The FINAL YEAR of the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer is behind us, so it's time for the CSSNS24 Event Roundup!!!
Does anyone else need a min? I know I do...
Before we get to the roundup itself, I have to give the LOUDEST OF SHOUT OUTS and GROUP HUG to the team of mods - @winterbaby89 @jrob64 @stahlop and @ultraluckycatnd - who helped me EVERY STEP OF THE WAY!!! This event absolutely wouldn't have happened without them and I'm sooooo grateful that they stepped up to the plate to make this final event a success!!! Thank you all soooo much, ladies!!!!
Also as part of this final roundup, I want to share all the links to all the other event roundups that have been reblogged the last few weeks. This has been an PHENOMENAL ride over all these years and I'm so grateful for all the love and support y'all have given it!! And now, all of the fics and art from all of the years will be in one place!!
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Thank you all again for EVERYTHING all these years!!! Its been an honor and privilege to man the helm for most of these years, but it certainly wouldn't have lasted as long as it has without the contributions of all the participants and the enthusiasm of the audience!!!! So thank you all from the bottom of my heart!!!
And now, on to the roundup!!!! Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.
I opened us up this year on July 2 with the first of two contributions I prepared for this final event. The Arena was a short and - kinda, maybe, not so much overall, but def by the end - sweet werewolf oneshot with breathtaking artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper !!!
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On ao3
On July 5, @exhaustedpirate posted a not-so-short and extra sexy werewolf fic, In Your Moonlit Eyes, with wonderful artwork by @thejollyroger-writer.
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On ao3
On July 7, @whatevenisthisbloganymore posted the first chapter of a fae fic, Where Idle Feet Wander. Princess Emma of the EF finds herself in the Fae lands and needs help to return home. The first ch was fantastic and I can't wait to see where the journey takes us!
On ao3
On July 9, @jrob64 posted the first chapter of her ghost hunter Killian fic, Ghosted, with artwork provided by yours truly, manips of Neal and Liam courtesy of @motherkatereloyshipper! Now complete with five chapters, Joni took us on QUITE a spooky ride!! Don't read before going to bed at night!!!
Ch1 on Tumblr
On ao3
On July 13, @grimmswan updated both of her fics from last year, Dracula in Storybrooke and Love Bites (But So Do I). Both of these fics are SO MUCH FUN and we are getting very close to their conclusions!!
Dracula in Storybrooke on Tumblr on ao3
Love Bites on Tumblr on ao3
On July 14 @anmylica posted an update to last years fic, Fly With the Black Swan, her alternate telling of the Dark Swan arc. Now three chs in, this is an absolutely beautiful tale so far and I can't wait for more of it!!! Artwork by @zaharadessert
On ao3
On July 15, @theartofdreaming1 posted original artwork for the event featuring mermaid Emma!!! Absolutely beautiful work brought me to tears!!
On July 17, @mie779 posted an alternative take on episode 3x17 The Jolly Roger featuring merman Killian!! Don't Kiss and Tail, a fantastic and utterly delightful what if fic!!! Lovely banner by @iamstartraveller776.
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On ao3
On July 17, @goforlaunchcee updated last year's fic, Smoke and Mirrors, with absolutely perfect artwork by @piinfeathers!! A ghost/witch story, it's an absolute HOOT and I'm always so happy when she updates!! Now up to ch7.
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On ao3
On July 19, @snowbellewells posted the first of her two offerings for this year's event, On Wings of Storm, with magnificent artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper !!! A beautiful one shot that left me in tears of joy!!
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On ao3
On July 25, @laianely posted the first chapter of her crime mystery No Rest for the Immortals with artwork by @captainswan-kellie (x) and herself (x). A murder mystery featuring vampire Killian, I am BESIDE myself every time she updates. Now on ch7.
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On ao3
On July 27, @xarandomdreamx posted the first chapter of her fic, The Kiss of Life with beautiful artwork provided by @motherkatereloyshipper!! Ohhh, she killed me sharing snippets on discord and the whole chapter did not disappoint!!!! Cannot wait for more of this!!!
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On Aug 4, I posted my second fic for the event, Return to Me, again with stunning artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper !! Since the whole purpose of this event was to bump up the number of werewolf and vampire CS fics, and I'd already posted a werewolf fic this year, I came up with a fic that I thought the original Dracula was kinda about. Turns out that I was very wrong. But anyway, it was a lot of fun to write.
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On Aug 6, @belovedcreation posted the first chapter of an epic werewolf fic, Can I Be Your Werewolf? featuring lovely artwork from @mie779!! 33 chapters that she just finished posting TODAY, it was an awesome ride from start to finish!!!
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On ao3
On Aug 8, @everything-person shared with us a smorgasbord of ideas that she came up with, but real life intervened and she wasn't able to write full fics for them. HOWEVER, she did make art for them all and shared a snippet of where she wanted to go with each one. Each one was absolutely fantastic and I hope there will come a day when she is able to write the fics and share them with us!!
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On Aug 10, @jonesfandomfanatic posted the first two chs of her fic, Into the Parallel. Now on ch6 of 7, this is an incredible time travel/realm jumper fic that I am absolutely in love with!!!
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On ao3
On Aug 16, @exhaustedpirate posted her second fic of the event, Haunted By the Ghost of You, again with beautiful artwork by @thejollyroger-writer. The first chapter was lovely and heartbreaking in equal measure and I cannot wait to see the happy ending she has promised me will happen. Someday...
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On Aug 21, @snowbellewells submitted her second fic of the event, For All Life and For All Time, this fic actually inspired by Dracula. The first of three chs is currently up and I cannot wait to see more of it!!!
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On ao3
On Aug 22, @hollyethecurious posted the first chapter of Once Upon a Grimm, her incredible fic using the lore and some storylines of the TV series Grimm featuring Once characters. @eastwesthomeisbest provided the gorgeous artwork!! We are now two chs in and I can already tell, we are in for a really fun ride!!!
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On Aug 24, @wyntereyez posted a second fic to her series Bats In the Belfry. This year's fic, Wool of Bat and Tongue of Dog is a MC and a fantastic follow-up to A Little Batty from last year!!! Artwork by @jrob64 .
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On Aug 25, @cocohook38 posted her artwork for last years fic by @iamstartraveller776 To Cleave Destiny. We only have the first ch of the fic posted, but it's amazing already and Jules artwork just gives me chills!!!
Artwork post on Tumblr
Fic on ao3
On Aug 26, @eastwesthomeisbest posted a series of manips of Emma Dressed in Blood. Literally took my breath away!!! Gorgeously creepy!!!
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On Aug 29, @zaharadessert posted the Prologue of her fic, Forget Me Not, with a lovely moodboard made by @exhaustedpirate . This first chapter sets up quite a mystery and I can't wait to see where she goes with this!!!
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On ao3
On Aug 30, @deckerstarblanche posted the final chapter of last year's fic, An Offer She Can't Refuse, with artwork by @undercaffinatednightmare. A super sexy Omegaverse fic, I was soooo thrilled she came back to give CS the happy ending they deserve!!!
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On ao3
Our last fic of the event, Scattered Earth (Mortua Terra), posted just yesterday. Real life intruded and kept @dykelilypage from finishing her fic until last week, but I told her that if she could get it in before I posted the roundup, I'd still include it, and boy did she deliver!!! The fic was absolutely incredible!!! Supernatural investigative reporters Emma Swan and Killian Jones team up to solve a mystery. Utterly perfect artwork done by @eastwesthomeisbest
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On ao3
Well, that's it, y'all!! Our FINAL CSSNS has come to an end!!
Everyone take a moment, take a deep breath, and join me in expressing your appreciation to all the participants this year and over the last six for giving us such PHENOMENAL, INCREDIBLE, FANTASTIC supernatural stories!!! There are still many fics from past years that the authors are still active in fandom and plan on continuing whenever they get a chance. And to that end, this blog is not going anywhere. Whenever an update to a fic posts, I'll be right here to read, flail, and reblog.
Summary: The world was far more complex than most people realized. Humans went about their lives, completely ignorant of the fact that there was a world of fairytales existing right alongside them. Well, not really fairytales. Not in the Disney sense, anyway. Many, like the Grimm brothers, had woven the truth into their stories, but the creatures they wrote about were even more nightmarish than their macabre and monstrous depictions.
Creatures known as wesen. Supernatural, other-worldly beings who have always lived among humans and have always been hunted by those who had come to be known as Grimms. A struggle of secrecy, balance, and power among these species has existed since the beginning of time.
This is a story of a man with his own struggle. The internal struggle of being a human, a wesen, and a Grimm, and the external forces that seek to eradicate one or all of his natures, especially those he tries to keep hidden.
Fortunately, Killian Jones is not alone in his struggles nor his secrets. His personal savior, Emma Swan, has secrets and struggles of her own.
A/N: Wow... So it's been a hot minute, huh? I am so sorry I left y'all hanging for over a year. I can't promise I'll update this regularly, but I can tell you that the next few chapters have already been written, so more updates will be coming soon!
Huge shout out to @kmomof4 for always being my cheerleader and for her exceptional beta skills. A HUGE thank you and many fangirl squeals to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the amazing job she did on the cover art that accompanies this fic. Please go show her some love!
FYI: This fic is inspired by and will borrow from the NBC show Grimm. I confess I did not watch Grimm when it first aired, but absolutely fell in love with the show during a binge fest years later. If you have not seen the show, no worries! My beta - who has not seen the show either - assures me that it is not necessary. If you have seen the show, then I hope you’ll forgive the huge creative license I am taking with the material. This is not a strict Grimm retelling with Once characters. This is my own spin on the lore and cannon of both shows.
Because the show took cues from the Grimm brothers’ works, much of the vocabulary associated with the supernatural creatures was based on German or German coded language. For words like wesen and woge (which are explained in the text) the w is pronounced with a v sound on the show. I’ll be using terminology from the show and more common creature names interchangeably within the fic.
Rated E (eventually) / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Prologue / Chapter One
Chapter Two:
A thin layer of fog blanketed the forest floor, obscuring Killian’s steps as he crept along the long drive leading to the perp’s house. The waxing gibbous moon did little to combat the dark and shrouded atmosphere, even with his enhanced night vision, but he was loath to use a flashlight, lest the blutbad detect his presence.
He was about to round the last bend which would give him his first clear view of the cabin when the sound of tires coming up the gravel road pricked his ears. Turning back to look over his shoulder, he squinted against the glare of headlights and ducked into the treeline. The car rolled to a stop a couple of yards back, and the driver’s side door swung open.
“Jones? Is that you?”
“Rob?” Killian whisper-yelled, emerging from the shadows. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” his partner said, closing the car door a little too loudly and most likely alerting the blutbad that he now had company. “Why didn’t you call for backup? Why didn’t you wait for me before coming out here on your own?”
“I, uh…” Killian stammered, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. “Captain told me to run down the boots, so that’s what I’m doing. I figured you’d still be working through the missing girl’s file from two years ago, so I… hang on,” Killian paused, a thought only now occurring to him. “How did you know I was out here?”
“Scarlett filled me in on the boots and the postal worker. When you weren’t answering my texts or calls, I had him trace your phone.” Robin peered through the darkness towards the cabin, faintly illuminated by a few lights glowing from the windows. “Why did you leave your car back there? Why approach on foot?”
“I wanted the element of surprise,” Killian told him. “Catch him off guard.”
Robin nodded his understanding, accepting the excuse and causing a knot of guilt to coil tightly in Killian’s gut. He hated not being honest with his partner and best mate, especially when it meant keeping him in the dark about the true danger and potential harm that lay ahead.
“Right. Well, he’s not gonna interrogate himself,” Robin said, setting off towards the cabin. “Let’s go question him.”
Killian bit back a curse, unable to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why his partner should hang back. Following a few steps behind so he could keep an eye out for danger, Killian focused his senses and remained on high alert as they took the path towards the front door. Robin’s arm swung out, stalling their steps, and he gestured down at the ground with a bob of his head.
“Boot prints,” he said under his breath. “Do they look like the ones from the crime scenes?”
“Aye,” Killian answered, able to make out the tread pattern and the distinguishing worn areas that made them unique to the wearer. Details he knew Robin could not discern with his human gaze.
“Ready?” Robin asked, waiting for Killian to nod his assent before raising his fist to knock on the solid wood door.
Bracing his stance, readying himself for anything, Killian held his breath in anticipation of finally coming face to face with his maker. The feral blutbad who had mercilessly mauled at least two people and had kidnapped - and done god only knew what - with at least two innocent little girls. The monster that had plagued his nightmares for over two years and had changed the course of his life in ways he’d never anticipated or asked for.
The man who opened the door was not at all what Killian had expected a cold-blooded blutbad to look like.
“Good evening,” the man greeted, cordially. “May I help you?”
Both Robin and Killian took in the man’s appearance: unassumingly dressed in a casual pair of khakis, light gray t-shirt, and cozy looking cardigan. Glancing down, they noted it was not boots, but slippers on his feet, and Robin shot Killian a dubious look before addressing the man.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir. I'm Detective Locksley. This is Detective Jones. Do you have a few minutes?
“Of course,” the man said. Off in the distance, towards the back of the house, a timer went off. “Oh, pot pie's done. Just give me a moment to take it out of the oven, and then we can talk. Would you like to come in?”
“That would be great.”
Robin and Killian followed the man inside and were asked to wait in the living room while the man disappeared into the kitchen. They both took a moment to familiarize themselves with their surroundings, hoping to glean something about the man from his furnishings and decor.
