pushes the door open and she's relieved to see that its occupant is fast asleep – sprawled across the bed, cuddled into a pillow with the sheets tangled around his feet.

A chuckle escapes her lips at the sight, a fond smile playing on her lips, and she hastily closes the door and continues her trek through the quiet palace.

The quiet is comforting and she relishes in it, thankful that the haunting sounds from her nightmares have faded from her mind, if only for a little while, and she allows her feet to carry her through the numerous corridors until she pauses when she finds herself at another familiar doorway.

She isn't surprised to find herself there, another lump forming in her throat, and it takes all of her self-control to stop herself from running because the accusing silence is back.

It's back, louder than ever, and her heart pounds in her chest as she reaches for the handle on the door because she has to do this. Weeks, if not months, have passed since the last time she entered the room and she's suddenly filled with incredible longing to see it.

She walks inside, slowly and carefully, and her breath hitches as she surveys the perfectly preserved room.

Nothing has changed; it's the same as it's been for over 16 years, all waiting for a life that was left unlived. Pastel colours cover the room and the walls are lined with numerous bookshelves, overflowing with numerous books and toys and dolls, with a rocking chair in the corner, a soft yellow blanket draped over the back. And the cradle, the beautiful cradle built by Geppetto, still rests in the middle of the room with the exquisite mobile, with unicorns of different shades of blue hanging from it, and she remembers the first day she saw it – the day her husband all but dragged her to the room, excited for her to see the gift he'd had commissioned for her.

She places the torch in the sconce by the door, fearing that her shaky hands will drop it, and she walks up to the cradle and gently reaches out to touch the mobile as it sparkles, the light from the torch bouncing off of it.

Tears instantly stab at her eyes and she has to reach out, to grip onto the cradle so she doesn't fall over, the accusing silence is fading and the sound of cold, wicked cackling surrounds her and rips into her very soul.

"Darling?"

A gasp fall from her lips as the door is pushed open and she feels her husband's concerned, appraising eyes running over her and she lowers her head, fighting back the tears that are threatening to overpower her.

A sad, heartbreaking sigh falls from his lips as he moves further into the room. "Darling," he says again, "Perhaps tonight isn't the best night –"

Ebony hair sprinkled with grey falls into her face as she shakes her head furiously, because he's wrong, because she has to be here no matter how much it hurts because if she doesn't she's scared that she'll forget. And she can't forget because it's all her fault and she _deserves _the pain she feels because she should've done more.

His bare feet pad against the cold floor until he stops at her side, his own sad eyes staring down into the empty cradle, and he laces his fingers through hers as they stand there in silence. "Snow," he breathes out and the way he says her name is soft and laced with untold amounts of sorrow and guilt, "I can't keep doing this."

Snow turns her head to look at him and, even in the dim light, she sees the pain that's etched into his face.

"I can't keep having this conversation," he continues.

His words cut her to the quick and she remembers a day long since passed where he said the same thing to her and it causes the pain in her heart to increase because the words and memory haunt her, telling her just what they've lost.

_Snow, please, _he'd said, _I can't keep having this conversation. You have to let it go. We're about to have a baby_.

Images of a baby, a baby girl that's small and fragile with her chin and a downy coating of blonde hair, just as charming as her father, surface in her head and it threatens to tear her apart.

And her husband sees it, too.

"Snow," he tries again, "it's been _16_ years. You can't keep doing this to yourself, it wasn't your –"

"Don't," she hisses, cutting him off, and her voice is cold and hard and just as empty as it was the days following the morning when she took Rumpelstiltskin's potion. The potion that made her forget him and her love for him, leaving a void in her heart that she nearly filled with darkness, and a part of yearns for that potion once more because the potion made her forget her pain. But she can't do that because she doesn't deserve to forget her pain because it's her fault her daughter is gone.

"Snow –"

"I said _don't_, James!"

James presses his lips together and tightens his hold on her hand when she attempts to pull away from him. "Snow, please." He begs. "All I was trying to say is you can't keep blaming yourself –"

"I should just forget then?" Snow snaps as she pulls her hand away from his, crossing her arms over her chest as she glares at him, "I should just forget about _her_?"

Blue eyes widen and anger seeps into his voice, "damn it, Snow, that's _not _what I said!"

His wife flinches at his harsh tone and he rakes his fingers through his hair, concentrating on his breathing for a moment before he continues, his voice softer this time. "It's just… it's been 16 years… and I think you have to face the reality that we're not going to –"

"_No_."

Her voice is the one that's harsh now, anger and disbelief lacing her tone, and he understands the feeling all too well because his reaction was the same earlier that very same day when Grumpy, flanked by Doc, said the same thing to him, telling him that they should just accept the possibility that they'll never find her.

Doc was apologetic when he saw his reaction. _It's not that we've given up, or even that we think you should, it's just…_

Grumpy had cut in then, an unusual tenderness to his voice. _James, no one is giving up on finding her, but _Snow _is giving up on everything else. Each year we lose her a bit more, she's obsessed, and it's not healthy. And if she'll listen to anyone – it's you._

But now, even with Grumpy's words resounding in his head, James regrets bringing it up with Snow – especially today of all days – because he knows the truth. He knows that there's no way they'll ever give up trying to find her.

"I _know _it's been 16 years, James, and I know the chances. You, Red, Ella, _everyone _has told me the chances but I can't be logical – not about this." Snow insists, and she's shaking, her voice taking on a pleading note as she looks at him with those sad green eyes. "And it's not because I think it was my fault, it's not about guilt, it's because she's our _daughter_!"

James reaches for her, but she backs away from him, shaking her head.

"And I know, _I know_ how difficult this has been for you but I will not, _cannot_, give up on the hope that we'll someday find her. I always knew in my heart that _you_ would find me," she whispers suddenly, "I had faith in you and right now I need to have faith that we'll find her." Snow exhales slowly, a single tear rolling down her cheek, "and I need you to let me have that. No matter what the chances, no matter how unlikely, I need to hope."

Because hope was the most important thing a person could have.

Because the belief in even the _possibility _of a happy ending was a very powerful thing.

James stares at her and nods – because he needs to hope, too – and he watches as a small, thankful smile tugs at her lips and he reaches for her once more. But Snow moves out of his reach and heads towards the door, his concerned blue eyes following his wife as she flees the room.

A part of him wants to chase after her but, after years of doing this, he knows better than to follow her by now. Tomorrow Snow will let him be there, she'll let him comfort her and they'll draw strength from each other, but for tonight, his wife just wants to be alone.

He allows his head to drop and he exhales slowly, but it's cut off and replaced by a sob, and it's only then that he realizes that he's crying. James closes his eyes and silently lets the tears fall, unsure of how long he just stands there, one hand gripping the cradle and the other reaching down into the cradle and holding a stuffed animal that he always thought would be their daughter's favourite, and when his heart can't stand the pain any longer, he turns to leave the room.

But he pauses in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder into the room before he murmurs softly in a broken voice, "happy birthday, Emma."

*** thanks to all of you who reviewed, favourited, and followed! it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, getting feedback. :) stay tuned!**


	3. I Reached & You Were Gone

**AN: **once again, the sections written in italics are flashbacks, and I don't own _Stardust._

_But there's a side to you that I never knew, never knew._

_All the things you'd say, they were never true, never true._

_And the games you play, you would always in, always win._

_But I set fire to the rain._

Adele, _set fire to the rain._

* * *

**Chapter 3 – I Reached & You Were Gone**

"We haven't been out here _that _long! Must we go inside already?" Emma grumbles, her bottom lip jutting out into a pout. The last of the lanterns have been cast into the sky and they're gone from sight, travelling over places and towns that she's never seen, but she still doesn't want to go back inside because she knows what waits for her there.

Being outside and sharing a picnic with Hubert and Belle, watching the lanterns light up the night sky, is familiar and safe and she can almost convince herself that her world is the same it's been for the past 16 years. But the moment she's within the stone walls of the castle all of the haunting words and images will resurface in her mind and there'll be no escaping them. Emma _knows _this.

Hubert nods. "Yes," he says firmly, pulling Emma to her feet before she can protest further.

A fire lights in her green eyes as she scowls at Hubert, yanking her arm out of his grasp, crossing them over her chest as she stands her ground. "Technically I _could _demand we stay out here," her lip lifts into a teasing smirk, "and you would have no choice but to do as I say because you are in my employ."

"_Technically_," the huntsman mocks as he mimics Emma's stance, "I work for your mother."

Emma's face hardens at the mention of her mother and Belle clears her throat. "That's enough of that," she says as she shoos them towards the castle, "we're going inside. We're likely to catch our death if we stay out her much longer – _especially _you, Emma." Her eyes bore into Emma, eyeing the pale blue cloak in distaste, noting that it wasn't nearly warm enough for this time of year.

Emma doesn't offer a response but she allows herself to be guided towards the castle, knowing that her handmaid is right. Her cloak _is _thin, just like all the others that she has in her possession, because her mother's never bothered to give her a thicker one because _don't be ridiculous, Emma, you have no use for one_.

And she doesn't.

Because the castle and its grounds, her home, is a prison that she's never allowed to leave and it's never more obvious than it is during the dead of winter. Emma hates the winter when everything is cold and dead and the lake is frozen over with ice because there's nowhere for her to escape to when the walls of the castle begin to close in on her.

For those long months she truly is a prisoner and winter is steadily approaching, the ground is likely to be covered in a light layer of snow within the month since the air is already crisp and cool, signalling the change of the season, and the thought makes her heart sink when Hubert pushes the heavy wooden door open and she's ushered inside.

Already she feels the walls closing in on her, and she can no longer pretend her world's unchanged.