“An unusual amount of clocks, creepy dolls, needlepoint pillows… are we sure this is the guy?”
“Are you telling me this place doesn’t scream serial killer?” Killian shot back in a low whisper as he continued to survey the room whilst listening for any hint of sound that might alert him to the little girl’s whereabouts.
“Fair point,” Robin conceded, and both men turned their attention to the hallway as the man returned from the kitchen.
“Sorry that took so long, but you know how delicate crusts are. Now… what can I do for you?”
“Where were you between the hours of 7:00 and 9:00 this morning?” Robin asked.
“On my route,” the man answered, an expression of curiosity taking hold of his features. “I’m a postman. What’s this all about?”
Killian took the photo of Grace Hatter out of his pocket and held it up to show the man. “This little girl went missing this morning along your route.”
“That's awful,” the man replied, barely looking at the photo. “You don't think I had anything to do with it, do you?”
“We’re just running down leads,” Robin said. “We thought you might have seen something out of the usual whilst on your route. Did you see the little girl?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t,” he answered, his gaze focused squarely on Robin and avoiding the photo altogether.
“Your mail truck was seen parked at the end of her street. You’re sure you didn’t see anything?” Killian pressed.
“I typically park my truck there and walk the route. It’s good exercise and the turn around at the end of that street can be tricky.”
“We found boot prints at the site where we believe the little girl was taken. Boot prints that match the ones postal workers are issued with their uniforms. Can we see yours?”
“Of course,” the man complied, waving them towards the back of the house. “I leave them by the back door.”
Killian let Robin take the lead so he could peer down the dark corridors of the cabin with his keen vision and continued listening for sounds of the girl. It was hard to distinguish anything from the ticking noises the myriad of clocks were making and most of the doors throughout the cabin were closed, making it impossible to see anything beyond the hallway walls.
“Here you are,” the man said, retrieving the boots and handing them off to Robin.
Killian could already tell they weren’t the boots that had left the prints. There was no wear pattern. These looked practically brand new.
“Is this your only pair?” he asked, a hint of accusation coloring his tone and causing Robin to give him the side eye.
“It is,” the man answered, seeming unperturbed by Killian’s tone. “You’re free to look around if you don’t believe me.”
That was all the permission Killian needed. He and Robin searched the home for nearly an hour, clearing closets, checking every nook and cranny, opening every cabinet, and even scouring the attic. All the while, the man sat at the kitchen table, enjoying his pot pie, doing his best to not look too smug.
“Look, I know she's in here somewhere,” Killian told Robin when his partner suggested it was time to cut their losses.
“You got another place to look, we'll look, but we've torn this place apart,” Robin replied. “We’ve got his boots. We should take them back and have them compared to the prints.”
“No,” Killian said, emphatically shaking his head. “If she's not here, he's got her someplace else.”
Robin peered around the corner into the kitchen where their suspect was washing dishes at the sink. “What do you see in this guy I don't? You saw the file Will sent on him. He's got no priors. He's clean.”
“He’s a…” Killian began, then metaphorically bit his tongue. He couldn’t tell Robin the truth. Couldn’t tell him he’d finally gotten a hit. A whiff of the blutbad who was behind the attacks and another faint scent he believed to be the girl. He just needed more time to figure out where he had Grace hidden, or worse… find evidence that he’d already disposed of her.
“He fits the profile,” Killian reminded him. “He's a loner, he's never been married, and his job gave him the means and opportunity to take Grace Hatter.”
Robin shook his head, dubious and unconvinced. “If this guy had something to hide, he would have kicked us out. I'm leaving. I want to keep my job.”
“Anything else?” their suspect asked, coming out from the kitchen with an all too pleasant expression on his face.
“No. Thanks for your time and cooperation. We'll see ourselves out.”
Robin turned towards the door, muttering “let’s go” under his breath, but Killian took a moment to fish a business card from his pocket.
“Here,” he said, handing it off to the perp and distracting him for a moment as he also pulled out his phone. “If you think of anything, please give us a call.”
“Of course, Detective,” the man replied with a somewhat wolfish smile. “Always happy to be of assistance.”
Killian turned as though to follow his partner, who had already exited and was halfway down the drive, a good distance from the cabin.
“Oh!” he said, facing the man once more. “One last thing.”
Bringing up his phone, he shoved the bright red screen into the blutbad’s face, and switched off the lights, bathing the room in a crimson glow. A growl reverberated off the walls and Killian watched in satisfaction as the wesen began to transform. If seeing his sire, the blutbad whose image had tormented him for more than two years, once more in full woge wasn’t enough to turn Killian’s blood cold, the words that exclaimed from the monster’s mouth were.
“You!” the beast exclaimed. “You’re a… A GRIMM!”
Killian blanched and stumbled back, tripping over the threshold and landing him hard against the floor of the porch. He heard Robin shouting his name and could hear rushed footfalls coming towards him. Although the moon had disappeared behind the clouds, there was still enough light coming from the cabin that would reveal the blutbad if one got close enough. He couldn’t let Robin see the beast, or let the beast have a chance of hurting his partner.
“Die, Grimm,” the wolfman snarled, emerging from the house with his massive paw raised and sharp claws at the ready.
Killian tried to pull his gun from its holster as Robin issued a warning. “Stop right there, or I’ll shoot!”
The monster advanced as Killian scurried back and shots rang out from behind him. A wounded howl echoed from the darkness as the blutbad stumbled backward into the house and a crash followed when he collapsed onto the coffee table, breaking it into pieces.
“Are you alright?” Robin shouted, his weapon still trained on the darkened doorway of the cabin as he crouched down to check on his partner.
“Aye,” Killian replied, accepting Robin’s help off the ground.
“Did I get him?” Robin asked, still peering into the doorway. “I could barely make him out, but could see he had some sort of weapon in his hand. What was it? A club?”
A relieved breath whooshed from Killian’s lungs. So, he hadn’t seen the perp for what he truly was. Had thought his paw was a weapon and not an extension of his monstrous body.
“You got him, all right,” Killian assured him. “Let’s make sure he’s down for good. Wait here and back me up?”
“Okay. But be careful.”
“Roger that.” Killian said over his shoulder as he crept towards the house. His vision allowed him to see that the blutbad, returned to its human form, was indeed dead, but he waited until flicking on the lights before confirming it to Robin.
“I’ll call it in and get CSU out here. He must be hiding the girl somewhere else like you said.”
Robin pulled out his phone and dialed, reporting the incident and requesting backup. Killian knew the little girl had to be there, though. They must have missed something.
Frantically, Killian stopped the clocks, silencing their ticking and homed in on any noise that remained. A trickling sound, like water dripping, made his ears perk and he looked about for its source. On the floor, next to the blutbad’s body, he could see water pooling from a knocked over vase. It appeared to disappear beneath the floorboards under the rug. Kicking back the corner of the rug revealed a trap door.
“Rob!” Killian shouted. “Come help me!”
Robin rushed inside and stared at Killian trying to move the dead man’s body.
“What are you doing, mate? You’re messing with the scene!”
“Look here,” he pointed out. “There’s a trap door hidden under the rug, help me move him so we can open it. Grace might be down there!”
That prompted Robin into action and together they rolled the man’s body so they could access the trap door. Killian wasted no time, raising the door and hurrying down the steps.
“Wait! Take this,” Robin said, handing Killian a flashlight. Not that he needed it. “I’ll be right behind you.”
At the bottom of the steps was a small room with concrete block walls. It wouldn’t have surprised Killian if the blutbad had dug it out himself. The only furnishings were a full size bed, decorated in pink linens with lace and tulle accents, and a large wardrobe. Killian gestured to Robin to check under the bed while he approached the bureau. Opening one side revealed a number of jackets, hoodies, and coats, all in shades of red, hanging from the clothes bar. Swinging open the other side revealed… Grace Hatter, bound, gagged, but very much alive!
“It’s okay, lass,” he told her softly when she shied back from him. “We’re the police. We’re gonna take you home.”
The little girl remained motionless as he removed her gag and bindings, then she threw herself into his arms, thanking him on choked sobs as she cried for her Papa.
~/~
Killian, Robin, and Will watched as Jefferson Hatter ran towards his daughter, who had finished being looked over by paramedics. Thankfully, they found her to be unharmed. The cabin was surrounded by cop cars, their red and blue strobes lighting up the forest around them as CSU processed the scene and many of the officers attempted to keep the press at bay.
“I don't know how you did it, but you did it,” Captain Gold said as he approached the trio. “Nice work.”
“Jones deserves all the credit,” Robin told their captain. “I still don’t understand how you put all the pieces together.”
“What’ve I told ya,” Will quipped. “The man has a bloody sixth sense.”
Killian scratched the back of his ear. “No. Just more perceptive than most, I guess.”
“Well, it paid off. Thanks to you a killer is off the streets and a little girl gets to go home.” Gold checked his watch and looked around at the organized chaos. “Given the day and evening you’ve both had, we can probably hold off until tomorrow to get your official statements. Officer Scarlett can escort you back to your vehicles, and I’ll attempt to keep the press from hounding you. Go home. Get some rest.”
With that, he smoothed out his suit coat and straightened his tie, then made a beeline for the gaggle of reporters, ready to give them statements and provide a distraction so his detectives could make their exit from the scene.
Killian said little as they made their way back to the respective vehicles, allowing Robin to give Will the play by play of events… again. It wasn’t until he was back in his vehicle, pulling away from the scene, that he allowed his thoughts full rein to run rampant in his head.
The blutbad had called him a Grimm. He’d seen Regina and another woman woge earlier that day. Neither of those things should have happened. The only way they could was if he were gaining Grimm powers. And the only way he could… the only reason he could gain Grimm powers was if…
“Call Liam.”
His phone lit up from the holder on the dash, dialing his brother. Killian held his breath with each ring, then cursed when it went to voicemail.
Ending the call, he tried Nemo. It had been months since he’d spoken to the man, but he knew Liam was in more frequent contact with their father figure and mentor than he was.
Again, the call went to voicemail.
“Nemo, it’s Killian,” he said, leaving a message. “Are you with Liam? Have you talked with him? I can’t reach him and I… I need one of you to call me back just as soon as you get this. Please.”
He tried his brother one more time as he sped towards the docks, fear causing his stomach to churn even as his heart beat a rhythm of denial.
Can’t be dead, can’t be dead, can’t be dead, can’t be--
Killian slammed on his brakes as he pulled into the underground garage of the warehouse. Off to one side was Liam’s truck with his trailer full of resources and supplies hitched to the back. He rushed to the driver's side and found his brother, badly beaten and passed out behind the wheel, barely clinging to life.
“Liam!” Killian shouted, trying to rouse his brother. “Liam, what happened!”
“Am…bush,” his brother groaned. “Manti…core.”
Killian’s stomach dropped.
A manticore? Manticore were vicious wesen. Half-lion, Half-scorpion. His brother would have to be a fool to face one alone, much less enough to constitute an ambush. Especially since they were…
When Killian opened the door to try and get Liam out of the truck and inside the loft, his heart nearly stopped. At the juncture between his chest and shoulder was a wound. A puncture. The kind of wound left by a manicure’s scorpion-like stinger tail. His brother had been stung by a manticore, and Killian knew if not treated immediately, the venom of a manticore would prove deadly.
Shoving Liam over to the other end of the bench seat, Killian disengaged the hitch so he could leave the trailer behind before climbing into the driver’s seat and speeding off. For the second time that day, he dialed the only person he knew he could count on.
He just hoped she’d agree to help him once she discovered the secret he’d been hiding.
~/~
“Did you say Manticore anti-venom?” Emma questioned into the phone, certain she had not heard him correctly.
“Yes!” Jones replied. “My brother’s been stung! I’m bringing him to you now! Please tell me you have something that can help him!”
“What the hell was your brother doing messing with a manticore? Did he know they were a manticore?”
“Why or how isn’t important! I’m pulling into the alley now. Can you help me or not?”
“Yes, I can help you. Do you need help getting him inside?”
“No, I can manage. Just get things ready for us!”
The line went dead and Emma sprinted to where she kept her anti-venoms.
“Put him on the divan,” she called out when she heard the back door open.
Vaguely aware of Jones carrying his brother through the back room, Emma found the vial she was looking for and began measuring out the proper dosage into a syringe. A gasp fell from her lips when she finally caught sight of the bruised and beaten man.
“Are you… are you sure he’s still alive?” She didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but found herself unable to contain the thought.
“Aye, he’s alive. But he needs that anti-venom.”
Emma flicked her gaze up to Jones and her heart ached at the scared, desperate look in his eyes.
“Killian,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “He’s going to need more than this anti-venom. He needs a hospital. It would take me more time than he has to treat these other injuries with magic. He’d succumb before I got the appropriate potions brewed.”
He looked down at his brother and his Adam’s apple jumped from the force of his swallow. “Just give him the anti-venom then I’ll get him to a hospital. We both know they’re not equipped to treat the poison.”
“Okay, but you should call for an ambulance. It’ll be faster.”
Killian shook his head. “An ambulance call means questions, and I’d rather keep you out of this if I can.”
“If you’re sure,” Emma said, turning back to her patient. “Hold his head steady. I have to inject this in his carotid.”
Killian did as he was told and Emma inserted the needle into his brother’s neck. She’d just managed to empty the entire contents of the syringe into his artery when the man’s eyes flew open and his hand wrapped around her neck.
“Liam!” Killian cried out, attempting to pry his brother’s fingers off her throat.
Panic flared through her and before she could stop herself, she woged. Bright, radiant light shimmered off her skin and her eyes flashed with a green glow.
Shocked, Liam released her and hissed, “Witch!”
His shock was nothing compared to hers, though.
Unconscious once more, Killian’s brother collapsed back onto the divan. Emma stared down at him, then stared up at the guilt-riddled man who now put himself between her and his brother.
His Grimm brother.
“I can explain,” Jones began, holding his hands out in front of him.
“Explain?” Emma replied in an incredulous tone. “Explain what? That you never saw fit to tell me your brother was a Grimm?”
“Swan, I--”
“I knew you had knowledge of wesen before becoming one yourself, but never would I have imagined it was because your brother was a… Does he know?!”
“Know what?”
“Does he know about you, Killian?” Emma demanded. “Does he know you're a lycanthrope?”
Jones’ jaw tightened and his gaze fell to the floor before he ashamedly admitted, “No. He doesn’t know.”
“Jesus, Jones!” Emma exclaimed. “Is there anyone at all in your life you’ve been honest with? Anyone you aren’t keeping secrets from?”
“You’re one to talk,” Killian shot back, startling Emma into stunned silence. “You think I never noticed how you change the subject anytime the topic of your family comes up? Your beginnings before Marco took you in? You’re an open book, Swan. I know you have secrets, too, but I’ve never pressed you about them. I’ve respected your privacy. Who are you to judge me about when and to whom I disclose my secrets, hmm?”
Stung by the truth of his words, Emma marched to the back door and swung it open. “Get out. Take you Grimm brother and get out of my shop.”
“Swan. Please, I didn’t mean for--”
“He needs a hospital,” she reminded him. “And I need time to… process.”
“As you wish,” he relented. Leaning over, he pulled his brother up and over his shoulder as though the larger man weighed nothing. “Thank you for your help, Swan. Truly. I appreciate it.”
He brushed past her and exited the way he’d come. After getting his brother secured in the passenger side of the truck, Killian made his way around to the driver’s side.
“Jones,” Emma called out before he could get behind the wheel. “I hope…” she paused, not certain she could really hope for the best for a Grimm. Instead, she managed to force out, “Good luck. Let me know how… how things go.”
“I will,” he said. Though his tone and expression told her there was more he wished to say, he left with a simple, “Thank you again.”
Emma watched until he’d completely backed out of the alley, torn with what to do with her newfound information. There were those who would pay handsomely to know the whereabouts of a Grimm, especially an injured one. There was also an unspoken code that demanded wesen keep other wesen informed of the presence of a Grimm so they could stay vigilant. Jones’ brother wasn’t a threat to any wesen at the moment though, and it didn’t sit right with her to out the man while he was vulnerable. Not to mention that outing him meant outing Killian, and even though she was pissed that he’d kept this from her… she couldn’t really blame him. Not really. Not when he was right about her.
She had her own family secrets, just as dangerous and damning. If not more so.
~/~
Killian paced the waiting room as the doctors worked to stabilize his brother. A number of times he heard the doctors and nurses mutter their astonishment that the patient was still alive before they’d finally made him leave the triage area and wait as they attended to his brother. Killian knew it was Liam’s Grimm powers that were sustaining him, and he prayed to a god he didn’t even believe in that those powers would hold true.
“Mr. Jones?”
Killian spun around to face the doctor who’d called his name. “Yes! I’m Mr. Jones. How’s Liam? How’s my brother?”
“Stable, but not out of the woods,” the doctor informed him. “He has a head injury we’ll need to closely monitor, but he’s conscious and asking for you.”
“I can… I can see him?”
“Only for a few minutes,” the doctor told him. “He needs his rest.”
Killian followed the doctor to the curtained off area where Liam was resting. Taking a seat in the chair next to his brother’s bed, Killian reached over and took Liam’s hand.
“Killian?” Liam choked out groggily.
“Aye, it’s me, brother. Try not to speak.”
Liam’s eyes fluttered open and he blinked several times before turning his gaze towards his brother. “Killian,” he choked out again. “What the devil were you doing with a… she is a witch, yes? My little brother associating with a damn witch?”
Killian scoffed and clicked his tongue. “That witch saved your life,” he told him.
“You trust her?”
“I do,” Killian affirmed emphatically. “I’ve known her a long time, Liam. She isn’t like other hexenbeists.”
“She certainly doesn’t woge like one.” Capturing his brother’s gaze he asked, “You saw it, didn’t you? Her woge?”
“Aye.”
“Damn strange.” He turned his gaze back towards the ceiling and released a heavy, pained sigh. “I haven’t the strength to argue with you about your association with a hexenbeist just now, so perhaps we can table that discussion for another time?”
“Or…” Killian proposed, “You can trust my judgment and we can drop the matter altogether, and you can tell me why I’ve been seeing wesen woge all day.”
Liam’s head snapped back towards Killian. “You… you’ve been seeing them woge?”
“Aye. Two other hexenbeists at lunch time, and…”
“And?”
“And a blutbad called me a Grimm earlier this evening.”
Ill-advisedly, Liam sat up, then immediately fell back against the pillows, groaning with regret.
“Damn it, brother!” Killian admonished. “You’ve been seriously injured. Stop being a fool and lie still!”
A grunt worked its way up Liam’s chest and slipped past his lips. “I am a fool,” he lamented, staring back up at the ceiling. “I was a bloody, damned fool today, brother.”
“What happened?” Killian inquired with a measure of ease as to not further censure his brother. “You said you were ambushed?”
“We were.” Liam wet his lips then clenched his jaw. His Adam’s apple bobbing heavily before he continued in a tone of mourning. “Graham is dead. Someone set a trap for us.”
Graham is dead?! The Huntsman? One of the most fearsome Grimms of their generation?
“How?” Killian asked in disbelief. “Who set you up?”
“No clue.” Clearly unwilling to relive the disastrous encounter, Liam changed the subject by nodding towards the bag that held his personal effects. “Pass me that.”
Killian did as his brother requested, then resumed his seat as Liam rummaged through the bag. He held his tongue and his questions. His brother had been through enough already. The least he could do was give him time to heal before pressing him for answers.
“Here,” Liam said, depositing something into Killian’s hand. “Never lose this. Guard it with your life. They'll be looking for it.”
Glancing down at his hand, Killian was struck by the object Liam had placed there. “Mother’s ring? Who? Who’s looking for it?”
“Whoever set us up,” Liam answered. “The manticores knew we were coming and were apparently instructed to get mother’s ring off my dead body. They took something from Graham, too. I couldn’t stop them.” Glancing back at the ring, Liam added, “Nemo once told me it was important, but he never said in what way. I need you to look after it and keep it safe whilst I’m stuck in here. Especially if I don’t--”
“No,” Killian admonished. “Don’t even go there. You’re going to be fine. You just need to rest. You hear me, Liam?”
A half smile formed on Liam’s lips. “Aye, little brother. I hear you.”
“Younger,” Killian groused, shoving the ring into his pocket and leaning back in the chair so he could keep vigil until the doctors kicked him out.
The sound of the curtain being pulled back roused him some time later. He must have dozed off. Checking the time on his phone, he found it strange that none of the doctors had come to tell him visiting hours were over until now. Glancing up, he had a half-formed apology on his lips, but it was forgotten when he caught sight of the ‘doctor’ that had approached his brother’s bedside.
Standing over Liam, with a syringe filled with a black substance, was none other than the red-headed hexenbeist from earlier.
“You!” Killian exclaimed, shooting up from the chair.
Startled, the woman lunged towards his brother with the syringe, but Killian managed to grab her wrist before she could inject him. They struggled for a moment before a sharp prick pierced his skin. He wrenched back, the syringe, halfway emptied into his system, still sticking out from his arm, and the room began to spin.
In an attempt to break his fall, he wrenched the curtain down over himself. Shouts and a stampede of footfalls raced towards him as he lost consciousness. Lying on the cold linoleum floor, with the fallen curtain partially covering his face, he saw the green stilettos of the hexenbeist hurrying away from the scene before darkness consumed him.
Chapter Three - Coming Soon!
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I’m so sorry I didn’t get this out this morning, it’s been A DAY… but everyone enjoy this new chapter of No Rest for the Immortals and be sure to give @laianely all the love!!!
I’m so sorry I didn’t get this out this morning, it’s been A DAY… but everyone enjoy this new chapter of No Rest for the Immortals and be sure to give @laianely all the love!!!
Look at me posting a chapter of one my WIPs 3 months after posting the previous one! 😂 I really am trying to update more this year on all of my stories so I’m very excited to be posting the next chapter of this one. I love myths and legends and anything to do with superstitions of the sea and I really hope you enjoy this story that pays a little tribute to that genre.
A huge thank you to ultraluckycatnd for her amazing beta skills - another person with the patience of a saint who correctly placed my commas for me!!
Thank you also to MotherKat for the beautiful artwork that she made for this story - I still love my Sea Sapphire critter!
And finally, thank you to the CSSNS mods for putting together one final event last year that allowed me to write this story! 🥰💖
See previous chapters: Chapter 1 OR check out AO3
Tag list under the cut - let me know if you would like to be added or deleted :)
She could hear her name being carried on the wind, the voice of her lady’s maid (who had undoubtedly been sent by her mother to seek her out) pleading, but Emma was not ready to return to the castle just yet. The waves cresting playfully onto the small rocky outcropping on which she was perched were sending salty sprays of water high into the air, soaking through her knee length day dress and turning her carefully styled golden curls into a wild and frizzy mane.
She often came down to this secluded section of the beach just below the castle walls, seeking solitude and a moment of freedom that only listening to the song of the sea seemed to provide to her now. Despite her near drowning all those years ago, her love of the ocean had seemed to intensify; that missing piece of her that had remained in the dark depths of the water beyond Misthaven’s harbour, calling out to her both in her dreams and waking hours, only settling when she was in close proximity to her private beach.
Of course, she wasn’t completely alone; she had faithfully promised her parents that she would always be accompanied by Starkey and Mullins - Royal Naval officers turned full time protection guards to the Crown Princess of Misthaven. They had been by her side from the moment they had been cleared by the royal physician to return to full duties, their imposing figures and unsettling gaze instilling dread into the hearts of Misthaven’s enemies, and cautious admiration in their friends. Emma didn’t view them that way however; to her they were her devoted and overprotective older brothers, close confidantes bound together by their shared experiences, survivors of a terrifying ordeal that they still had no real understanding of.
Another exasperated shout of “Your Highness, please…” finally convinced Emma that her time of peaceful pondering was at an end. Rolling her eyes in her own exasperation to Mullins who was standing some distance behind her in an effort to avoid the spray of seawater while allowing his princess some measure of privacy, he returned the gesture with a smirk before turning to signal to Starkey that they were now returning to the castle. Taking one last glance at the jewel bright ocean glittering under the rays of the mid-afternoon sun, Emma began the short trek back to the castle, stopping to reach behind the small boulder next to her to retrieve her shoes that she had removed in an effort to at least keep one article of her clothing dry and hopefully receive a less tiresome lecture from her mother in the process.
As she pulled on her well-worn, yet reliable boots, tiny zephyrs danced across her little outcropping, sweeping remnants of seaweed and other tidal debris across the rocky surface, playfully tugging at the hem of her dress and the ends of her hair. Those wisps of wind were all gentleness and light; however, they held the hint of an iciness which declared that the autumn months were beginning to free themselves from the memory of summer and embrace the winter that would all too soon bear down upon them. The puff of warm air on the back of Emma’s neck therefore was unexpected, and she stiffened immediately in response. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation - quite the contrary - but it left her feeling unnerved and wondering if her imagination was conjuring yet another illusion for her to fixate on - it wouldn’t be the first time in the last three years…
Just as she was about to step down onto the roughly hewn rock that formed a natural staircase leading down to the sand below, another frisson of warmth touched her, this time spreading across her lower back, causing her to freeze once more. Were it not for the fact that she had been well and truly alone, she would swear that someone was providing her with a guiding hand as she negotiated her steps downward. Reminding herself to stay focused on the precariously slippery surface, Emma ignored the strange sensations seeking to question her sanity and made her way down to where Starkey awaited her, his hand outstretched to assist her to the softness of the sand below. It would be some time yet before the sun began its descent below the waves allowing the moon to rule in its place, so the distinct outline of a human - a man - standing above them, comprised entirely of what appeared to be swirling wisps of wind and sea foam, could not be explained away as a mere trick of the dying light of the day. Another warm caress to the back of Emma’s neck caused her to turn abruptly in time for her to witness the curious apparition dissipate just as a large spray of seawater rose up behind it.
“Joseph…” Emma whispered to Starkey, as she turned again and began to walk the path back to the castle.
Starkey automatically held out his arm to the princess, knowing that if she was referring to him by his given name, then she was in need of a friend who could help to reassure whatever thoughts were causing her confusion and distress. Emma threaded her arm through his without thought, her mind still trying to grasp what exactly it was she had just seen on the outcropping. Was it a sea sprite scouting for a hapless target with which to inflict all manner of mischief upon? Or was it something more nefarious; a spy, sent by the self-styled ‘Queen’ Regina - a bitter and spiteful sorceress hell bent on destroying the kingdom her parents had worked so hard to restore to glory and assume the throne herself once more?
Taking a deep breath, Emma asked her companion a question that had become almost habitual in the last three years. “Are we awake? Or is this a dream?”