But she can't fight a smile as Hubert turns to her and gives her an exaggerated bow, taking her hand in his and kissing it, his eyes sparkling as he grins up at her. "It was my pleasure to accompany you on your excursion tonight," his tone is just as exaggerated and grandiose as his bow before he straightens his back and sincerity takes over, "Happy birthday, Princess."

Emma's smile widens as she sinks down into a curtsey. "Thank you, kind sir."

Hubert flashes her one more grin before he aims a pointed look at Belle, then he's gone, and her handmaid is looping her arm through hers before Emma realizes what's happening.

"Belle…" she frowns, her gaze snapping over to look at her handmaid in warning, not buying the mock innocent expression that is strewn over the brunette's face.

"We're going to the kitchen, we're going to have some hot cocoa, and we're going to talk."

Emma rolls her eyes at Belle's words. "Maybe I don't want to talk," she mumbles under her breath, her frown becoming more pronounced and making her resemble the child she once was.

Belle hums in disagreement as they enter the kitchen, forcing the blonde down onto a stool before she moves about the kitchen, collecting everything needed for hot cocoa. Despite their efforts – hers and Hubert's and Henry's – to ensure that Emma doesn't close herself off and build walls around her heart, the blonde _still _isn't one to willingly share her innermost thoughts, but hot cocoa has always been the best way to coax them out of her.

"Thought you said to hold off on this," Emma mumbles, her tone accusing as she folds her arms across her chest, "something about not ruining my birthday."

"I did," Belle agrees as she lights the stove with a match, turning to face the blonde once she was sure the water would boil, "but it's no longer your birthday." Her head jerks over to the windows and it's clear to see that it's in the early hours in the morning and a smug grin stretches across Belle's face as she leans on the counter.

Emma eyes her dear friend carefully, hesitating, trying to decide if she wants to talk to someone about the exchange that she overheard between her mother and Hubert. She knows that she can trust Belle, just like she knows she can trust Hubert, and she knows nothing said between them will be shared with her mother.

Belle reaches out to grasp her hand, "Emma, talk to me. I want to help."

Moments pass by and nothing is said and the sound of the kettle whistling eventually breaks up the silence, and Belle moves to retrieve the kettle before she moves around the kitchen, grabbing two mugs and filling them with cocoa and adding a hearty amount of cinnamon to one of them.

It happens then, when her back is turned, and Emma's voice is so low she almost doesn't hear it.

"Her voice was _so _cold."

Belle freezes in her movements, frowning, and then she looks over her shoulder at Emma, her eyes sad. "Your mother…"

"She is _not_ my mother," Emma insists furiously.

Belle whips around to stare at her, eyes wide in surprise, and then she swallows nervously as she walks back to the counter with the two mugs in her hands. "What do you mean she's not your mother?" Her voice is quiet as she places a mug in front of the blonde, her heart pounding in her chest, her expression seeming almost hopeful.

Emma shrugs unhappily. "She's just not. It may sound crazy, but I remember my mother, okay? She was warm and loving, and her voice always made me feel loved, and the woman I saw last night was _not _her." She insists, shuddering as she wraps her hands around the mug, frowning when she remembers how cruel and _evil _her mother seemed the night before.

Belle's face falls, but Emma doesn't notice.

"I just… I don't understand where this… this… this _imposter _came from."

Belle stares at her for a moment, then reaches out to grasp her hand once more as a sign of comfort, "Oh, Emma –"

Emma glances up to meet Belle's eyes and, while staring into their bright blue depths, she gets the feeling that her handmaid knows more than she's saying but she brushes it off as sympathy. "I just feel like I reached for her," she mumbles, "and she was _gone_."

Belle tightens her hold on her hand, lost for words, as Emma lifts the mug to her lips and takes a sip.

It's warm and thick as it slides down her throat, the familiar taste of cinnamon lingering on her tongue, but the comfort that it usually brings doesn't follow.

**-x-**

The morning sun rises and her eyes flutter shut as the warm liquid slides down her throat, the familiar aroma of cinnamon tickling her nose as she holds the mug up to her lips, relishing in the comfort that the familiar taste brings while several servants scurry around behind her.

It's unnervingly silent as the servants set out the morning repast – a meal that she and her husband always share within the comfort of their private chambers, away from prying eyes where they can relish in each other's company before the day starts – but the lack of soft chatter and giggles doesn't surprise her. The palace, as well as the entire kingdom, is always a solemn place during the days leading up to and following her daughter's birthday.

The lost princess – that's what they call her. Her darling daughter. Her Emma.

"Leave us," her husband's voice rings out as he walks out of their bedchamber, but his tone is just as charming and considerate as always, even as he gives a direct order to their staff, and it brings a ghost of a smile to her lips.

The serving maids' gowns rustle as they sweep their curtseys, a soft chorus of _your majesties _filling the air before they depart, and it is only then that she opens her eyes and turns around to look at her husband.

He offers her a small smile, but it isn't as wide as it once was, but it's still just as charming.

He then moves over to the table and piles her plate with a little of everything, as if she has no hands to do it herself, and she can't help but roll her eyes at the familiar action. Ever since she first found out she was pregnant with their daughter all those years ago, a time when everything seemed so possible, her husband's developed a maddening habit of going through phases where he coddles her and treats her like a piece of fragile china. And it's still as aggravating now as it was then when she would scowl at him and sassily claim _I'm not an invalid because I'm pregnant, Charming._

She pushes the memory from her mind and walks across the room, placing her mug down on the table, her eyes widening in surprise when she feels a strong pair of arms wrap around her waist. "Darling," her husband whispers the term of endearment into her hair, "I'm sorry."

She exhales slowly as she leans into his embrace, his hold more comforting than hot cocoa and cinnamon could ever be, and she turns her head so she can gaze up into his eyes. "There's nothing to forgive, James."

James stares into her eyes for a moment before he leans down to press a kiss to the crown of her head, some of the tension easing from his shoulders, and she understands because she hates it when they fight as well.

He presses another kiss to the top of her head and then she turns in his arms so she's facing him, clasping his face between her hands, gazing up at him with a small smile engraving her face. "I _love _you," she whispers earnestly, eyes roaming over his familiar face.

"I know," his lip quirks up into the insufferable smirk she loves so much but his eyes shine with love, _eternal _love, as he presses his forehead against hers. "And I love you, Snow," he whispers as runs his hands up and down her arms.

Snow's eyes flutter closed once more as she runs her hands down the planes of his shoulders, then his arms, before she wraps her arms around his trim waist, pressing her cheek up against his chest as she soaks up his love.

James tightens his own hold on her as he rests his chin on her head, his eyes drifting closed. "My hope hasn't gone out," he vows as he thinks back to their fight the night before, "and it never will."

Snow squeezes him tighter, telling him without words that she knows.

"I _will _find her, Snow."

"_We _will find her," Snow corrects as she leans back to look into his eyes, lifting one of her hands to smooth out the creases of his furrowed brow. The look of concern, of undeniable guilt and blame, is one that she's familiar with. The first time she saw it was when Thomas went missing, vanishing without a trace, after the plan to trap Rumpelstiltskin went terribly wrong and it's been constant since the day they lost their beloved Emma.

James leans into her touch as she cups his cheek.

"We will find her the same way we do everything else," Snow continues, quoting the very words that she said to him the day he proposed to her, the day when she suggested that they take back the kingdom. "_Together_," she continues, and she means them just as much now as she did then.

James nods. "Always," he promises, watching as his wife's hand moves to rest over the scar that stretches from just above his heart to his shoulder. And he knows that she's thinking about the night he got it, the night he was injured by the Evil Queen's knights on his way to the nursery, the night Emma was taken from them.

He covers the hand with his own, lacing their fingers together before he lifts her hand up to his lips, kissing her fingers softly while his other hand moves to cup her cheek. "Come, Darling, you should eat," James urges softly after several moments of silence, guiding his wife over to sit down at the table.

Snow presses her lips together as she sits down, ignoring the annoyance that his fussing has flooding her veins, and slowly picks at the food he's loaded onto her plate while he moves over to his own chair and piles food onto his own plate.

"What are your plans for today?" James asks as casually as possible, trying to keep the concern out of his tone as he glances up at Snow, suppressing a smile when he sees how her green eyes have narrowed into a warning glare.

But the smile he is trying to suppress wins over when he sees the familiar fire light in her green eyes – the same impetuous fire that has always blazed in her eyes when she's annoyed with him, usually before she sassily calls him _Charming _– and his heart soars upon seeing it because it's been absent for far too long.

Grumpy was right the day before when he claimed that Snow was giving up more and more as the time passed, that James was the only one she was likely to listen to, but when he breached the subject with her they'd fought and he thought his attempt at getting through to her had failed. But now it seems as though their fight has rekindled some of her fire and a part of him can't help but wonder if that was Grumpy's plan all along.

"Just finishing up some knitting, so you don't need to fret, _Charming_." Snow replies with a rise of an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips as she answers in a dry tone, as if telling her husband that he should know what her plans are already.

And James _should _know her plans because they're always the same around this time of year. Every year in the weeks surrounding their daughter's birthday, she and Red, as well as Granny before the older woman died some years ago, knit various blankets and items of clothing to be sent off to the orphanages so the children will have something warm for the coming winter months. Something that's just _theirs_.

Sometimes Snow finds herself wondering if Emma – wherever she is – still has _her _baby blanket: the woollen one with her name embossed on the bottom in pretty purple writing, the very one that Granny knit her during the numerous meetings of the War Council.

Snow meets his gaze, "you?"

James smiles softly. "I promised –"

His words are cut off and suddenly the echoes of running footsteps and childish laughter fills the room, followed quickly by hissed reminders to behave, and James feels a fond smile stretch across his face as he turns to look at the door to their private chambers just as it's pushed open.