“We are very much awake, Your Highness. However, it does not always follow that our dreams do not seek us out even when we are not asleep,” Starkey replied softly, his gaze focused on their careful steps over the sand and onto the care-worn path that would lead them to the rear entrance of the castle gardens. Emma glanced at Starkey, a brow raised in question at his meaning, and with a small squeeze of their linked arms, she prompted him to elaborate further.
“Sometimes our dreams are not mere fantasies of how we wish things could be, or a twisted version of the fears we keep at bay in the light of day. Although you must know, Your Highness, that Mullins and I would never allow even an Agrabahn viper snakelet to enter your chambers…” Emma rolled her eyes even as an amused huff left her lips at Starkey’s teasing words of her hatred of snakes, however, she sobered again as he continued.
“Sometimes, our dreams are memories reimagined to help us make sense of the world we live in, to understand what our next course of action should be, or in some rare cases, to help us to remember what we have lost.”
Starkey fell silent, offering no further explanation, allowing his charge to contemplate it instead.
It wasn’t often that Captain Joseph Starkey, founding knight of the Order of Swans, spoke more than a few words at any given moment - even before the destruction and subsequent sinking of The White Shepherd - preferring to keep his thoughts to himself, unless he truly felt they would assist another. It was one of the things that Emma had always appreciated in the older man; a wisdom borne from his early years working hard to better himself to escape a life of desolate poverty, of settling down with a woman with just as much sense as he (and even more kindness besides), and a keen intelligence that the Naval Academy had been able to nurture and direct into many different avenues of study. Usually, his answer to her oft asked question provided a measure of reassurance that allowed her to breathe easy and ignore the foreign piece of her heart that told her she did more than almost drown in the dreadful depths of the ocean. However, this time his answer went beyond the kind words of ‘Your Highness, we are as awake as the sun that rules high in the sky’ or ‘we are as awake as my Martha is on a Sunday morn, cooking up a storm in anticipation of you and your parents' arrival for dinner.’ Instead, it forced her to consider how much he (and Mullins) had changed after washing up on shore just as she had.
In the days and weeks after waking in her bedroom and to the tearful relief of her father, Emma had begun to question her initial belief that a god had come to her aid and spared her life and that of her guards. It was true that she was the child of the famed Snow White and her former shepherd turned Prince ‘Charming’, David Nolan, a product of True Love that was so rare that upon her birth, the kingdom of Misthaven had celebrated for an entire month afterwards - a tradition still practised today for their beloved princess. However, Emma had never shown any signs of inhabiting any particular gifts that came from being the physical embodiment of True Love - aside from perhaps her uncommon beauty that was extolled throughout the kingdoms and had elicited many a marriage proposal over the years - therefore, she could not fathom how she could have caught the attention of a god who would be so moved as to give her another chance at life.
As she and Starkey neared the rear gate to the castle gardens, cleverly concealed by thick flowering vines, Emma’s attention was brought out of her internal musings and to her current surroundings. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she had not yet noticed that they were missing a member of their party.
“And where has Mullins disappeared to?” Emma wondered aloud, craning her neck over Starkey’s broad shoulder as he stood behind her, surveying the path behind them as though expecting to see some figure travelling along the hard-packed dirt after them. Emma could not see anything that should give her guardian pause although, the sweetly musical royal jaybirds with their brightly coloured plumage were nowhere to be seen among the trees, the absence of their song giving the small forested area that led to the beach an eerie silence that was unnerving. The more Emma allowed the silence to envelop and penetrate her senses, the more she wished to find herself on the other side of the garden gate and the safety of the castle’s high and impregnable stone walls.
A slight tug on Starkey’s shirt sleeve pulled him out of his trained focus. He turned swiftly back to his princess who stood at a respectable distance from him, but still holding onto his sleeve in a bid for his attention.
“Is anything the matter?” Emma asked, her hand moving to grasp her guardian’s forearm in a gesture of comfort and concern, her gaze assessing, as she tried to ascertain the cause for his vigilance. Starkey smiled, all trace of the fearsome Naval officer wiped away, replaced by the kindly gentleman who was more like family to her than her mandated bodyguard.
“No, Your Highness. All is well. Mullins on the other hand… well I believe he is distracting your lady’s maid so as to give you some peace before you must present yourself to your mother. I just hope that Jane and Mary from the kitchens, Emily, one of the third floor chambermaids, Alice the royal baker’s daughter, and at least three of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting do not catch wind of his methods in protecting your sanity for just a little while longer - they are all quite taken with him it would appear, and would have no qualms in staking a claim on him I’d wager.”
The roguish wink that Starkey cast her way couldn’t completely quell Emma’s suspicion that all wasn’t quite as well as he wished for her to believe. She trusted him implicitly - he would never withhold any information from her, especially when it came to her own safety - however, Emma sensed that her guardian’s behaviour went beyond his duty of ensuring that nothing and no one could come at them unawares. It almost seemed as though he had been listening to something - or perhaps someone - beyond the usual sounds of the natural world around them and into the realm where only the most learned and powerful of magic users dared to explore. It would be no use trying to convince Starkey to confide in her if he did not wish to; the man was as reserved with his thoughts as the marbled idols that lined the walls of the temples to the gods.
“I suppose I should meet Mama sooner rather than later for the last minute preparations for tomorrow night. I imagine she will be in quite the state by now as it's been at least two hours since she last bombarded me with an updated menu for the festivities and a list of all of our guests and their current accommodations. Oh, and of course the decorations for the ballroom - and every other inch of the castle…”
Starkey huffed out a small yet dignified chuckle at his princess’ less than enthusiastic approach to her coming out ball tomorrow night. Pressing on a hidden stone panel, a vine covered door leading into the gardens beyond swung open, revealing her mother already awaiting her arrival with a veritable gaggle of maids and ladies in waiting. Mullins stood off to the side at attention, his Naval training so well ingrained that he was able to maintain his stance while completely ignoring the scathing glares some of the women were throwing his way - only the faint tinge of pink touching his cheeks denoted that he was aware of any attention upon him. Emma sighed; she had hoped that Mullins may have been able to garner her at least a few more minutes before she was forced to endure another dress fitting, flower arrangement inspection, or an umpteenth review of the security around the castle and harbour. All thoughts of what she had experienced at the beach and Starkey’s curious behaviour on the walk back was now firmly shoved to the back of her mind as she prepared to receive her mother’s bubble of excitement, her arm linking with Starkey’s once again in a bid to calm her nerves and give her the strength she needed to get through the next few hours before dinner and hopefully an early night.
********************E&K********************
Queen Snow, despite being known as the kindest and fairest throughout all of the known kingdoms, was also an extremely accomplished strategist; approaching all tasks as though she were heading into battle to reclaim her kingdom. Perhaps that was because she had spent the majority of her youth doing exactly that. Emma could certainly appreciate the similarities between seating arrangements and battalion placements on the field of battle, or of knowing which Prince or Duke would be in attendance and gaining intelligence of the Evil Queen’s movements, and of course, ensuring there was a multitude of delicacies for the good and noble people who will be in attendance was no different to catering to a whole army of battle worn and hungry soldiers.
Perhaps if she were still eighteen, when her world was still a little brighter and the threat of an oncoming war was just a lingering shadow from before her birth, her enthusiasm for a grand ball in her honour might have closely matched her mother’s. But as it was, Emma could only feel the pressure of finding a suitable husband that would also bring a big enough army into the marriage to keep the Evil Queen and her gold obsessed ally King George from forcing all of the kingdoms between Misthaven and the Forests of Glowerhaven to bend the knee to their tyranny. Her parents may want her to marry a man that she loved (or at least learn to), but how could she when she knew that she had left part of herself on the ocean floor, a part that she was sure controlled her ability to fall in love.
“Emma! Did you hear me? Or have you not heard a word I have said these last few minutes? Honestly, you are as bad as your father when I wish to discuss the bi-monthly rotation of chores with Johanna and Leroy!”
Snow looked up from the large, ornate table that was usually reserved for when the Royal Council was in session yet was now littered with guest lists, menus, flower samples, and colour charts. Seeing her daughter - for whom this entire event was being planned for - gazing out of the window that provided a stunning (and highly advantageous) view of the waters that lead to Misthaven’s Western Isles, she sighed, worry and empathy overriding her irritation at Emma’s inattention to the final touches that had yet to be approved. Bustling around the table and moving to stand beside the window, Snow gently wrapped her arm around her while carefully guiding her head to rest on her shoulder.
“Are you worried that Regina will cause another raging storm to prevent all of our friends and allies from attending the ball so that we are forced to postpone your coming out for yet another year?”
Emma slowly shook her head, her eyes still trained on the world outside that held so many shades of blue, green, and white, mingling together as the wind playfully dragged along the water’s surface, creating multi-hued waves that dissipated to nothing more than foam edged imprints upon the shore. The two women stood in silence for some time, each trying to calm the whirl of thoughts that did not wish to be brought to heel.
For the last three years, the kingdom had tried to celebrate their Princess’s birthday and her coming out into society as all women who celebrate their twenty-first birthdays do in some manner or other. However, ever since Emma had washed ashore after experiencing the terror that was the sinking of The White Shepherd, a spate of dangerously violent storms would roll through off the sea on the week of her birthday like clockwork, causing devastation to any who were foolish enough to try and sail through it to Misthaven’s harbour. Even the forests that flanked the castle to the east became treacherous and unseasonably bitter with cold, deterring any from making the journey to meet the princess who would more than likely assume the mantle of ‘the fairest in the land’ after tomorrow night.
“Sweetheart,” Snow began softly, shifting them slightly away from the window and towards a small alcove beside them where two well worn, but comfortable armchairs were placed underneath an ancient painting depicting a grand galleon sailing towards its home port.
Settling themselves into the chairs, Snow took hold of one of her daughter’s hands, and squeezing it affectionately, continued. “I know that you’re feeling the expectation that tomorrow night you must find the man that will help you rule the kingdom when your Papa and I are no longer here, and that it needs to be someone who will have the means to aid our cause against Regina and George if we secure it with a marriage pact.” Emma dropped her gaze to the floor, her chest tightening with false denials that she wished to reassure her mother with, but before she had a chance to let the words form, Snow spoke again.
“This ball is to celebrate you, Emma, our beloved Swan Princess. A beautiful and courageous woman who will rule this kingdom one day using the greatest power in all the realms that she was blessed with at birth - love.”
“Mama, be serious! Love? Against the Evil Queen? The Council wants-” Emma began, unable to keep the incredulity out of her tone.
“The Council do not represent Misthaven nor do they carry the burden that comes with such responsibility,” Snow interrupted, her tone hardening in emphasis of her point. Queen Snow had always been known as a kind, gentle, and motherly monarch that was beloved by her people, however, it has never been forgotten that it was her banners that outnumbered those of Regina’s in the heat of battle and that it was she and her King Consort who had ultimately masterminded Misthaven’s victory that fateful day so many years ago.
Now taking both of Emma’s hands into her own, Snow levelled her daughter with a scrutinising stare, trying to decipher the mysterious notions of her mind. However, the golden haired beauty’s emerald eyes (a perfect mirror reflection of her own) remained as closed off as ever, or at least since she had been returned to them after nearly losing her to the deceptive waves beyond the castle walls. Tamping down her grief at the loss of her daughter’s once open heart to the depths of the ocean, Snow focused her thoughts on the present situation, determined to impart one of the most important lessons she could ever hope for her daughter and heir to learn.
“Love is more than just a fleeting moment, an emotion that elicits a quickening of your heart beat or brings a feeling of weightlessness to your body whenever it is bestowed upon you. Those are wonderful feelings to have and I would never discount them as being anything superficial, but Love, True Love, is a way of life and the only path to long lasting victory against those who would do us harm.”
Emma tilted her head slightly as she tried to process her mother’s words, not yet willing to rule out that Snow wasn’t just getting carried away with her romantic fantasies that often come from the anticipation of attending a ball. Snow continued on as if she hadn’t noticed Emma’s skepticism in the rise of her brow and the almost imperceptible tightening of her mouth that was desperately trying to force itself into staying neutral.
“Love is intrinsically entwined within us - the gods ensured this so that we would love and worship them. Mothers and fathers will rush into burning buildings to save their children, siblings will share what little they have with one another so no one is left out, even craftsmen will create the most exquisite pieces just for the joy it brings to others. And lovers? Well, your father and I have told you our story for so many years, you know that they will face trials and tribulations no matter how perilous, challenges no matter how unfair, and fights no matter how outmatched they appear to be - together.”
Eyes of sapphire blue staring intently at her in the early dawn light flashed across Emma’s mind, even as a whispered promise of a long awaited return lingered across her heart. As quickly as the image - that felt so much more like a memory than it should - materialised, it faded away, leaving behind dismay and confusion in its wake.
Mentally shaking away the longing within her heart for a man she was increasingly losing hope had been more than just a figment of her imagination, Emma tried to lighten the tone of both their moods by quipping, “Then perhaps we should do away with all the pomp and circumstance. If love is all we need to win this war, then I’m sure I can find someone worthy of my love down at the ‘Golden Mermaid’ or perhaps even the ‘Sea Witch'. I’ve met - I mean, I’ve heard - that there are quite a few gentleman pirates that would be more than willing to take up the cause if for nothing more than to infuriate The Evil Queen and her puppet George.”