A little boy rushes into the room, ebony hair falling into his bright blue eyes, his cheeks rosy and warm as he rushes into the room. "Papa, Papa, Papa!" He pants as he rushes up to James, beaming at him, "can we go riding? You said we could!" His eyes widen imploringly, "can we go _now_?"

"David," Snow scolds lightly, "give your father a chance to answer."

David turns to look at her, eyes wide with innocence, "Sorry, Mama." He mumbles, his tone laced with impatience as he leans against the table, looking back at James and waiting for the answer to his question.

Snow smiles. Though an unplanned addition to their family, she loves her son, a miniature of herself with his father's eyes, and his father's name – his _real _name, the one that was given to him at birth when his twin brother was handed over to King George by Rumpelstiltskin – but there are days when seeing him makes her heart bleed.

There are days she can't help but see a daughter in his place, one that's five years older than him, blonde and charming like her father, and then she scolds herself because she doesn't love one child over the other. She doesn't love the one she was denied over the one she's raised.

But seeing David so happy and loved and _there _breaks her heart.

Because it reminds her of how she protected him, yet failed to do the same with Emma.

**-x-**

_She turns her head to the side and stares at the sleeping form of her husband._

_He snores lightly into her ear and his arm is gently thrown over her waist. He looks peaceful._

_The sight has a small smile tugging at her lips as she reaches out to cup his cheek and run her thumb over the scar on his chin, the one she gave him when they first met, and it warms her heart because it's been months since he's looked this serene. Between Thomas' disappearance and her stepmother's looming threat, the past few months have agony, but it seems as if their daughter's safe arrival into _their _world has temporarily allowed her husband to find peace._

_It warms her heart but, at the same time, it causes envy to settle in her veins._

_Because she can't seem to find the same level of comfort._

_Anxiety continues to ebb away at her, keeping her awake._

_It's been hours since her daughter was carried off to her nursery by Granny, wrapped up in the woollen blanket that the older woman knit for her, and there still hasn't been any sign of her stepmother's curse and that worries her more than anything. _

_They had been prepared for the curse._

_But they're not at all prepared for what her stepmother has planned now._

_Her heart pounds at the thought._

_Her anxiety builds within her as she moves her hand away from where she was cupping her husband's face, running it down his shoulders and then his arms before she reaches the hand that rests protectively over her stomach, a habit he developed when she told them she was carrying their child, and she laces her fingers through his._

_She stares at their intertwined fingers and remembers the words her husband whispered thankfully hours ago, she remembers how he announced that they all made it, and there's a truth to his words. After months and months and months of worrying over her stepmother's threat, worrying about what would happen to their child when she was sent through the wardrobe, they were all together._

_And suddenly everything seems possible again. For the first time in months it feels like they have a real chance at a happy ending, an ending where they get to live and love and raise their daughter together, and the gods know that they deserve it._

_So why can't she shake the feeling that it's all too easy?_

"_I thought these sleepless nights were supposed to end once the baby was born."_

_Her breath hitches in her throat upon hearing his sleep-filled tone and she turns her head so she's facing him, her heart aching for him when she sees that concern has replaced the look of peace that was previously strewn over his features, but there's also a soft smile on his face._

"_I didn't mean to wake you." She mumbles softly as she avoids his gaze, the one that's loving and imploring, begging her to talk to him, and she turns her head so she's staring out at the night sky. But she doesn't answer his question and she knows it isn't lost on either of them._

"_Snow," he breathes out softly as he tightens his hold on their intertwined fingers, "she didn't enact her curse. She's lost. It's over."_

"_No," she shakes her head as she meets his gaze again, "it isn't." Snow insists fiercely because she has known her stepmother longer than her husband and she knows that her stepmother doesn't make empty threats. Regina swore to destroy her happiness, and she will. No matter what it takes._

"_Snow –"_

"_She doesn't make empty threats, James."_

_James exhales slowly as he disentangles their fingers. "And I don't make empty promises," he insists with a charming grin etching into his face as her cups her face in his hands, "you _know _that. I promised that I would always find you," he presses his forehead against hers, "and I did."_

_Green eyes roll in exasperation. "It's not the same thing, Charming, my stepmother –"_

"_Is irrelevant!" He insists as he catches her gaze once more. "She made her promises and she failed but, to ease your mind, I'm now going to make my promise to you." James brushes a stray curl out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, "this will be _our _happy ending – not hers."_

"_Do you promise?" Snow whispers softly, a lone tear rolling down her cheek._

_James immediately leans in to kiss the tear away, placing several more kisses along her jaw before he settles at her lips. "I promise, Snow. Everything will be alright from now on," he murmurs into her mouth before he presses his lips against hers in a firm kiss, one filled with love and a promise of forever because their love is an eternal love. Nothing is more powerful than them._

_His words are soothing. And James is right, of course. It's time for her to stop living in fear of what her stepmother could do. That fear has been in the back of her mind for nearly six years, ever since her stepmother sent her huntsman to cut out her heart, and as long as she's living in fear Regina wins._

"_We can have everything we've ever wanted," James continues, "you just have to believe it."_

_Snow stares into his eyes and finds herself nodding in agreement because it's hard to not believe him when he looks at her like that. "Okay," she grins softly._

_Relief washes over her husband's face and he leans in to kiss her once more, asking her if she'll be able to sleep now, and Snow rolls her eyes at him but she nods as she leans in to press a soft kiss to the scar on his chin._

_James chuckles and watches as his wife rolls over onto her side, his arm immediately wrapping around her and tugging her closer to him so her back is flush against his chest, and it's only when they're settled under the coves that he speaks again. "I love you," he says softly, burying his face in her ebony locks._

"_And I love you," Snow vows as her eyes flutter closed, finally allowing herself to believe that their happy ending can finally begin. Emma is safe and the three of them have each other. _

_James presses a kiss to her temple and her lips curve into a smile as she settles comfortably in his embrace, beginning to drowse off finally, and for the first time in months the nightmares are absent and her mind is filled with images of a small girl with bright eyes and a charming smile as her father teaches her how to dance and her mother makes her hot cocoa and cinnamon._

_Her happy ending dances before her eyes and she subconsciously moves further into her husband's embrace, happy to have him hold her when just days ago she feared she would be torn away from him for 28 years, but the happiness of her dreams eventually begins to fade._

_Sounds of chaos invade her dreams and her eyebrows furrow together in confusion when the sounds grow louder, but it's only when she feels her husband stir that she opens her eyes, blinking sleepily as she listens._

_James tenses behind her and her eyes go wide when she realizes that the sounds of chaos weren't conjured by her mind at all, but were coming from beyond their private chambers, and she shoots up, her heart pounding in her chest as anxiety and fear take hold once again._

"_Emma," she exclaims, horrified._

_James jumps out of bed before she can say anything more, instructing her to stay put as he grabs his sword, and then he's gone and she's left alone in their room praying that this truly is another one of her nightmares._

_She prays to wake up._

**-x-**

"Emma? Are you in here, sweetheart?"

There is no answer, and he sighs softly as he ventures further into the library, his brown eyes sweeping over every surface as he looks for Emma. There's been no sign of her all day and there's a small part of him that believes his granddaughter is purposely avoiding him because she _knows _that he's searching for her and that he wants to talk about her attitude towards her mother.

The corner of his mouth quirks up into a slight smile because he's sure that's _exactly _what Emma's doing.

But he hasn't seen Emma since she retreated to her room the previous day and, though it isn't unusual for her to disappear for extended periods of times; finding sanctuary somewhere within the castle, Henry knows that this conversation can't be evaded any longer.

Regina is losing her patience, he knows she is, and he knows she took it personally the day before when Emma declined her offer to walk through the gardens and then withdrew and spent the rest of her birthday within her bedchamber. He knows all of this without doubt. Just like he knows it angered his daughter when Emma opted for not joining them for breakfast today.

Emma is snubbing her mother and he _has _to resolve it before things escalate.

He glances around the numerous bookshelves, hoping to find her, but there's no sign of her and then he slowly walks over to the stairs and makes his way up to the second landing. He passes books of every colour and size and genre, more books than any one person can possibly read in a lifetime, yet he knows that Emma's read a great deal of them.

"Emma?" His voice rings out once again, warm and comforting, and his eyebrow rises up his forehead when he finds several cushions strewn over the floor, surrounded by piles of books of varying sizes and genres.

He shakes his head in amusement and moves towards them before stumbling slightly as he steps on a stray book. A pair of small hands reaches out to grip his arm to help steady him and he gasps in surprise, turning around only to find himself staring at an amused Emma.

Emma grins. "Are you okay, Grandpapa?"

Henry chuckles under his breath as he brushes a non-existent wrinkle out of the sleeve of his jacket, but then he sees the concern in her gaze and nods, winking at her. "Of course, sweetheart, that was completely intentional."

"_Ah_, of course," Emma nods mockingly, and then hesitates before she asks, "what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you." His voice is warm and comforting, but also firm, as he follows Emma as she searches one of the bookshelves, seemingly ignoring him. "I thought it was time we talked, sweetheart."

Emma presses her lips into a thin line, her forehead creasing into a slight frown, and several moments pass before she nods slightly. "About what?" She asks softly as she pulls a thick red book from the shelf, flicking through the pages absently, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes.

"Emma," he mumbles softly, "you _know _what it is I wish to talk about."

She flips through the books, from beginning to end, before she puts it back on the shelf and turns to face him. "I'm not surprised that she refused to allow me off the grounds," is all she says, and it's the truth.

But it's not what's truly what's bothering her but she's not sure she can talk about it with her grandfather. She doesn't confide in him the same way she does Belle, or even Hubert, because nothing changes the fact that her mother is _his _daughter.