The raised eyebrow at her daughter’s slip of her long suspected activities outside the castle walls was replaced by a pensive furrow as she thought of the truth behind the casually flippant words. Smiling slightly in memory of her own love story, Snow focused on her wedding ring, the peridot gem as unblemished and glittering as ever in the light of the afternoon sun, a reminder of all she had fought for to be able to have the love of her life by her side and watch her beloved daughter grow into the incredibly brave and beautiful woman she was now.
“It is true that love doesn’t discriminate between classes. By all accounts, I should never have met your father let alone fallen in love with him. A shepherd who had been forced to flee his home and a princess who just happened to be wandering in the forest grieving the loss of both of her parents, feeling completely alone and unprepared for the crown? I don’t know how things would have turned out if I had bowed to the demands of the Council and married a prince or duke from some far away land who was only interested in the wealth and security that the kingdom could provide. Perhaps we would still have defeated Regina, or perhaps, we would have been completely overrun. What I do know, is that was never something I ever had to consider once I met your father. We make each other better. We balance out each other’s flaws. And we share the burdens that life demands of us every day.”
Snow took a deep breath, her impromptu lesson nearing its conclusion. She needed Emma to understand that of all her hopes and aspirations for her, of finding a love like what she and David have, one that has seen through them through the best and worst moments of their lives, and will see them through to the end of their days and the afterlife beyond, is the only one that is of any consequence. She knew that was what Emma wanted too, even if she no longer confided the secrets of her heart - to her or anyone else.
“Emma, you are the only treasure that your Papa and I will guard fiercely with our lives. Your health and happiness is all that matters to us. There is no denying that Regina is regaining strength and that before long, we and our allies will be facing another war where we will have to fight for what is good and beautiful in this realm. However, that is still some way off - she might have King George on her side this time, but she is going to need more than one impoverished kingdom to raise their banners for her. Therefore, tomorrow night, all I want you to do is dance, eat as many of your favourite treats that Granny has made especially for you, and make as many cherished memories with our friends as you possibly can. We will need those memories in the coming years. Thoughts of prospective marriage pacts are forbidden!”
Emma could hear the earnest plea in her mother’s voice for her to listen and take her words as the most important counsel to live by. She knew these last three years since her near drowning she had undergone a significant change in her behaviour that was often perceived as aloof and perfunctory; something that had been heartbreakingly jarring for those she loved. She didn’t know how to explain what had happened and why she had been unable to recover fully from it; only Starkey and Mullins truly understood, but even they had never come up with a plausible explanation on how they came to be on that beach. She could never explain to anyone that her initial belief was that she been saved by Killian Jones, god of sailors and collector of lost souls at sea, and that although logic told her that he had not come to her aid, her dreams refused to allow her to let go of the notion that he had and what was more, he did it because he loved her.
Again time passed between the two women, so much so, that ominous dark clouds began to gather outside, casting shadows across the room. Surprisingly, Emma was the first to notice this change in atmosphere as the wind began to herald yet another tempest to mark the Princess of Misthaven’s birthday. She was about to suggest that they should start lighting the lamp sconces around the chamber themselves rather than wait for the servants, when she caught sight of her mother’s usually bright and youthful face. For once, Emma could see the toll her altered state had taken on those she loved most. Tiny lines of distress marked the corners of Snow’s eyes and lips, deepening the more she tried to bring her emotions under control, the hand that was not still holding tightly onto Emma’s was twisted into the folds of her otherwise perfectly pressed gown, and her verdant eyes - a mirror to Emma’s own - was furiously blinking back the tears that her daughter’s seeming indifference had triggered.
“Oh Mama!” Emma exclaimed, shuffling off her seat to kneel before the Queen and laying her head on her lap, just as she had as a little girl when seeking comfort and safety - she only hoped that this time she was the one to bestow those sentiments.
“I’m sorry I’m not what I used to be. That I - that I don’t reveal myself as I used to. I wish I could tell you why, but I do not understand it myself.”
Snow had leant down to hear her daughter’s soft words of apology, her tears spilling over unchecked as she heard Emma’s confusion and regret. She embraced Emma fully, one arm wound around her back as the other cradled the back of her head, the tips of her fingers stroking through the fine strands of golden hair. There was no need for an apology. Snow would give her daughter anything in her power to give - patience was something she would have no issue in providing.
A short rap on the door, followed by two servants laden with lanterns and tapers entered the room, forcing the moment of quiet apology to end. Emma was the first to stand, helping her mother out of her seat, before they each assisted in bringing light back into the room against the oncoming storm. In short order, the servants left to continue lighting the rest of the castle and Snow went back to poring over the plans for the ball.
“Are you positive that a masquerade is what you really want? We still have time to change it if we send notices right now,” Snow looked up as she spoke, smiling brightly when she saw that Emma had sat at the table and was now looking over the seating arrangements.
“It’s my ball, is it not Mama? I think masquerades are fun - Aurora’s coming out ball might have been passably enjoyable if she had had one. How in all the realms can you have fire and ice dancers perform at your ball and still have it be one of the most dullest nights of your life, I will never know…”
“Emma!” Snow admonished, albeit half-heartedly. King Stephan and Queen Briar had been wonderful friends and allies over the years, but even Snow could not explain away their daughter’s spoiled nature and propensity to complain about anything and everything no matter how insignificant.
“Fine, fine. A masquerade it is. I believe Johanna has already collected your mask from the seamstress and had it placed with the rest of your garments for tomorrow night. But what about the unmasking at midnight? Could we change it to something a little earlier? What about just after supper?” After the tears that had only been shed moments before, Snow felt a relief in being able to playfully haggle with her daughter on the final touches of the ball and end their time together with just the two of them on a lighter note.
“It is tradition for the unmasking to be done at midnight,” Emma murmured, reaching for the quill and ink well so she could cross out Princess Aurora’s and her betrothed, Prince Phillip’s, names from the second table after her own and seat them a little further away so as to create as much space between them as possible.
“Hmmm, yes and you’ve always been such a stickler for tradition my dearest, haven’t you?” Snow laughed. If she hadn’t known better, she would question whether Emma knew what ‘tradition’ meant, given her abject irreverence towards it on most important occasions. Emma’s slight smirk was all the answer she received in return, causing an inelegant snort of mirth from the Queen of Misthaven.
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The storm had raged offshore, never making landfall but ensuring its presence was known all the same. The booms of thunder repeatedly interrupted Queen Snow’s excited chatter of all of the plans now in place for tomorrow. King David’s sly winks to her at each interruption saw Emma drink more deeply from her water glass for fear of dissolving into laughter and getting both she and her father in trouble.
Some hours later, long after everyone had retired to their apartments and sleeping quarters, Emma sat alone at her dressing table, combing through her hair in the warm light of the candles on either side of the ornate mirror in front of her. The storm had not yet exhausted itself across the water, nor had it appeared to have moved from its position just beyond Misthaven's harbour. The cold and unrelenting winds the storm had stirred up beat against the windows of her bed chamber and rattled relentlessly against the doors that led to her balcony, but Emma was not disturbed by it - she never was. Somehow, she always felt protected from the world outside Misthaven’s borders whenever a storm crossed into the kingdom, a feeling of peace passing over her that was so unlike the cacophony that roared across the water and through the forests surrounding them as though the armies of Ares were surging forth into battle.
As she continued to smooth away the snarls and tangles of her hair, Emma thought about her reasonings for insisting on a masquerade ball. It was true, she did find them particularly enjoyable on the rare occasion she had been able to attend one over the last few years; however, there was also an element of strategy that influenced her desire for a ball wrapped in secrecy and intrigue: to know with certainty who were Misthaven’s friends, and who were her enemies. She would honour her mother’s wish to celebrate her official coming out into society but she would stay on her guard. Emma herself would not be announced until midnight just as everyone else was unmasked, which would leave her plenty of time to get an idea of who could be trusted and who would undoubtedly run to Regina at the first sign of weakness.
Emma sighed, placing her comb on the table as she gazed into the mirror. Her parents may not expect it from her, and now that she knew she had their support, she was in no hurry, but she supposed she should attempt to begin her search for a husband. With everyone’s identities hidden for at least half of the night, it would give her the best opportunity she could hope for to get to know any potential suitors beyond the empty platitudes and overdone fawning that was usual whenever she was introduced at these events, and begin the process of finding someone she could trust and perhaps fall in love with in time.
That foreign piece of her heart pulsed painfully within her at the thought of finding someone to eventually fall in love with - a sharp warning that she did not understand. As though responding to her confusion, a vision formed in her mind of a man with indistinct features begging her to trust him and wait for his return. As the man’s features became more apparent, blue eyes shone beneath dark strands of hair that fell carelessly across his forehead, blue eyes that shone like sapphires…
The thought of sapphires jolted Emma out of her vision although her heart continued to pulse erratically, her breathing ragged and struggling to normalise. Her eyes drifted over to the small built-in jewellery cabinet situated just beside the mirror, her treasured memento from her sojourn into the deep secreted away within it. Suddenly feeling compelled to open the little doors to the cabinet, she carefully traced the delicately carved compartments with a finger until she came down to the last one. Pulling the little drawer out of the cabinet completely, Emma carefully emptied it of its contents: small trinkets gifted to her by her parents and other loved ones, and childhood ornaments no longer appropriate to be worn now that she was a woman full grown. After carefully placing the cameo depicting a swan carved from mother of pearl on the table, Emma began to drag a fingernail around the edges of the velvet lining the bottom of the compartment until she was able to detect the hidden groove underneath. Once she was able to gain purchase of it, she popped out the bottom of the compartment to reveal her Sea Sapphire set in a choker of black pearls.
Emma had never worn the mysterious piece of jewelry, afraid that someone would recognise it for what it was and spread whispers across the lands between here and the Dark Kingdoms of the East, bringing the Evil Queen to their door - with or without an army. There was great power within the jewel but Emma had no knowledge of how to release it, let alone wield it. Holding the necklace against the light of the candle beside her, Emma studied the veins of white running through the jewel, marvelling at how they enhanced the deep blue of the sapphire itself. The longer she gazed at it, the brighter the veins seemed to appear until she was forced to look away for fear of being blinded by it.
Blinking away the spots of colour now dancing before her eyes, Emma glanced over to her armoire where the open doors revealed her gown for tomorrow evening. Of the few details for the ball that Emma had shown some interest in, the design of her gown was something she had been most enthusiastic for. The material used was light and delicate, floating gently about her frame with every movement, giving an impression as though she were gliding through water. The colour reflected the glittering beauty of the ocean that she had become so unusually attached to. Emma had had quite the triumphant victory in negotiating with her mother on what colour she should wear as Snow had insisted she needed to stand out in something striking such as gold or red, perhaps even emerald to really bring out the colour of her eyes seeing as she had been so set on a masquerade. Emma had held firm however; she was to wear a blue that would shimmer in different hues with every flicker of the chandeliers within the ballroom and the wall sconces that lined its walls. Tiny, white semi-precious gems were embroidered into the gown’s bodice, their inclusion in the design a secret nod to the Sea Sapphire that had been gifted to her.
Or had it?
Dismay crowded into the corners of Emma’s mind at the thought that perhaps the necklace had not been meant for her; that it had simply washed up on the shore along with everything else that the sea had hurled at the land in her contemptuous fury that fateful day. Just as quickly however, it faded as a tendril of jealousy began to unfurl at the thought of something that inexplicably felt far worse -
What if the necklace belongs to the Goddess Ursula? A matching set to the Sea Sapphire that she had at one time bestowed upon her beloved Killian Jones? Had she angered the oft volatile gods of the Seas? How will they exact their revenge upon her? Could she be forgiven for her naivety?
Thoughts of wrath and punishment raining down upon her and the kingdom flew through Emma’s mind in dizzying spirals until she could do nothing more than scream in competition with the howling wind outside. It was some moments later that clarity and calm reigned once more and Emma was able to rationalise her head and her heart into something that was much more plausible.
Killian Jones had not rescued Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven the day her ship had been decimated so close to home. He had not gifted her a priceless jewel, nor would he or any other god or goddess seek revenge upon her or her kingdom for having such an item. If any came to seek her out for its return to its rightful owner, then she would return it gladly. But just in case, perhaps she should be bold and wear it tomorrow night. If Killian Jones appears in the midst of the ballroom, perhaps he will consent to one dance with a truly apologetic princess. Chuckling softly at her ridiculousness, Emma nevertheless carefully placed the Sea Sapphire necklace on the small jewellery stand next to her gown and began extinguishing all the lights within her bedchamber.
Noticing that the storm had finally died down, Emma decided to take in the clean scented air that always lingered in its aftermath. She stepped out onto her balcony, a warm shawl wrapped around her shoulders to fight off the icy chill already trying to permeate into every one of her senses. The clouds had parted just enough to allow the full moon to send a silvery shaft of light upon where she stood, lending an ethereal glimmer to the masonry of the castle and the sea beyond. The scene before Emma filled her with a sense of romanticism and enchantment, giving her leave to picture herself as the heroine in one of her mother’s cherished novels of finding love against all odds and dashing away into the night to celebrate their union under the stars. She saw herself sneaking away from the castle using only the light of the moon and stars to find her way to the outcropping on her beach where Killian Jones would be waiting for her, ready to spirit her away to the Palace of Poseidon as his beloved bride and -
Emma again shook herself out of thoughts of the handsome god that had captured her imagination these last three years. Tomorrow night would likely be the last night she would have for some time where she could find some measure of enjoyment before Regina and King George began making their first moves in what would surely be a long campaign. She needed to focus on her reality, not on her hopes and dreams for something that would never be.