Emma knows that her grandfather loves her and she loves him in return, she _trusts _him, but she can't be sure that he won't share her thoughts with Regina.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about," her grandfather says simply and he sees a flicker of something pass through Emma's eyes so quickly that part of him thinks he imagined it, "I'm talking about the fact that you've been avoiding your mother."

"I'm not avoiding her, Grandpapa; I just have no interest in having a conversation with her."

"Emma," his voice is warm and comforting as he catches her gaze, "we both know you don't mean that. Why don't you just go talk to her?" Henry smiles and the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes crinkle, "I'm sure she wishes to resolve this whole matter just as much as you do."

"Maybe I _don't _want to talk to her," Emma mutters, "Maybe I _don't _want to resolve this."

"You don't mean that, sweetheart, she's your _mother_." Henry points out softly but he sees it again, the flash of something that passes through her eyes when he says _she's your mother_, and his blood runs cold out of fear.

Emma turns away from him and he reaches out to grip her arm, desperation and alarm gripping hold, and he forces himself to loosen his grip and smile warmly when his granddaughter looks up at him because he doesn't want to frighten her. He doesn't want her to fear him and he doesn't want her to fear Regina.

Henry frowns, unable to shake the dread that is slowly seeping into his gut, yet unable to let the conversation go because he knows his daughter's patience is wearing thin and it's only a matter of time before things escalates. "At least promise me that you _will _talk to her about what's troubling you," he compromises desperately, eyes wide. "She loves you very much, Emma, you're her happy ending."

Emma hesitates, a frown forming on her face when she hears those familiar words before she nods, her voice barely above a whisper when she answers. "I promise, Grandpapa, for you." She promises because she _does _intend to confront her mother about all that she's overheard.

"Thank you." Henry exhales and then a grin suddenly spreads across his wrinkled face, "now onto the important matters." He says as he follows his granddaughter, gesturing to the numerous cushions and books that she's collected, his eyes twinkling when he turns back to Emma, "is there any chance of me being included in story time?"

Emma blinks in surprise, shocked that he gave up so easily, but a bright smile erupts on her face as she takes his hands in hers and leads him over to the cushions. "Okay," she nods and her smile fills the entire room with sunshine as the two of them settle down onto the cushions, her green eyes twinkling, "but why don't _you _read?"

"Because, sweetheart, I'm not as young as I once was and my eyesight is horrendous." Her grandfather says easily, his dimples indenting his cheeks as a familiar twinkle appears in his own eyes, "and my voice isn't nearly as lovely as yours."

Emma snorts in amusement before she chews her bottom lip thoughtfully, debating which book to read as she scans over the numerous books that she's placed into piles, and then she hazardously pushes the books in one pile to the side before picking up the book that had been on the bottom. A chuckle tumbles from her mouth as she thinks about the expression that would have surely engraved Belle's face if she was there and she knows her grandfather is thinking of it too because he's scolding, but his tone is light and laced with amusement.

She clears her throat and flicks the book open to the beginning, happy for the distraction that her grandfather is providing her with, and then her voice is filling the library. "There once was a young man who wished to gain his Heart's Desire. And that is, as beginnings go, not entirely novel – for every tale about every young man there ever was or will be could start in a similar manner," she begins and her grandfather watches her intently, "there was much about this young man and what happened to him that was unusual, although even he never knew the whole of it. The tale started, as many tales have started, in Wall…"

Henry grins at her enthusiasm as she reads. Emma loves books, not as much as Regina, and certainly not as much as her handmaid Belle, but she does love them and, as he watches Emma, his daughter's previous words come back to him. Regina always insists that it was from _her _that Emma inherited her love of reading, of getting lost in a book and being whisked away to the far off places that the pages present her with, and it's those things that Regina delights in.

Regina never refuses Emma a new book because it's those little things – the habits and behaviours that Emma's gotten from her, absorbing them like a sponge since she was a young child – that mean the world to her.

Because she insists that it proves Emma is _hers._

Regardless of whom Emma so blatantly looks like.

**-x-**

Her heels clack against the marble floors in her chambers as she paces back and forth, to and fro, still looking every inch the queen she once was as she holds her head high with an expression that is a cool mask. It shows no signs of the impatience or annoyance that she feels boiling in her veins, despite how her body screams for an outlet of some sort.

But there's also a part of her, the logical, rational part, that isn't all that surprised that her daughter is still avoiding her because she knows Emma is still upset that she was denied the bit of freedom that she desperately wants more than anything else in the world. But Emma can't leave the grounds because it isn't safe, it's dangerous and she _refuses _to lose Emma.

And she can't help it as another wave of annoyance runs through her because she thought this issue had already been settled and put to rest, but she can't come up with a valid reason to be angry with Emma, and she desperately wishes she had one because if she could feel angry with Emma then she wouldn't have to feel guilty.

She feels guilty because Emma doesn't understand why she can't leave the grounds, why it's so dangerous and unsafe for her to leave. But the truth is something Regina can never tell her because her daughter wouldn't understand and it doesn't matter, because Emma is her daughter.

Regina flicks a stray strand of hair out of her face and some of her annoyance bleeds through to her expression as she whirls around, eyes blazing as she snaps. "Show her to me," she hisses and the face immediately fades from her mirror and a couple seconds later the images reflecting back at her are of father and Emma.

**"I'm not avoiding her, Grandpapa," her daughter insists stubbornly as she juts out her chin, "I just have no interest in having a conversation with her."**

Regina freezes, her breath hitching in her throat as she walks closer to the mirror, her blood running cold when she sees the indifferent expression on her daughter's face. It shocked her the previous day when Emma declined her offer to go for a walk in the gardens, the place they always went to resolve their fights, and it surprises her now that Emma still isn't willing to forgive her.

**"Emma," her father's voice is warm and comforting as he catches his granddaughter's gaze, "we both know you don't mean that. Why don't you just go talk to her?" Henry smiles. "I'm sure she wishes to resolve this whole matter just as much as you do."**

**"Maybe I don't want to talk to her," Emma mutters, "Maybe I don't want to resolve this."**

Her eyes narrow as she turns away from the mirror, stalking over to retrieve her drink from the table, the words continuing to echo in the room.

**"You don't mean that, sweetheart, she's your mother." Her father insists.**

Regina downs the drink and slams the glass back on the table, closing her eyes, breathing in and out before she turns around to face the mirror once more, her annoyance increasing when she sees the familiar expression on her daughter's face. Thin lips pressed together, the stubborn tilt of the chin, the impetuous fire blazing in green eyes – unwelcome reminders and a familiar expression that Regina doesn't want to see etched into her daughter's features.

**"At least promise me that you will talk to her about what's troubling you. She loves you very much, Emma."**

The words ring true because she does love Emma. Instead of enacting a curse that would leave a hole in her heart, a void that would never be filled, she chose to raise and teach and love Emma. Her daughter is her way of mending the heart that was broken years ago, the only thing that keeps out the poison that threatens her soul, and that's why she can't lose her.

And it's why she can't give her daughter the freedom she wants, because the fear of losing her is too great.

She just hopes, with time, Emma will come to understand that.

Because she won't be patient forever and she refuses to lose her happy ending.

**"You're her happy ending," her father finishes.**

**-x-**

_Her heart pounds in her chest and her entire body aches when she moves, screaming out in protest when she forces herself into a sitting position, but the tenderness is nothing compared to the unadulterated fear and distress that threatens to tear her apart as she stares at the door. She doesn't make a sound, she barely breathes, as she listens and waits for the horrors that have invaded her home but the sound of chaos – the very sounds that roused her from sleep – have faded, but her world is far from quiet._

_All she can hear is the sound of her heartbeat ringing in her ears as her numerous unanswered questions race through her mind._

_Is Emma alright?_

_And where is James?_

_The minutes have ticked by since her husband rushed from their room, sword in hand, and there's been no sign of him and her distress increases with each passing second because she has to know what's happened. She has to know that nothing bad has happened to James, she has to know that he got there in time, and she has to know that their daughter is safe._

_Resolve fills her veins and she swings her legs over the side of the bed, wincing when she falls and her knees hit the floor, but she pushes the pain and distress and fear aside as she climbs to her feet and stumbles out of the room._

_Her body hunches over and her ebony locks fall into her eyes as one of her arms wrap around her lower abdomen, the painful tenderness suddenly more pronounced, while her other arm reaches out blindly for the wall. She finds it and her body seemingly sighs in relief when she leans against it for support as she continues to stumble through the corridors on her way to the nursery. _

_Her body freezes as she turns to head down the corridor that leads to Emma's room, to where her husband and daughter should be, and her breath hitches in her throat when she sees them._

_They're sprawled over the floor, dead, but even in death they still look menacing._

_They look just as menacing as they did when she was hiding in the forest as a fugitive._

_A soundless cry escapes her lips as she steps over her stepmother's knights, the ones that once hunted her in the forest in hopes of cutting out her heart, and her heart starts to pound in her chest once more because she saw this coming. Regina hates her and swore to destroy her happiness and, just like she feared, the absence of the curse wasn't a sign of her stepmother giving up on her vendetta – it was a sign that the witch had found a new way to inflict her suffering. _

_A way they weren't prepared for._

_A way that was purely evil, worse than any curse._

_Because nothing would destroy her happiness, destroy _her_, more thoroughly than her losing her daughter and James._

_Her worst fears are confirmed when she walks into the nursery. "No," she sobs in a voice that's thick with tears when she sees her husband sprawled on the floor with blood staining his white tunic, "no, no, no, no!" Her words become jumbled and the sobs rip out of her as she collapses at his side, burying her face in his chest, clinging to him._

_It seems unfair to lose him now just when their happy ending is within reach and somewhere in the back of her mind she wonders if his is how Ella felt when she lost her beloved Thomas. She wonders if this is how her husband felt when his mother's ring led him back to her, only for him to find her encased within a glass coffin._

_A gasp falls from her lips as her head snaps up, her shaky hands reaching out to cup his face, her lips hovering over his. "Please! Please come back to me," she pleads in a broken voice before she leans in to kiss him, pouring all of her love into that one kiss. She pulls away from him but nothing happens so she leans in to press another chaste kiss to his lips, and another, and another, and she doesn't stop until she hears the familiar sound of heels clacking against the floors._

"_It's painful, isn't it, Snow?" The familiar voice sneers._

_She cradles her husband in her lap when she hears it._

_The heels continue to clack against the floors as her stepmother walks up behind her, her voice smooth and sweet as honey when she continues to talk. "Holding the one you love the most in your arms, watching them slip away, knowing that nothing you do will save them…"_

_Snow closes her eyes in defeat because that's what it always comes down to. _

_Daniel._

_It is the memory of his death and the memory of her betrayal that led to her losing the stepmother she loved as though she were her real mother, led to her losing her beloved father, and now it seems that one mistake will force her to lose both James and Emma._

_Her eyes go wide at the thought. _

_Emma!_

_She was so preoccupied by finding James and she scolds herself for not noticing her daughter's absence sooner._

_A fire lights in her eyes as she twists around to glare at Regina. "Where is she?" Snow demands, her voice tight while her heart pounds, unable to bear the thought of what's happened to her daughter. "Where is Emma?" _

"_Do not worry, dear." Regina soothes mockingly, her red lips curling up into a wicked grin as she walks out of the shadows, a small bundle nestled close to her chest, wrapped in her woollen baby blanket that has her name written on the bottom in purple writing. __Emma._

"_No," Snow whispers in horror, all colour draining from her face, "Regina, no, give her to me." She begs as she reaches for her daughter. "Please," a sob rips from her throat, "don't hurt her."_

_Her stepmother balks at her. "Hurt her? I have no intention of hurting her, dear, I'm saving her." Regina assures as she moves to stand on the other side of Snow, "she will never know you, let alone know you loved her, and she'll be safer for that." _

_Snow shakes her head, a lone tear rolling down her cheek, "no."_

_Regina's features tighten, her eyes seemingly going black with hatred, as she sneers at Snow. "You've destroyed the last life you are ever going to destroy." _

_Her stepdaughter shakes her head furiously, ebony locks falling into her eyes as she stumbles to her feet, reaching for her daughter once more. "Why," she chokes out as she wraps an arm around her lower abdomen, "why are you doing this?" _

"_Because this is _my _happy ending."_

_Realization dawns on her and she reaches for Emma, prepared to rip her daughter out of the witch's arms, but her hand collides with nothing but purple smoke and she falls to the floor with a resounding smack. Wincing as she pushes herself upwards, her heart shatters in her chest when she sees her stepmother has disappeared, gone, just like on her wedding day all those months ago._

_Except this time Regina didn't leave with a threat on her lips._

_This time she left with something much more precious. She left with Emma._

_Snow's screams of horror are so loud and so deafening, full of devastation and shock and heartbreak, that all those that hear them will never forget that moment. _

_The moment that Snow White and Prince Charming's happy ending was stolen from them._


	4. Fragile Like Glass

**AN:** It took me a lot longer than it should've to upload this chapter but university was kicking my butt like you wouldn't believe and I haven't had time to sit down and write anything _worth _reading, but this chapter goes out to **Nikstlitslepmur** who is always there to listen when I need to rant about not being able to write, or for me to bounce ideas off of when I finally do find a spare moment.

& to those who are wondering why Rumpelstiltskin is no longer imprisoned, that'll be explained within the next couple of chapters, but don't worry. We haven't seen the last of that twisted little imp. ;)

_But there's a side to you that I never knew, never knew._

_All the things you'd say, they were never true, never true._

_And the games you play, you would always in, always win._

_But I set fire to the rain._

Adele, _set fire to the rain._

* * *

**Chapter Four – Fragile Like Glass**

A smile tugs at Henry's lips as he watches Emma. Half way through the novel she gave up and lid down on the pile of cushions that she had thrown over the floor, curled up on the makeshift mattress like she does when she stretches out on her bed and reads, and now she's fighting to stay awake. But the words tumble from her lips in incoherent mumbles and it doesn't matter how determined Emma is to stay awake because sleep is just as determined to claim her. Perhaps even more so.

And dark circles still underline her green eyes, so he doesn't dare to stop it.

Instead he just watches and when her sleep-fogged eyes drift closed, the book slipping from her fingers with a soft thud, Henry simply smiles and reaches over and brushes the blonde curls away from her face as she falls into a deep slumber.

"Emma?"

Henry lifts his gaze from the form of his sleeping granddaughter just as Belle comes into sight, looking positively annoyed and concerned all at the once, and he lifts a finger to his lips as he gestures to Emma. All traces of annoyance leave Belle's face as she heaves a sigh of relief and nods, crossing her arms and leaning against a nearby bookshelf, her own gaze sweeping over Emma.

The two of them watch the sleeping girl for several moments in silence, relief evident, until Henry breaks the silence. "Was it important?" He asks, hoping that the reason his granddaughter's handmaid was seeking her out isn't urgent enough that they have to wake Emma.

"No," Belle assures softly, "I'm just glad she's sleeping. She didn't sleep at all last night."

Henry nods. He knows that Emma needs sleep, desperately, because he knows that sleep always evades his granddaughter when she's at odds with Regina.

Emma _hates _leaving things unresolved.

It's one of the reasons that he wants the rift between Emma and Regina, the two people that are dearest to him, to resolve itself. Fear of what will happen if Emma pushes his daughter too far is another issue, of course it is, he's seen too much of the hurt Regina can inflict when _she _is hurt, but it's not the only reason.

"Henry," Belle says suddenly, shifting her gaze over to him, and it's only then that he sees the determination and fierce protectiveness that the brunette feels for Emma. "This," she continues when she has his attention, nodding in his granddaughter's direction, "cannot continue."

His heart sinks because he knows she's right. There was never a question that this day would come, the day when Emma would start demanding explanations and more freedom – it was a matter of _when_.

Henry regards Belle thoughtfully, pressing his lips into a thin line, offering her a nod as he climbs to his feet. His gaze lingers on Emma once more, his brown eyes sweeping over her sleeping form for several minutes before he turns to leave. He knows that he has no need to worry about Emma. He knows that she's safe with Belle.

Belle will watch over her as she sleeps and it's with that thought that he leaves, leaving the library just as swiftly as he entered, passing the endless shelves that are overflowing with books, and then he's descending the stairs and pushing the heavy door open.

He gently closes the door behind him, praying that it doesn't rouse Emma, and then he's moving through the castle with a pace that many people would think was impossible for a man of his age. But this is _important_ because Belle is right.

This cannot continue.

He needs to talk to Regina.

Emma's promised to talk to her mother about what's bothering her – because he has a feeling that this is about _more _than being denied a picnic – and he knows that she'll keep that promise. Emma always keeps her promises, but he knows that her promise won't mean a thing if Regina pushes her before she's ready to talk.

All he hears is the echo of his footsteps as he walks through the corridors, then the door to his daughter's chambers comes into view, and suddenly he can hear his heartbeat in his ear. But it doesn't halt his steps because he _has _to do this, and he enters his daughter's chambers without so much as a glance at the guards that he sees stationed at her door.

He sees Regina immediately, stood up at the window gazing out at the forest, her arms crossed over her chest.

The tension in the room is obvious and causes him to sigh. "Regina, my darling," sadness seeps into his gaze as he walks further into her chambers, "I talked to Emma like I said I would," Henry admits softly, preparing himself for his daughter's inevitable anger, "but she –"

Regina shrugs, her face an emotionless mask, her eyes seemingly black as she glances back at him. "But she has no desire at all to resolve this quarrel between us," she interrupts easily before she goes back to staring out into the forest.

Henry's eyes widen slightly, a mixture of surprise and confusion seeping into his expression, but then his eyes drift over to one of the many mirrors within the room and understanding takes hold. Regina was watching them, listening in on their every word, and worry immediately sinks in his stomach.

"She's just angry, my dear, and hurt." He points out patiently, knowing his words to be the truth, "Emma just doesn't understand why you're so unwilling to let her leave the –"

"Yes," Regina hisses as she whirls around and stalks up to him, her hands curled into fists and her eyes darkening even more, "yes she _does. _Emma knows that it's not safe out there for her." She insists as she gestures in the vague direction of the forest. "She knows that … that they'll find her and take her away from me!"

Henry smiles patiently at his daughter, forcing her to meet his gaze before he continues, and when he speaks his tone is the same as it's always been: warm and comforting. "But she doesn't know who _they_ are," he points out gently.

And he knows that _this _is a fact that annoys his granddaughter. Emma's asked countless times over the years why it's not safe for her to leave the castle grounds, demanding and pleading to know who would take her away, but it doesn't matter how many times she asks. Emma never gets a proper answer because the truth isn't something she can ever be told, because it would break her heart, but they can't tell her a lie either.

Because Emma _knows _when someone lies to her.

"And what do you _suggest _I do?" Regina demands as she turns away from him, the skirt of her gown rustling as she stalks to the other end of the room, a mocking laugh falling from her ruby lips when she glances back at him. "Tell her the _truth_?" She mocks, rolling her eyes, "be reasonable."

Her father watches her carefully for several seconds before he shakes his head, his expression filled with sadness, making him look years older than he truly is. "No, my dear," he says softly, "I'm _asking _you to do the only thing you can do."

"And what is that?" Regina asks, arching an eyebrow, impatience hanging on every word.