Taking one last look at the view of the moonlight on the waves, Emma sighed in weariness, but allowed herself one more moment to purge herself of her fantasies with a whispered invitation.
“Killian Jones, God of Sailors and Collector of Lost Souls, on behalf of the Kingdom of Misthaven and the Western Isles, I cordially invite you to my coming out ball tomorrow evening. Your presence would be an honour and… it would fulfil my dearest wish to know once and for all if you truly brought me back to life …”
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The light of the now fully exposed moon reflected off the gleaming white sails of the unnaturally pristine ship that was heading into Misthaven’s harbour at full speed. The hull of this grand vessel whose like had not been seen in this realm for many centuries, sliced through the storm tossed waves as though they were nothing more than ripples in an otherwise calm pond, never slowing in its approach nor showing any sign that it was aware of the overcrowded harbour and the need to carefully guide its way to the last berthing slip available.
Across the deck, shadowed figures made preparations to make port, their movements quick and fluid, carrying out their captain’s silent orders without pause, their duties not having changed for years beyond memory.
The Captain stood in his rightful place at the helm, his hair and attire as dark as those under his command and seeming to deflect any and all attempts from the wind to surrender to disorder and dishevelment. He did however encourage its presence, sifting through its whispers of those beyond the pink and white flecked granite walls of the royal castle of Misthaven who were much more inclined to observe the witching hour than most. Finally, he heard her voice, as fearless and enticing as ever, though he could not help detecting the hint of uncertainty that had weaved its way into her words.
“I cordially invite you to my coming out ball tomorrow evening.Your presence would be an honour and… it would fulfil my dearest wish to know once and for all if you truly brought me back to life …”
The Captain smiled widely, his features transforming to that of the young lieutenant he had been once upon a time, when the world was full of opportunities for heroism and valour, and before he knew of the betrayals and machinations of those with more power than he. Now though, after what felt like lifetimes had passed since he had snatched his golden-haired princess - his True Love - from the clutches of those who would have sought to punish her through no fault of her own, he could finally return to her as he had promised. Although he knew that she would not hear him as he could her, Killian Jones answered her invitation, whispering it to the wind in the hopes that it would be carried to her chambers and into her dreams.
“Aye, my love, I will most surely accept your invitation. When we are reunited, all will be explained, at which time I most ardently hope that you will accept my own invitation in return.”
@xarandomdreamx is back with the second chapter of her fic The Kiss of Life, with artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper!!! Enjoy and be sure to give them all the love deserved!!!
Look at me posting a chapter of one my WIPs 3 months after posting the previous one! 😂 I really am trying to update more this year on all of my stories so I’m very excited to be posting the next chapter of this one. I love myths and legends and anything to do with superstitions of the sea and I really hope you enjoy this story that pays a little tribute to that genre.
A huge thank you to ultraluckycatnd for her amazing beta skills - another person with the patience of a saint who correctly placed my commas for me!!
Thank you also to MotherKat for the beautiful artwork that she made for this story - I still love my Sea Sapphire critter!
And finally, thank you to the CSSNS mods for putting together one final event last year that allowed me to write this story! 🥰💖
See previous chapters: Chapter 1 OR check out AO3
Tag list under the cut - let me know if you would like to be added or deleted :)
She could hear her name being carried on the wind, the voice of her lady’s maid (who had undoubtedly been sent by her mother to seek her out) pleading, but Emma was not ready to return to the castle just yet. The waves cresting playfully onto the small rocky outcropping on which she was perched were sending salty sprays of water high into the air, soaking through her knee length day dress and turning her carefully styled golden curls into a wild and frizzy mane.
She often came down to this secluded section of the beach just below the castle walls, seeking solitude and a moment of freedom that only listening to the song of the sea seemed to provide to her now. Despite her near drowning all those years ago, her love of the ocean had seemed to intensify; that missing piece of her that had remained in the dark depths of the water beyond Misthaven’s harbour, calling out to her both in her dreams and waking hours, only settling when she was in close proximity to her private beach.
Of course, she wasn’t completely alone; she had faithfully promised her parents that she would always be accompanied by Starkey and Mullins - Royal Naval officers turned full time protection guards to the Crown Princess of Misthaven. They had been by her side from the moment they had been cleared by the royal physician to return to full duties, their imposing figures and unsettling gaze instilling dread into the hearts of Misthaven’s enemies, and cautious admiration in their friends. Emma didn’t view them that way however; to her they were her devoted and overprotective older brothers, close confidantes bound together by their shared experiences, survivors of a terrifying ordeal that they still had no real understanding of.
Another exasperated shout of “Your Highness, please…” finally convinced Emma that her time of peaceful pondering was at an end. Rolling her eyes in her own exasperation to Mullins who was standing some distance behind her in an effort to avoid the spray of seawater while allowing his princess some measure of privacy, he returned the gesture with a smirk before turning to signal to Starkey that they were now returning to the castle. Taking one last glance at the jewel bright ocean glittering under the rays of the mid-afternoon sun, Emma began the short trek back to the castle, stopping to reach behind the small boulder next to her to retrieve her shoes that she had removed in an effort to at least keep one article of her clothing dry and hopefully receive a less tiresome lecture from her mother in the process.
As she pulled on her well-worn, yet reliable boots, tiny zephyrs danced across her little outcropping, sweeping remnants of seaweed and other tidal debris across the rocky surface, playfully tugging at the hem of her dress and the ends of her hair. Those wisps of wind were all gentleness and light; however, they held the hint of an iciness which declared that the autumn months were beginning to free themselves from the memory of summer and embrace the winter that would all too soon bear down upon them. The puff of warm air on the back of Emma’s neck therefore was unexpected, and she stiffened immediately in response. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation - quite the contrary - but it left her feeling unnerved and wondering if her imagination was conjuring yet another illusion for her to fixate on - it wouldn’t be the first time in the last three years…
Just as she was about to step down onto the roughly hewn rock that formed a natural staircase leading down to the sand below, another frisson of warmth touched her, this time spreading across her lower back, causing her to freeze once more. Were it not for the fact that she had been well and truly alone, she would swear that someone was providing her with a guiding hand as she negotiated her steps downward. Reminding herself to stay focused on the precariously slippery surface, Emma ignored the strange sensations seeking to question her sanity and made her way down to where Starkey awaited her, his hand outstretched to assist her to the softness of the sand below. It would be some time yet before the sun began its descent below the waves allowing the moon to rule in its place, so the distinct outline of a human - a man - standing above them, comprised entirely of what appeared to be swirling wisps of wind and sea foam, could not be explained away as a mere trick of the dying light of the day. Another warm caress to the back of Emma’s neck caused her to turn abruptly in time for her to witness the curious apparition dissipate just as a large spray of seawater rose up behind it.
“Joseph…” Emma whispered to Starkey, as she turned again and began to walk the path back to the castle.
Starkey automatically held out his arm to the princess, knowing that if she was referring to him by his given name, then she was in need of a friend who could help to reassure whatever thoughts were causing her confusion and distress. Emma threaded her arm through his without thought, her mind still trying to grasp what exactly it was she had just seen on the outcropping. Was it a sea sprite scouting for a hapless target with which to inflict all manner of mischief upon? Or was it something more nefarious; a spy, sent by the self-styled ‘Queen’ Regina - a bitter and spiteful sorceress hell bent on destroying the kingdom her parents had worked so hard to restore to glory and assume the throne herself once more?
Taking a deep breath, Emma asked her companion a question that had become almost habitual in the last three years. “Are we awake? Or is this a dream?”
“We are very much awake, Your Highness. However, it does not always follow that our dreams do not seek us out even when we are not asleep,” Starkey replied softly, his gaze focused on their careful steps over the sand and onto the care-worn path that would lead them to the rear entrance of the castle gardens. Emma glanced at Starkey, a brow raised in question at his meaning, and with a small squeeze of their linked arms, she prompted him to elaborate further.
“Sometimes our dreams are not mere fantasies of how we wish things could be, or a twisted version of the fears we keep at bay in the light of day. Although you must know, Your Highness, that Mullins and I would never allow even an Agrabahn viper snakelet to enter your chambers…” Emma rolled her eyes even as an amused huff left her lips at Starkey’s teasing words of her hatred of snakes, however, she sobered again as he continued.
“Sometimes, our dreams are memories reimagined to help us make sense of the world we live in, to understand what our next course of action should be, or in some rare cases, to help us to remember what we have lost.”
Starkey fell silent, offering no further explanation, allowing his charge to contemplate it instead.
It wasn’t often that Captain Joseph Starkey, founding knight of the Order of Swans, spoke more than a few words at any given moment - even before the destruction and subsequent sinking of The White Shepherd - preferring to keep his thoughts to himself, unless he truly felt they would assist another. It was one of the things that Emma had always appreciated in the older man; a wisdom borne from his early years working hard to better himself to escape a life of desolate poverty, of settling down with a woman with just as much sense as he (and even more kindness besides), and a keen intelligence that the Naval Academy had been able to nurture and direct into many different avenues of study. Usually, his answer to her oft asked question provided a measure of reassurance that allowed her to breathe easy and ignore the foreign piece of her heart that told her she did more than almost drown in the dreadful depths of the ocean. However, this time his answer went beyond the kind words of ‘Your Highness, we are as awake as the sun that rules high in the sky’ or ‘we are as awake as my Martha is on a Sunday morn, cooking up a storm in anticipation of you and your parents' arrival for dinner.’ Instead, it forced her to consider how much he (and Mullins) had changed after washing up on shore just as she had.
In the days and weeks after waking in her bedroom and to the tearful relief of her father, Emma had begun to question her initial belief that a god had come to her aid and spared her life and that of her guards. It was true that she was the child of the famed Snow White and her former shepherd turned Prince ‘Charming’, David Nolan, a product of True Love that was so rare that upon her birth, the kingdom of Misthaven had celebrated for an entire month afterwards - a tradition still practised today for their beloved princess. However, Emma had never shown any signs of inhabiting any particular gifts that came from being the physical embodiment of True Love - aside from perhaps her uncommon beauty that was extolled throughout the kingdoms and had elicited many a marriage proposal over the years - therefore, she could not fathom how she could have caught the attention of a god who would be so moved as to give her another chance at life.
As she and Starkey neared the rear gate to the castle gardens, cleverly concealed by thick flowering vines, Emma’s attention was brought out of her internal musings and to her current surroundings. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she had not yet noticed that they were missing a member of their party.
“And where has Mullins disappeared to?” Emma wondered aloud, craning her neck over Starkey’s broad shoulder as he stood behind her, surveying the path behind them as though expecting to see some figure travelling along the hard-packed dirt after them. Emma could not see anything that should give her guardian pause although, the sweetly musical royal jaybirds with their brightly coloured plumage were nowhere to be seen among the trees, the absence of their song giving the small forested area that led to the beach an eerie silence that was unnerving. The more Emma allowed the silence to envelop and penetrate her senses, the more she wished to find herself on the other side of the garden gate and the safety of the castle’s high and impregnable stone walls.
A slight tug on Starkey’s shirt sleeve pulled him out of his trained focus. He turned swiftly back to his princess who stood at a respectable distance from him, but still holding onto his sleeve in a bid for his attention.
“Is anything the matter?” Emma asked, her hand moving to grasp her guardian’s forearm in a gesture of comfort and concern, her gaze assessing, as she tried to ascertain the cause for his vigilance. Starkey smiled, all trace of the fearsome Naval officer wiped away, replaced by the kindly gentleman who was more like family to her than her mandated bodyguard.
“No, Your Highness. All is well. Mullins on the other hand… well I believe he is distracting your lady’s maid so as to give you some peace before you must present yourself to your mother. I just hope that Jane and Mary from the kitchens, Emily, one of the third floor chambermaids, Alice the royal baker’s daughter, and at least three of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting do not catch wind of his methods in protecting your sanity for just a little while longer - they are all quite taken with him it would appear, and would have no qualms in staking a claim on him I’d wager.”
The roguish wink that Starkey cast her way couldn’t completely quell Emma’s suspicion that all wasn’t quite as well as he wished for her to believe. She trusted him implicitly - he would never withhold any information from her, especially when it came to her own safety - however, Emma sensed that her guardian’s behaviour went beyond his duty of ensuring that nothing and no one could come at them unawares. It almost seemed as though he had been listening to something - or perhaps someone - beyond the usual sounds of the natural world around them and into the realm where only the most learned and powerful of magic users dared to explore. It would be no use trying to convince Starkey to confide in her if he did not wish to; the man was as reserved with his thoughts as the marbled idols that lined the walls of the temples to the gods.
“I suppose I should meet Mama sooner rather than later for the last minute preparations for tomorrow night. I imagine she will be in quite the state by now as it's been at least two hours since she last bombarded me with an updated menu for the festivities and a list of all of our guests and their current accommodations. Oh, and of course the decorations for the ballroom - and every other inch of the castle…”
Starkey huffed out a small yet dignified chuckle at his princess’ less than enthusiastic approach to her coming out ball tomorrow night. Pressing on a hidden stone panel, a vine covered door leading into the gardens beyond swung open, revealing her mother already awaiting her arrival with a veritable gaggle of maids and ladies in waiting. Mullins stood off to the side at attention, his Naval training so well ingrained that he was able to maintain his stance while completely ignoring the scathing glares some of the women were throwing his way - only the faint tinge of pink touching his cheeks denoted that he was aware of any attention upon him. Emma sighed; she had hoped that Mullins may have been able to garner her at least a few more minutes before she was forced to endure another dress fitting, flower arrangement inspection, or an umpteenth review of the security around the castle and harbour. All thoughts of what she had experienced at the beach and Starkey’s curious behaviour on the walk back was now firmly shoved to the back of her mind as she prepared to receive her mother’s bubble of excitement, her arm linking with Starkey’s once again in a bid to calm her nerves and give her the strength she needed to get through the next few hours before dinner and hopefully an early night.
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Queen Snow, despite being known as the kindest and fairest throughout all of the known kingdoms, was also an extremely accomplished strategist; approaching all tasks as though she were heading into battle to reclaim her kingdom. Perhaps that was because she had spent the majority of her youth doing exactly that. Emma could certainly appreciate the similarities between seating arrangements and battalion placements on the field of battle, or of knowing which Prince or Duke would be in attendance and gaining intelligence of the Evil Queen’s movements, and of course, ensuring there was a multitude of delicacies for the good and noble people who will be in attendance was no different to catering to a whole army of battle worn and hungry soldiers.
Perhaps if she were still eighteen, when her world was still a little brighter and the threat of an oncoming war was just a lingering shadow from before her birth, her enthusiasm for a grand ball in her honour might have closely matched her mother’s. But as it was, Emma could only feel the pressure of finding a suitable husband that would also bring a big enough army into the marriage to keep the Evil Queen and her gold obsessed ally King George from forcing all of the kingdoms between Misthaven and the Forests of Glowerhaven to bend the knee to their tyranny. Her parents may want her to marry a man that she loved (or at least learn to), but how could she when she knew that she had left part of herself on the ocean floor, a part that she was sure controlled her ability to fall in love.
“Emma! Did you hear me? Or have you not heard a word I have said these last few minutes? Honestly, you are as bad as your father when I wish to discuss the bi-monthly rotation of chores with Johanna and Leroy!”
Snow looked up from the large, ornate table that was usually reserved for when the Royal Council was in session yet was now littered with guest lists, menus, flower samples, and colour charts. Seeing her daughter - for whom this entire event was being planned for - gazing out of the window that provided a stunning (and highly advantageous) view of the waters that lead to Misthaven’s Western Isles, she sighed, worry and empathy overriding her irritation at Emma’s inattention to the final touches that had yet to be approved. Bustling around the table and moving to stand beside the window, Snow gently wrapped her arm around her while carefully guiding her head to rest on her shoulder.
“Are you worried that Regina will cause another raging storm to prevent all of our friends and allies from attending the ball so that we are forced to postpone your coming out for yet another year?”
Emma slowly shook her head, her eyes still trained on the world outside that held so many shades of blue, green, and white, mingling together as the wind playfully dragged along the water’s surface, creating multi-hued waves that dissipated to nothing more than foam edged imprints upon the shore. The two women stood in silence for some time, each trying to calm the whirl of thoughts that did not wish to be brought to heel.
For the last three years, the kingdom had tried to celebrate their Princess’s birthday and her coming out into society as all women who celebrate their twenty-first birthdays do in some manner or other. However, ever since Emma had washed ashore after experiencing the terror that was the sinking of The White Shepherd, a spate of dangerously violent storms would roll through off the sea on the week of her birthday like clockwork, causing devastation to any who were foolish enough to try and sail through it to Misthaven’s harbour. Even the forests that flanked the castle to the east became treacherous and unseasonably bitter with cold, deterring any from making the journey to meet the princess who would more than likely assume the mantle of ‘the fairest in the land’ after tomorrow night.
“Sweetheart,” Snow began softly, shifting them slightly away from the window and towards a small alcove beside them where two well worn, but comfortable armchairs were placed underneath an ancient painting depicting a grand galleon sailing towards its home port.
Settling themselves into the chairs, Snow took hold of one of her daughter’s hands, and squeezing it affectionately, continued. “I know that you’re feeling the expectation that tomorrow night you must find the man that will help you rule the kingdom when your Papa and I are no longer here, and that it needs to be someone who will have the means to aid our cause against Regina and George if we secure it with a marriage pact.” Emma dropped her gaze to the floor, her chest tightening with false denials that she wished to reassure her mother with, but before she had a chance to let the words form, Snow spoke again.
“This ball is to celebrate you, Emma, our beloved Swan Princess. A beautiful and courageous woman who will rule this kingdom one day using the greatest power in all the realms that she was blessed with at birth - love.”
“Mama, be serious! Love? Against the Evil Queen? The Council wants-” Emma began, unable to keep the incredulity out of her tone.
“The Council do not represent Misthaven nor do they carry the burden that comes with such responsibility,” Snow interrupted, her tone hardening in emphasis of her point. Queen Snow had always been known as a kind, gentle, and motherly monarch that was beloved by her people, however, it has never been forgotten that it was her banners that outnumbered those of Regina’s in the heat of battle and that it was she and her King Consort who had ultimately masterminded Misthaven’s victory that fateful day so many years ago.
Now taking both of Emma’s hands into her own, Snow levelled her daughter with a scrutinising stare, trying to decipher the mysterious notions of her mind. However, the golden haired beauty’s emerald eyes (a perfect mirror reflection of her own) remained as closed off as ever, or at least since she had been returned to them after nearly losing her to the deceptive waves beyond the castle walls. Tamping down her grief at the loss of her daughter’s once open heart to the depths of the ocean, Snow focused her thoughts on the present situation, determined to impart one of the most important lessons she could ever hope for her daughter and heir to learn.
“Love is more than just a fleeting moment, an emotion that elicits a quickening of your heart beat or brings a feeling of weightlessness to your body whenever it is bestowed upon you. Those are wonderful feelings to have and I would never discount them as being anything superficial, but Love, True Love, is a way of life and the only path to long lasting victory against those who would do us harm.”
Emma tilted her head slightly as she tried to process her mother’s words, not yet willing to rule out that Snow wasn’t just getting carried away with her romantic fantasies that often come from the anticipation of attending a ball. Snow continued on as if she hadn’t noticed Emma’s skepticism in the rise of her brow and the almost imperceptible tightening of her mouth that was desperately trying to force itself into staying neutral.
“Love is intrinsically entwined within us - the gods ensured this so that we would love and worship them. Mothers and fathers will rush into burning buildings to save their children, siblings will share what little they have with one another so no one is left out, even craftsmen will create the most exquisite pieces just for the joy it brings to others. And lovers? Well, your father and I have told you our story for so many years, you know that they will face trials and tribulations no matter how perilous, challenges no matter how unfair, and fights no matter how outmatched they appear to be - together.”
Eyes of sapphire blue staring intently at her in the early dawn light flashed across Emma’s mind, even as a whispered promise of a long awaited return lingered across her heart. As quickly as the image - that felt so much more like a memory than it should - materialised, it faded away, leaving behind dismay and confusion in its wake.
Mentally shaking away the longing within her heart for a man she was increasingly losing hope had been more than just a figment of her imagination, Emma tried to lighten the tone of both their moods by quipping, “Then perhaps we should do away with all the pomp and circumstance. If love is all we need to win this war, then I’m sure I can find someone worthy of my love down at the ‘Golden Mermaid’ or perhaps even the ‘Sea Witch'. I’ve met - I mean, I’ve heard - that there are quite a few gentleman pirates that would be more than willing to take up the cause if for nothing more than to infuriate The Evil Queen and her puppet George.”
The raised eyebrow at her daughter’s slip of her long suspected activities outside the castle walls was replaced by a pensive furrow as she thought of the truth behind the casually flippant words. Smiling slightly in memory of her own love story, Snow focused on her wedding ring, the peridot gem as unblemished and glittering as ever in the light of the afternoon sun, a reminder of all she had fought for to be able to have the love of her life by her side and watch her beloved daughter grow into the incredibly brave and beautiful woman she was now.
“It is true that love doesn’t discriminate between classes. By all accounts, I should never have met your father let alone fallen in love with him. A shepherd who had been forced to flee his home and a princess who just happened to be wandering in the forest grieving the loss of both of her parents, feeling completely alone and unprepared for the crown? I don’t know how things would have turned out if I had bowed to the demands of the Council and married a prince or duke from some far away land who was only interested in the wealth and security that the kingdom could provide. Perhaps we would still have defeated Regina, or perhaps, we would have been completely overrun. What I do know, is that was never something I ever had to consider once I met your father. We make each other better. We balance out each other’s flaws. And we share the burdens that life demands of us every day.”
Snow took a deep breath, her impromptu lesson nearing its conclusion. She needed Emma to understand that of all her hopes and aspirations for her, of finding a love like what she and David have, one that has seen through them through the best and worst moments of their lives, and will see them through to the end of their days and the afterlife beyond, is the only one that is of any consequence. She knew that was what Emma wanted too, even if she no longer confided the secrets of her heart - to her or anyone else.
“Emma, you are the only treasure that your Papa and I will guard fiercely with our lives. Your health and happiness is all that matters to us. There is no denying that Regina is regaining strength and that before long, we and our allies will be facing another war where we will have to fight for what is good and beautiful in this realm. However, that is still some way off - she might have King George on her side this time, but she is going to need more than one impoverished kingdom to raise their banners for her. Therefore, tomorrow night, all I want you to do is dance, eat as many of your favourite treats that Granny has made especially for you, and make as many cherished memories with our friends as you possibly can. We will need those memories in the coming years. Thoughts of prospective marriage pacts are forbidden!”
Emma could hear the earnest plea in her mother’s voice for her to listen and take her words as the most important counsel to live by. She knew these last three years since her near drowning she had undergone a significant change in her behaviour that was often perceived as aloof and perfunctory; something that had been heartbreakingly jarring for those she loved. She didn’t know how to explain what had happened and why she had been unable to recover fully from it; only Starkey and Mullins truly understood, but even they had never come up with a plausible explanation on how they came to be on that beach. She could never explain to anyone that her initial belief was that she been saved by Killian Jones, god of sailors and collector of lost souls at sea, and that although logic told her that he had not come to her aid, her dreams refused to allow her to let go of the notion that he had and what was more, he did it because he loved her.
Again time passed between the two women, so much so, that ominous dark clouds began to gather outside, casting shadows across the room. Surprisingly, Emma was the first to notice this change in atmosphere as the wind began to herald yet another tempest to mark the Princess of Misthaven’s birthday. She was about to suggest that they should start lighting the lamp sconces around the chamber themselves rather than wait for the servants, when she caught sight of her mother’s usually bright and youthful face. For once, Emma could see the toll her altered state had taken on those she loved most. Tiny lines of distress marked the corners of Snow’s eyes and lips, deepening the more she tried to bring her emotions under control, the hand that was not still holding tightly onto Emma’s was twisted into the folds of her otherwise perfectly pressed gown, and her verdant eyes - a mirror to Emma’s own - was furiously blinking back the tears that her daughter’s seeming indifference had triggered.
“Oh Mama!” Emma exclaimed, shuffling off her seat to kneel before the Queen and laying her head on her lap, just as she had as a little girl when seeking comfort and safety - she only hoped that this time she was the one to bestow those sentiments.
“I’m sorry I’m not what I used to be. That I - that I don’t reveal myself as I used to. I wish I could tell you why, but I do not understand it myself.”
Snow had leant down to hear her daughter’s soft words of apology, her tears spilling over unchecked as she heard Emma’s confusion and regret. She embraced Emma fully, one arm wound around her back as the other cradled the back of her head, the tips of her fingers stroking through the fine strands of golden hair. There was no need for an apology. Snow would give her daughter anything in her power to give - patience was something she would have no issue in providing.
A short rap on the door, followed by two servants laden with lanterns and tapers entered the room, forcing the moment of quiet apology to end. Emma was the first to stand, helping her mother out of her seat, before they each assisted in bringing light back into the room against the oncoming storm. In short order, the servants left to continue lighting the rest of the castle and Snow went back to poring over the plans for the ball.
“Are you positive that a masquerade is what you really want? We still have time to change it if we send notices right now,” Snow looked up as she spoke, smiling brightly when she saw that Emma had sat at the table and was now looking over the seating arrangements.
“It’s my ball, is it not Mama? I think masquerades are fun - Aurora’s coming out ball might have been passably enjoyable if she had had one. How in all the realms can you have fire and ice dancers perform at your ball and still have it be one of the most dullest nights of your life, I will never know…”
“Emma!” Snow admonished, albeit half-heartedly. King Stephan and Queen Briar had been wonderful friends and allies over the years, but even Snow could not explain away their daughter’s spoiled nature and propensity to complain about anything and everything no matter how insignificant.
“Fine, fine. A masquerade it is. I believe Johanna has already collected your mask from the seamstress and had it placed with the rest of your garments for tomorrow night. But what about the unmasking at midnight? Could we change it to something a little earlier? What about just after supper?” After the tears that had only been shed moments before, Snow felt a relief in being able to playfully haggle with her daughter on the final touches of the ball and end their time together with just the two of them on a lighter note.
“It is tradition for the unmasking to be done at midnight,” Emma murmured, reaching for the quill and ink well so she could cross out Princess Aurora’s and her betrothed, Prince Phillip’s, names from the second table after her own and seat them a little further away so as to create as much space between them as possible.
“Hmmm, yes and you’ve always been such a stickler for tradition my dearest, haven’t you?” Snow laughed. If she hadn’t known better, she would question whether Emma knew what ‘tradition’ meant, given her abject irreverence towards it on most important occasions. Emma’s slight smirk was all the answer she received in return, causing an inelegant snort of mirth from the Queen of Misthaven.