"Give Emma time," Henry pleads as he walks towards Regina, his hands clasped together in front of him as if he's about to drop to his knees and beg her to listen to him, and there's a part of him that's prepared to do just that if that's what if takes. Because the last thing he wants is for his daughter to push Emma, because he knows pushing her now will only push her away, ruining all chances of them reconciling.

Brown eyes narrow dangerously. "She's _had _time," his daughter snaps as she storms past him, the heavy wooden door slamming behind her as she stalks out of the room.

Henry's face falls as he walks over and collapses onto a chair, his eyes falling closed in defeat, for he knows that his daughter isn't going to give Emma the space she needs. Dread immediately settles in his stomach because he knows that whatever Regina has planned won't help – if anything, Regina cornering Emma will only succeed in making things worse – but he also knows that there is nothing more he can do to help.

All he can do is pray that things will work out on their own with a little more time, but deep inside he accepts that this day was going to arrive sooner or later. Emma was bound to start demanding more freedom and answers eventually and, really, it's a miracle that it's taken her this long to start fighting her mother.

But Henry _also _knows what's happened in the past to those that were brave enough to stand against Regina. He knows the pain and cruelty that his daughter is capable of and, though he prays that the love his daughter feels for the blonde will be enough to spare Emma, fear continues to grip his heart and he swears that he'll keep the promise he made the first time he ever saw Emma.

He vows that he'll always do everything within his power to protect her.

**-x-**

_His heart pounds in his chest as he continues to walk the length of his daughter's chambers, pacing to and fro, nothing quelling the anxiety he feels as his eyes dart over to glance out the window every few seconds where he can see the dark, early morning sky. It's barely been an hour since his daughter left in a cloud of purple smoke, vowing to be back soon, but he's worried. He can't help it._

_Henry knows in his heart that she's gone to the summer palace – the one that was once built for Queen Eva by King Leopold, the one that Snow White's spent the past year turning into a true home where she plans to spend her happy ending, raising and loving a family with her beloved James – and, if anything, that only increases the dread he feels._

_All he wants is for his daughter to be happy._

_He wants her to find happiness, the happiness that she earlier claimed she could find. Just not here._

_There's a part of him that understands why his daughter is unable to find happiness here, haunted by memories of heartache and a betrayal that cut her to the quick, but he also knows that there's no way his daughter will truly move on unless she has some form of vengeance against her stepdaughter. And Henry knows that's where she's gone now. Regina's gone to finish things once and for all before she wipes her hands of Snow White._

_He sees something in the corner of his eyes and relief immediately engulfs him when he turns and sees Regina. Her back is to him and she seemingly doesn't notice his presence but that doesn't matter to him because she's here, unharmed from what he can see, and they can finally put all of this behind them. They can move on with their lives and find the happiness that they've been missing for far too long – and they can find it _together.

"_Regina," he breathes out in relief as the tension in his shoulders disappears, his heartbeat slowing down and returning to normal as the dread in his stomach fades. "My dear," he chuckles warmly, shaking his head, "you gave me quite a fright."_

_Regina's quiet for a moment before she looks at him over her shoulder, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't mean to," she says honestly, and her tone shocks him because it's been far too long since her voice was so gentle, so soft._

_He presses his lips together as he takes a few more steps towards her, his eyebrows furrowed together in the middle of his forehead. His brown eyes widen in concern and he asks before he can stop himself, "is everything alright, darling?"_

_Again, there is a moment of silence. Then Regina nods. "Yes," her voice is decisive as she looks away from him and goes back to staring at something in front of her, but there's a hint of a smile in her tone, "yes everything will be alright from now on."_

_His concern is replaced by confusion. "What do you –"_

"_We can't stay here," his daughter says suddenly, cutting off his question before it passes his lips, and again he's puzzled by how soft and gentle her voice is. "They," a hard edge enters her tone as she sneers and he knows who she's talking about, "will know where to find us if we stay."_

_Henry blinks and nods because he knows that they can't stay here, they need a place where they can have a new start and find happiness, and he knows it's only a matter of time before knights or perhaps even Prince Charming himself shows up at their door. Because he _knows _that Regina's done something, he knows that there's no way she just walked away and did nothing._

_He just doesn't know what she's done._

_He raises one eyebrow. "Where?" He asks._

_Regina stares down into her arms, and he then notices that she's holding something, but he can't make out what it is. "Somewhere isolated," his daughter says somewhat dreamily, and it startles him as she continues, "somewhere they'll never find us."_

_His eyebrows rise high up on his forehead, but he's happy to hear the light tone to her voice, as odd as it sounds after years of absence, and he's happy that she is serious about the two of them leaving and starting over. But he can't shake the feeling that something's _wrong.

_His daughter then turns around to face him, her expression telling him that she's made a decision. "I know the perfect place," she nods as she looks down at the bundle in her arms with a gentle smile, "a place where the only happy ending will be mine."_

_Brown eyes widen in surprise and none of her words seems to penetrate his mind because all he can focus on is the bundle in her arms, and he struggles to find his voice as he takes several more tentative steps towards is daughter. "Regina," Henry breaths out, confusion evident, "what…who…who is that?"_

"_Emma. Her name is Emma." His daughter says simply as she closes the gap between them, her smile widening, "your granddaughter."_

_Henry frowns as his daughter holds the bundle out to him and gingerly, he immediately lifts the infant into his arms, staring down at her in wonder despite the thousands of questions that are running through his mind. He doesn't know where his daughter found the infant or who she truly belongs to, but he finds that none of that matters because the moment he holds her, he's filled with profound and instant love for Emma._

_His darling Emma._

_His granddaughter._

_He smiles. Emma is small, her skin still slightly red from birth, and then his eyes trace the curve of her nose and the downy patch of blonde fuzz that rests on the top of her head and it's obvious that the child will grow up to be fair instead of dark like Regina. He thinks it's fitting, thinking that his new granddaughter will be the light to his daughter's darkness, a symbol of their new beginning._

_And he swears in that moment he'll always protect her._

_But the questions about Snow linger in his mind and he glances back up at Regina. "But what about Snow White?"_

"_It's time to stop worrying about Snow White and start over," his daughter says as she whirls around, anger colouring her tone as she snarls, "she's been dealt with. It's finally over," Regina's voice is hard and he knows that's the end of it, "we're leaving within the hour."_

_Henry bites back the urge to ask more, wanting to know what she's done to Snow, but the baby squirms in his arms before he can question her further._

_Emma continues to squirm, even as he hums softly under his breath, and suddenly a pair of eyes that are so pale a green gaze up at him a__nd suddenly the feeling of dread is back._

_Because as he looks down at the infant in his arms, understanding dawns on him almost immediately._

_For the eyes looking up at him, soulful green that sparkle with an impetuous fire, are the eyes of Snow White._

**-x-**

Her green eyes flutter open and confusion engulfs her when she notes that she isn't in her bedchamber. Yawning, she blinks away the remnants of sleep as she pushes herself up and looks at her surroundings, and then it all comes rushing back to her.

She remembers finding solace in the deserted library only for her grandfather to find her sometime later, she remembers their talk, and she remembers the bright smile that had lit up his face as she read to him. Her confusion returns as she looks around, her gaze falling upon the book she had been reading, but her grandfather is nowhere to be found.

"Well, well," a voice muses softly, "look who finally decided to wake up."

Emma blinks and looks over at Belle, hiding a yawn behind her hand as she asks, "what?"

Belle snickers to herself as she walks over to Emma, shaking her head in amusement when the blonde merely looks at her with a blank expression, and she crouches down when she reaches the makeshift bed that Emma made for herself. Her eyes sweep over the piles of books that surround the blonde and she clicks her tongue in disapproval before she aims a mock glare at Emma.

"Really, Emma? Was it necessary for you to carelessly throw half the books on the floor?" She sighs, her glare increasing when she sees Emma's lip twitch in amusement, and she knows why. The books are hardly carelessly thrown over the floor, instead they're stacked in neat piles of varying height, and there are no more than 20 books – a number nowhere _near _the true total of books that the library holds.

But it warms her heart to see mirth in Emma's green eyes, and relief floods her veins when she notes that the dark circles have faded, so she opts for muttering playfully under her breath as she straightens her back and it has the desired effect. Bright laughter falls from Emma's lips as she climbs to her feet and follows after Belle, picking up a pile of books after she puts the one she was reading with her grandfather off to the side.

Emma scans the room once more as she helps her beloved handmaid return the books to the shelves, looking for her grandfather, but he's nowhere in sight. "Belle," she frowns as her eyebrows furrow together, "have you seen my grandfather?"

Belle turns to look at her, her gaze sweeping over her expression, seemingly searching for something, and then she shakes her head. "No, not since he left to speak with Regina." She shrugs, purposely refraining from calling Regina Emma's mother and, when she sees Emma's features tighten briefly, she knows she made the right decision.

"Oh," Emma mumbles as she sets about her task, returning the books to the shelves and ignoring her handmaid's penetrating gaze. Silence engulfs the two of them and she pointedly ignores Belle's gaze until it begins to annoy her and then she turns to look at her, her arms crossed over her chest and her weight resting on one leg. "What?"

Belle blinks, her eyes widening, but then she shakes her head and mutters under her breath. "Nothing," she says simply as she grabs a book from the blonde's hands before climbing up the small ladder to return it to the top shelf.

Green eyes narrow. "No, you have something you want to say," Emma says, arching her eyebrow challengingly, daring Belle to tell her she's wrong, "so you might as well say it."

Belle braces herself against the ladder and looks down at the young blonde, her internal war visible in her eyes, and then a sigh falls from her lips. "Are you ever going to tell me why you're so angry at Regina?" She asks pointedly as she climbs back down the ladder, getting straight to the point.

Emma appreciates honesty, and she knows it.

Emma's own eyes widen in surprise, then she shrugs, and Belle can practically _see _her walls go up. "I've told you," she mumbles softly, ignoring the way her handmaid frowns at her, "Mother wouldn't –"

"You know, for someone who is so good at knowing when someone is lying to her, _you _are horrible at lying." Belle points out lightly as she walks closer to Emma, reaching out to cup her friend's cheek and force her to look at her, and her heart nearly breaks when she looks into the depths of Emma's green eyes. "This is about more than being denied a picnic, Emma," she insists, "This is _hurt_."

And anger.

She also sees anger flash in Emma's eyes when Regina is mentioned.

Emma furrows her eyebrows together and stares into Belle's bright blue eyes, sees the warmth and concern and love that openly reflect back at her, and once again she is filled with the want to confide in Belle. She knows that she can confide in her dear friend for same reasons she _can't _confide in her grandfather – Belle, and even Hubert's, loyalty rests with her. Not Regina.

"Emma," her handmaid urges as she cups her cheeks lovingly, "talk to me. I'm worried."

Emma releases a shuttering breath and looks away from Belle's face, but she doesn't move out of reach. "I overheard something Mother said," she whispers finally, the burden lifting from her heart now that she has shared what's truly bothering her with someone – someone she loves and trusts with all her heart. Because she does love Belle, just as she loves Hubert, regardless of what her mother has said about him.

And that's what scares her the most.

It broke her heart when she heard her mother say that Hubert wants _them _to find her and, even though she doesn't believe it, doesn't want to believe it, the thought that her mother believes it terrifies her. She doesn't know what she'll do if she learns that her mother is right. She doesn't know what she'll do if she learns that Hubert is capable of such a betrayal.

Belle feels her heart crack, as if it were fragile like glass, when Emma's eyes flutter shut and a stray tear rolls down her cheek, and she hastens to brush it away. "Emma," she whispers softly, her tone soothing, "what was it you heard?" She asks as millions of possibilities run through her mind, her mind racing as she thinks of things Emma could have heard Regina say if the woman didn't know she was being watched, and each possibility is worse than the one before it.

She waits and holds her breath when Emma opens her eyes and looks at her as if she has the ability to both heal her pain or shatter her heart with the next words she speaks, so Belle does the only thing she can do, she cradles the back of Emma's head and pulls the blonde into her arms and holds her.

But the words that she hears nearly knock her off her feet.

"I can trust you, right?" Emma mumbles into her neck as she tightens her hold on Belle, her voice thick with emotion as she screws her eyes shut, preparing for the answer that she prays she won't hear. She wants to believe that her mother was wrong; she wants to believe that she can still trust both of her dearest friends with her whole heart.

If Belle says she can trust both her and Hubert, Emma will believe her.

Words catch in Belle's throat and for a moment she doesn't know how to respond, as if she suddenly lost her ability to speak. But her soul aches as she feels Emma tremble slightly in her arms and she feels a swell of anger towards Regina, and she wishes she could tell Emma everything, but she can't, but she _can _rid Emma of her fears.

"Emma," she breathes out, "of course you can trust me." A mixture of anger and confusion lit in her eyes as she looks into Emma's, "what did Regina –"

Emma studies Belle for a moment, then cuts her off, "and Hubert. I can trust him too, right?" Her voice doesn't shake, but her heart pounds in her chest as she awaits her handmaid's next words, knowing they could shatter her easily as if she were a made of glass.

"_Yes_, Emma." Belle insists honestly, wishing she knew just what the blonde had overheard to bring about these questions, but she pushes her own questions aside so she can reassure Emma. She knows in her heart that the old huntsman would never intentionally hurt Emma, just like she knows Emma can trust Hubert.

Relief slams into Emma when she sees that the brunette is telling the truth and it warms her heart to know that she was right, that she really can trust Hubert, and she doesn't even bother to ponder why her mother is so convinced that Hubert is untrustworthy. Belle says that she can trust both her and Hubert, and Emma believes her, but that doesn't change the fact that her mother was telling the truth when she claimed that she thought Hubert wanted _them _to find Emma.

"You're right," Emma breathes out when she sees that Belle is still looking at her in concern, and she shakes her head, laughing softly to herself as she removes herself from her handmaid's hold. "Of course you are," she smiles, "I can trust you. You and Hubert would never keep something from me."

"Of course not," Belle claims, and her expression almost seems pained as she goes back to putting away the rest of the books.

Everything in Emma freezes.

Belle was telling the truth when she said Emma could trust her and Hubert, and Emma believes her.

But Belle was lying when she said that they would never keep something from her, and it causes dread to settle in her stomach when she sneaks a glance at Belle, and when her handmaid offers her a slight smile all she can think is _they're keeping something from me._

**-x-**

Regina exhales slowly as her eyes drift closed.

A cool autumn breeze sweeps across her face and the familiar musky smell of leaves on the ground hangs in the air and for a moment she's reminded of a time when all her time was spent outside riding through the fields around her childhood home and tending to the apple tree that her father helped her plant when she was a young girl.

The memory brings a hint of a smile to her face as her eyes flutter open and she's suddenly pleased that she decided to take a walk in the gardens before seeking out Emma.

Anger flooded her veins after the talk she shared with her father and she'd had every intention of seeking out _her _daughter, but at the last moment she opted for walking through the gardens to clear her head, and she's now thankful for that decision.

It would've been rash for her to seek out Emma right away.

All it would have done was spark another fight which would further delay their reconciliation.

If she wants to find a way back into Emma's life she cannot act rashly.

It'll require creativity and patience on her part – especially since she cannot tell Emma the _truth_.

Anger threatens to grip a hold of her once again but she pushes it away and glides towards her childhood apple tree – one of the few things she brought with her when she fled all those years ago in hopes of creating her own happy ending – and a smirk pulls at her lips when she hears the sound of several of her knights approaching her.

"My Lady?"

Her gown rustles as she turns around and her eyes immediately settle on the huntsman that stands between the two knights that she sent to retrieve him, then her eyes narrow and her words leave her ruby red lips in a hiss. "Leave us," she orders firmly.

Her gaze returns to her beloved apple tree as the knights retreat.

Silence hangs in the air but she can feel the huntsman's gaze watching her, the gaze so heavy she feels the weight it holds, and the unadulterated hatred that fuels it isn't hard to detect.

"Huntsman," her tone is firm but indifferent when she speaks, "did you know that the Honeycrisp tree is the most vigorous and hearty of all known apple trees in this land? It can survive even the most unforgiving of winters and keep growing." Regina glances back at him over her shoulder, a smirk pulling at her lips, "it can weather _any _storm."

Hubert meets her gaze without fear but he doesn't offer a response, not just because he is sure that she isn't expecting one, but because he's never felt inclined to take part in Regina's games. Instead he keeps his mouth shut and stares straight ahead whilst he waits for her to get to the reason that she had him summoned just as he was about to go in search of Emma.

"I've tended to this one since I was a little girl," Regina continues as she runs her hand along the trunk of the tree fondly, "I've nurtured it since it was nothing more than a sapling and watched it grow – practically raised it alone. It is one of the few things that I have not been able to part with over the years." She turns around to face him once more, her eyebrows raised. "Tell me, Huntsman; is it wrong of me to want to keep something so precious close to me?"

His eyes darken and he clenches his teeth to stop him from saying anything. He knows what she is trying to do but he won't fall for her tricks because what she's doing is _wrong_. It isn't wrong for someone to want to keep someone they love, to keep them close to them, but that isn't what she's doing to Emma. Or maybe she is. Maybe Emma has managed to fill the void in Regina's heart, if only a little, but that doesn't change anything in his eyes.

It doesn't change the fact that Emma isn't _hers_.

"Not in the talking mood today, are we?" Regina mocks, tilting her head to the side as she watches him thoughtfully, her lips curling into a smirk that he's all too familiar with. "Very well, let's get down to business." She moves towards him, the train of her ruby-coloured gown trailing behind her, all traces of amiability gone from her expression. "I need you to do something for me."

Hubert doesn't even bother to hold back his scoff as he glares at her, "and _why _would I do anything for _you_?"

Anger engraves into her features as she stalks up to him, grabbing a hold of him and pulling him towards her so his face is a mere breath from her own. "Because you have no choice, Huntsman." Regina's tone then morphs into one that is as sweet and thick as honey as her other hand comes up to rest on his chest, just above where his heart used to reside. "Or do you forget who is in possession of your heart?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Much better," she croons as she releases her hold on him and watches him stumble to catch his balance before she continues, "what I want you to do is quite simple. You are going to talk to Emma and you _are _going to convince her to forgive me and put this whole ordeal behind us."

Hubert's eyebrows raise high on his forehead, a mixture of surprise and defiance settling into his features.

"Because I must confess that this whole matter has made me the most displeased and you remember what happens when I'm _displeased_, don't you?" Regina continues, making a reach for where his heart should be once more, her smirk becoming more pronounced when she sees the understanding and horror flash in his blue eyes. She knows now that he'll do what she asks because he would sooner die than ever _risk _something happening to Emma.

The horror in his expression suddenly shifts then into pure disgust and anger as he closes the space between them. "You would really hurt her?" He scoffs, his tone hard, and his voice wavering as he struggles to control his anger. "Hurt _Emma_? The one that you claim to love like a daughter –"

"She _is _my daughter!" Regina roars, her eyes flashing in anger, "and are _you _really willing to risk the chance that I _would_?"

Hubert clenches his jaw together once more because he knows that they're both aware of the answer: _no_. He's not willing to take the chance that Regina would harm Emma – even though a part of him truly believes it hasn't escalated to that, at least not yet – and he will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if it means convincing her to forgive Regina.

Because Emma – and even Belle – are the closest thing he's had to a family since Regina ripped his heart out of his chest and turned him into one of her puppets. Her _pet_.

There's no way that he'll risk their safety, either of theirs, not when they're all he has and not when Emma is the first one that has made him feeling _something_. There's no way that he'll risk Emma's safety because he knows if his heart still resided within his chest and he was able to actually feel something instead of just the echoes of it, he knows that he would love Emma. With her kindness, her intelligence, her spirit and bold personality, it would be impossible not to.

"I'll talk to her," he says stiffly.

"Oh," Regina purrs as she runs a hand along his cheek in what could almost be viewed as a loving gesture, "I know you will, my pet."

Hubert slaps her hand away before backing away from her, turning on his heel as he heads back to the castle, his eyes and expression cold.

Regina's lips split into a wide smile as she watches him stalk away, "Huntsman!" She calls. "Was your sacrifice worth it?"

He pauses momentarily. He knows what sacrifice she's referring to – his decision to let Snow White go, his sacrifice that led to Regina taking both his heart and his freedom.

It's not the first time she's asked him that question.

But if his sacrifice means that he's here now with Emma, able to watch over her and protect her to the best of his ability, then the answer is an easy one.

_Yes._

**-x-**

"_My pet, this is Emma."_

_He locks his jaw and narrows his blue eyes at Regina, pure hatred and anger coursing through his veins as he takes in the sight before him, and then his eyes snap to the bundle that is wrapped up in her arms and he feels sick. He feels as though his stomach is trying to rebel against his body and he knows his heart would be pounding if it still resided in his chest because this is wrong – this is so wrong._

_The baby blanket is the first thing that his eyes focus on, not because of how large and bulky it seems compared to the precious bundle it holds, but because he sees the carefully selected ribbon that borders it and he sees how her name is lovingly written on the bottom of the blanket._

_He imagines the heartache that Regina has caused this one night and his hands curl into fists, his knuckles going white while his nails form crescent-shaped scars on his palms._

"_I won," the evil witch murmurs softly as she smiles down at the infant, "I've destroyed Snow White."_

_His eyes darken and when Regina looks up at him, all traces of the gentle look she was favouring Emma with fades, and all he sees is the Evil Queen._

_Regina's lips split into a wide, mocking smile as she regards him thoughtfully.__ "Was your sacrifice still worth it, Huntsman?"_

**-x-**

Emma's eyebrows furrow in the middle of her forehead as she stares blankly at the kettle and waits for the water to boil. She feels lighter than she has in days and she knows that it's because she now knows what she knew to be true in her heart all along – she can trust Belle and Hubert.

They're her dearest friends and she knows that she can trust them – and she _does_, she trusts them with her whole heart – but the memory of her handmaid's pained expression still haunts her. Emma knows that she can trust them but she also knows that they're keeping something from her.

A wave of frustration slams into her and she allows her head to fall against the counter with a thunk, wishing in vain that she could go back to simpler times when her mother was _her _mother and her entire world was the castle by the lake, her mother and grandfather, and her Belle and her Hubert.

"Correct me if I am wrong," the familiar voice is amused and it cuts through her thoughts and startles her, "but I'm sure beating your head off the counter _won't _make the water boil faster."

Emma blinks, confusion etching into her face when she looks over her shoulder to look at Hubert, but then she sees the smirk pulling at his lips and the way his eyes light up with hilarity and she scowls at him. "Funny, Hubert," she scoffs as she slides off the stool and walks over to retrieve a mug.

Hubert chuckles to himself and his smirk morphs into a real grin.

"Smug bastard," Emma mutters under her breath.

"Princess," Hubert scolds in shock more than anything as he walks further into the kitchen and sits at the counter, fighting his amusement as he grins at Emma, "_language_." It doesn't even cross his mind to ask her _where _she picked up such language because he's sure he already knows the answer.

He blames Belle.

Belle _and _her numerous books.

Emma tosses him another look over her shoulder as she takes down a second mug for him and proceeds to scoop cocoa and cinnamon into the ceramic mugs, shaking her head at him. "I'm sixteen years old," she points out petulantly, "I'm not a child."

Hubert watches as she turns back around and walks over to retrieve the kettle once it starts to whistle and he sees the truth in her words – she _isn't _a child any more. Emma isn't the same little girl who once climbed into his lap and kissed his scruffy cheek because he seemed sad, but at the same time she is because her heart is the same, and the past couple of days have only reminded him how fragile that heart is.

He knows how easily it could be shattered.

Emma trusts and loves with her whole heart and she reminds him of her mother in that way, not Regina but her _real _mother, and it makes him more determined to protect her because he can see the heartache that glistens behind the strength that her green eyes hold. It's the same sadness he seen over two decades ago when a princess with ebony hair realized her beloved stepmother – the only mother _she _had ever known – wanted her dead.

The nausea that has lingered since his talk in the gardens with Regina fades completely now and is replaced by a different feeling altogether. Fear – unadulterated fear that settles in his veins – as he's reminded of the hatred that Regina grew to bore towards her stepdaughter and he prays that same hatred is never felt towards Emma.

_You would really hurt her? Hurt Emma?_

_Are you really willing to risk the chance that I would?_

The words echo in his mind and threaten to destroy him because he _will not _let that happen and it's only when Emma plops down beside him and pushes his mug of hot cocoa in front of him that his torturous thoughts ease up. He lifts his gaze and his dark blue eyes lock onto Emma's fiery green and he _knows _that she knows that there's something on his mind, just like he knows she won't let up until he tells her what it is because Emma trusts and loves with her whole heart and she can't bear the thought of someone she loves hurting.

But, even though he wants to, he _can't _tell her.

"Hubert," her voice is soft when she speaks, "is something wrong?"

Emma's eyebrows furrow in the middle of her forehead once more and concern swells within her as she takes in the pained expression strewn across his face and it so reminds her of the expression that was etched into her handmaid's expression earlier.

Emma feels her heart pound at the thought.

"No, no." Hubert hastens to reassure her as he reaches out to cover her hand with his own, "It's nothing, Princess." He knows his words are a lie and he fights a wince because he knows Emma will know it too.

Emma frowns and a fire ignites in her green eyes. "You're lying," she says simply but she tightens her hold on his hand and her voice is soft and gentle and so caring when she next speaks that Hubert _does _wince this time, "Hubert, please just tell me what's the matter."

The concern in her voice is stabbing a knife into his gut and twisting the blade, but he _can't _tell her the truth.

Because Regina forbid it.

"I cannot, Princess." Hubert says flatly, almost numbly, as his eyes fall shut in defeat.

"You _can't _or you _won't_," Emma demands as she flies to her feet, yanking her hand out of his hold even as he tries to tighten it. Her voice is no longer soft and gentle but instead it's hard and filled with anger and so much hurt because she just wants him to be honest with her.

And he wants it too, but he _can't_.

Hubert flies to his feet and approaches her. "Emma, I…" he breathes out and he sees the flash of betrayal that crosses her face before she turns her head away from him, "_Emma_!" He pleads again when she backs away from him.

"No, Hubert!" Emma snaps, "Tell me the truth –"

Hubert closes his eyes in pain. "It isn't important, Emma." His eyes flutter open and he cups her face in his hands as he guides her gaze to his face, "but I need you to –"

"I don't _care_ what you need," Emma bursts out; voice thick, "_I _need you to be honest with me, Hubert. You're lying to my face!"

"You're right," Hubert admits softly, "but it's because I _can't _tell you the truth. I promise you that, Emma." He sees the confusion that settles into her features when she looks at him and he knows that she believes him, that she sees the truth in his gaze. "I would tell you if I could but Regina –"

"Regina?" Emma reels back, "What does my mother –"

"You need to forgive her."

The silence that follows his blunt statement is deafening as Emma freezes, staring at him in surprise and confusion, and he understands. He understands because he's never once defended Regina to Emma.

"Excuse me," Emma breathes out in shock, her voice shaking.

"Emma, please," Hubert pleads as he mentally berates himself because this is not how he intended to approach this subject with her but it's too late to go back now, "you _have _to forgive her."

"No, Hubert, I don't."

"Emma, please, just listen, I need you to –"

"Why?" Emma interrupts before he can continue, furrowing her eyebrows, "why is it so important to you that I do?"

"Because I can't lose you!" Hubert snaps as he shakes her a little, his gaze becoming desperate.

Everything in Emma freezes in horror. "What?" She mumbles softly, eyes wide.

"I _cannot _lose you, Princess." The nickname falls from his lips softly as he crouches down, his hands shaking violently as he grips her hands in his, "you and Belle… you two are _all _I have and I can't risk…"

Regina's voice taunts him. _Are you really willing to risk the chance that I would?_

"I cannot lose either of you. I cannot lose my family, Emma, not again." Hubert whispers brokenly as he thinks of the family that Regina stole from him once before when she made it so he could never leave her side. "That's why I need you to do this for me. You don't have to forgive Regina, not if you don't want to, but you need to behave like you do, alright? Even if you don't it's important that _she _believes you have so she won't be angry." Hubert insists as he brings her hands up to his mouth and kisses them, "can you try to do that, Princess? For _me_?"

Emma sees the desperation in his gaze, the pure unadulterated fear that's radiating off of him, and even though she doesn't understand she nods subtly because her mother's words echo in her ears. The words that had been so cold and dangerous – _if you ever try to take Emma away from me you will regret it and your eyes will be as lifeless and vacant as your chest – _taunt her and it's because of those words that she agrees. She'll agree to anything to put Hubert's mind at ease. She'll do anything to protect him.

"I'll try, Hubert." Emma promises when she sees the fear in his eyes, her own heart pounding in her chest as she tries to make sense of everything, "for _you_."


End file.

Once Upon a Time, Drama, Family