********************E&K********************
The storm had raged offshore, never making landfall but ensuring its presence was known all the same. The booms of thunder repeatedly interrupted Queen Snow’s excited chatter of all of the plans now in place for tomorrow. King David’s sly winks to her at each interruption saw Emma drink more deeply from her water glass for fear of dissolving into laughter and getting both she and her father in trouble.
Some hours later, long after everyone had retired to their apartments and sleeping quarters, Emma sat alone at her dressing table, combing through her hair in the warm light of the candles on either side of the ornate mirror in front of her. The storm had not yet exhausted itself across the water, nor had it appeared to have moved from its position just beyond Misthaven's harbour. The cold and unrelenting winds the storm had stirred up beat against the windows of her bed chamber and rattled relentlessly against the doors that led to her balcony, but Emma was not disturbed by it - she never was. Somehow, she always felt protected from the world outside Misthaven’s borders whenever a storm crossed into the kingdom, a feeling of peace passing over her that was so unlike the cacophony that roared across the water and through the forests surrounding them as though the armies of Ares were surging forth into battle.
As she continued to smooth away the snarls and tangles of her hair, Emma thought about her reasonings for insisting on a masquerade ball. It was true, she did find them particularly enjoyable on the rare occasion she had been able to attend one over the last few years; however, there was also an element of strategy that influenced her desire for a ball wrapped in secrecy and intrigue: to know with certainty who were Misthaven’s friends, and who were her enemies. She would honour her mother’s wish to celebrate her official coming out into society but she would stay on her guard. Emma herself would not be announced until midnight just as everyone else was unmasked, which would leave her plenty of time to get an idea of who could be trusted and who would undoubtedly run to Regina at the first sign of weakness.
Emma sighed, placing her comb on the table as she gazed into the mirror. Her parents may not expect it from her, and now that she knew she had their support, she was in no hurry, but she supposed she should attempt to begin her search for a husband. With everyone’s identities hidden for at least half of the night, it would give her the best opportunity she could hope for to get to know any potential suitors beyond the empty platitudes and overdone fawning that was usual whenever she was introduced at these events, and begin the process of finding someone she could trust and perhaps fall in love with in time.
That foreign piece of her heart pulsed painfully within her at the thought of finding someone to eventually fall in love with - a sharp warning that she did not understand. As though responding to her confusion, a vision formed in her mind of a man with indistinct features begging her to trust him and wait for his return. As the man’s features became more apparent, blue eyes shone beneath dark strands of hair that fell carelessly across his forehead, blue eyes that shone like sapphires…
The thought of sapphires jolted Emma out of her vision although her heart continued to pulse erratically, her breathing ragged and struggling to normalise. Her eyes drifted over to the small built-in jewellery cabinet situated just beside the mirror, her treasured memento from her sojourn into the deep secreted away within it. Suddenly feeling compelled to open the little doors to the cabinet, she carefully traced the delicately carved compartments with a finger until she came down to the last one. Pulling the little drawer out of the cabinet completely, Emma carefully emptied it of its contents: small trinkets gifted to her by her parents and other loved ones, and childhood ornaments no longer appropriate to be worn now that she was a woman full grown. After carefully placing the cameo depicting a swan carved from mother of pearl on the table, Emma began to drag a fingernail around the edges of the velvet lining the bottom of the compartment until she was able to detect the hidden groove underneath. Once she was able to gain purchase of it, she popped out the bottom of the compartment to reveal her Sea Sapphire set in a choker of black pearls.
Emma had never worn the mysterious piece of jewelry, afraid that someone would recognise it for what it was and spread whispers across the lands between here and the Dark Kingdoms of the East, bringing the Evil Queen to their door - with or without an army. There was great power within the jewel but Emma had no knowledge of how to release it, let alone wield it. Holding the necklace against the light of the candle beside her, Emma studied the veins of white running through the jewel, marvelling at how they enhanced the deep blue of the sapphire itself. The longer she gazed at it, the brighter the veins seemed to appear until she was forced to look away for fear of being blinded by it.
Blinking away the spots of colour now dancing before her eyes, Emma glanced over to her armoire where the open doors revealed her gown for tomorrow evening. Of the few details for the ball that Emma had shown some interest in, the design of her gown was something she had been most enthusiastic for. The material used was light and delicate, floating gently about her frame with every movement, giving an impression as though she were gliding through water. The colour reflected the glittering beauty of the ocean that she had become so unusually attached to. Emma had had quite the triumphant victory in negotiating with her mother on what colour she should wear as Snow had insisted she needed to stand out in something striking such as gold or red, perhaps even emerald to really bring out the colour of her eyes seeing as she had been so set on a masquerade. Emma had held firm however; she was to wear a blue that would shimmer in different hues with every flicker of the chandeliers within the ballroom and the wall sconces that lined its walls. Tiny, white semi-precious gems were embroidered into the gown’s bodice, their inclusion in the design a secret nod to the Sea Sapphire that had been gifted to her.
Or had it?
Dismay crowded into the corners of Emma’s mind at the thought that perhaps the necklace had not been meant for her; that it had simply washed up on the shore along with everything else that the sea had hurled at the land in her contemptuous fury that fateful day. Just as quickly however, it faded as a tendril of jealousy began to unfurl at the thought of something that inexplicably felt far worse -
What if the necklace belongs to the Goddess Ursula? A matching set to the Sea Sapphire that she had at one time bestowed upon her beloved Killian Jones? Had she angered the oft volatile gods of the Seas? How will they exact their revenge upon her? Could she be forgiven for her naivety?
Thoughts of wrath and punishment raining down upon her and the kingdom flew through Emma’s mind in dizzying spirals until she could do nothing more than scream in competition with the howling wind outside. It was some moments later that clarity and calm reigned once more and Emma was able to rationalise her head and her heart into something that was much more plausible.
Killian Jones had not rescued Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven the day her ship had been decimated so close to home. He had not gifted her a priceless jewel, nor would he or any other god or goddess seek revenge upon her or her kingdom for having such an item. If any came to seek her out for its return to its rightful owner, then she would return it gladly. But just in case, perhaps she should be bold and wear it tomorrow night. If Killian Jones appears in the midst of the ballroom, perhaps he will consent to one dance with a truly apologetic princess. Chuckling softly at her ridiculousness, Emma nevertheless carefully placed the Sea Sapphire necklace on the small jewellery stand next to her gown and began extinguishing all the lights within her bedchamber.
Noticing that the storm had finally died down, Emma decided to take in the clean scented air that always lingered in its aftermath. She stepped out onto her balcony, a warm shawl wrapped around her shoulders to fight off the icy chill already trying to permeate into every one of her senses. The clouds had parted just enough to allow the full moon to send a silvery shaft of light upon where she stood, lending an ethereal glimmer to the masonry of the castle and the sea beyond. The scene before Emma filled her with a sense of romanticism and enchantment, giving her leave to picture herself as the heroine in one of her mother’s cherished novels of finding love against all odds and dashing away into the night to celebrate their union under the stars. She saw herself sneaking away from the castle using only the light of the moon and stars to find her way to the outcropping on her beach where Killian Jones would be waiting for her, ready to spirit her away to the Palace of Poseidon as his beloved bride and -
Emma again shook herself out of thoughts of the handsome god that had captured her imagination these last three years. Tomorrow night would likely be the last night she would have for some time where she could find some measure of enjoyment before Regina and King George began making their first moves in what would surely be a long campaign. She needed to focus on her reality, not on her hopes and dreams for something that would never be.
Taking one last look at the view of the moonlight on the waves, Emma sighed in weariness, but allowed herself one more moment to purge herself of her fantasies with a whispered invitation.
“Killian Jones, God of Sailors and Collector of Lost Souls, on behalf of the Kingdom of Misthaven and the Western Isles, I cordially invite you to my coming out ball tomorrow evening. Your presence would be an honour and… it would fulfil my dearest wish to know once and for all if you truly brought me back to life …”
********************E&K********************
The light of the now fully exposed moon reflected off the gleaming white sails of the unnaturally pristine ship that was heading into Misthaven’s harbour at full speed. The hull of this grand vessel whose like had not been seen in this realm for many centuries, sliced through the storm tossed waves as though they were nothing more than ripples in an otherwise calm pond, never slowing in its approach nor showing any sign that it was aware of the overcrowded harbour and the need to carefully guide its way to the last berthing slip available.
Across the deck, shadowed figures made preparations to make port, their movements quick and fluid, carrying out their captain’s silent orders without pause, their duties not having changed for years beyond memory.
The Captain stood in his rightful place at the helm, his hair and attire as dark as those under his command and seeming to deflect any and all attempts from the wind to surrender to disorder and dishevelment. He did however encourage its presence, sifting through its whispers of those beyond the pink and white flecked granite walls of the royal castle of Misthaven who were much more inclined to observe the witching hour than most. Finally, he heard her voice, as fearless and enticing as ever, though he could not help detecting the hint of uncertainty that had weaved its way into her words.
“I cordially invite you to my coming out ball tomorrow evening.Your presence would be an honour and… it would fulfil my dearest wish to know once and for all if you truly brought me back to life …”
The Captain smiled widely, his features transforming to that of the young lieutenant he had been once upon a time, when the world was full of opportunities for heroism and valour, and before he knew of the betrayals and machinations of those with more power than he. Now though, after what felt like lifetimes had passed since he had snatched his golden-haired princess - his True Love - from the clutches of those who would have sought to punish her through no fault of her own, he could finally return to her as he had promised. Although he knew that she would not hear him as he could her, Killian Jones answered her invitation, whispering it to the wind in the hopes that it would be carried to her chambers and into her dreams.
“Aye, my love, I will most surely accept your invitation. When we are reunited, all will be explained, at which time I most ardently hope that you will accept my own invitation in return.”
@xarandomdreamx is back with the second chapter of her fic The Kiss of Life, with artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper!!! Enjoy and be sure to give them all the love deserved!!!
CSSNS24 fic" For All Life and For All Time" {the final chapter, fic complete!}
Yes, it has taken me longer than I hoped, but I have finally finished my three-part Dracula-themed Victorian CS AU for the @cssns!!! I'm really pleased with how it's come together, and I'm excited to share this last part with you. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. (And I hope the mostly happy ending will allow you to forgive the bit of pain we'll have to endure in getting there...
Summary: Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.
Also available from the start here on Tumblr or on AO3
(See just a couple more author's notes at chapter's end)
Part Three
by: @snowbellewells
Unable to help himself, a roar of outrage and horror tore from Killian’s chest, ringing across the wide, high-ceilinged space at the sight of the monster draining Emma’s life flow from her veins. Forgetting their plan, forgetting the compatriots around him, seeing only another woman he loved ravaged and dead and himself unable to save her, violent red rage coursed through his body as he charged forward.
Either the prick of the vampire’s fangs into her neck, the pain that immediately followed, or the wild howl of a man unmoored and the sound of oncoming feet, seemed to snap Emma into awareness. A startled cry escaped her lips, eyelids fluttering rapidly as she struggled to regain her bearings before they snapped open in shocked realization of her position in Dracula’s clutches and what was happening to her and around her. She recoiled with a visible shudder, and what strength she had saw her struggling once again to free herself.
Somewhere in the haze that nearly consumed him, Killian drew some morsel of comfort from the sight. Though her slim build and weakened state made her attempts akin to those of a songbird beating its wings against the firm, steel bars of a gilded cage against von Stiltskin’s implacable, inhuman strength, she didn’t stop for even a moment. Emma was still herself, not lost to them yet.
Killian mastered himself somewhat as he drew near to the vampire and his struggling victim. He must find his clarity, follow through on the plan they had laid out if they were to give Emma her best chance, and to survive themselves. Thankfully, his brothers-in-arms had only recently weathered the horrifying loss he feared, the image of Aurora’s pale and terrifying beauty as the vampiress the Count had made her, and the lengths to which they had gone to restore her humanity, if only in death, must still haunt them now, but it had served them well. The other three had fanned out over the space, insuring that whichever way the monster turned he must needs face one of them in an attempt to fly.
To see the feral gleam in the creature’s eye though, Killian did not believe retreat would be his action this time. As much as on her blood, Dracula was feeding on Emma’s wretched noises and her futile attempts to escape, writhing and bucking in his grasp to no avail. A malevolent glee seemed to seep from every pore under the dead, white skin, causing the vampire to glisten with it, an oozing sheen of evil that seemed almost a protective layer cloaking their foe.
It was now or never; Emma could not afford their hesitation, the element of surprise had been lost even before their arrival, and they were all in place now, as prepared as ever they could be. Raising his voice with a commanding authority he hardly felt, Killian drew from his cloak for the vampire to see, the dagger he had sought halfway across the continent, brandishing it as he would a shining shield. “Von Stiltskin,” he bellowed, staring down the nightmare who had stalked his dreams for years, “let her go!”
At first glimpse of the dagger in his adversary’s grip, the vampire fell back with a hiss, momentarily struck enough to ease his grip on Emma slightly and to remove his fangs from her neck as his displeasure was made known. The unsettling, glowing eyes were murderous, unhinged, but also showed fear in spite of the creature’s anger. Killian moved forward again that much more confident the weapon must indeed wield the powers purported. Why else would the Count hesitate to attack him now, as he drew within striking distance? Particularly with the speed he knew Dracula to possess. He had set himself as the bait for that very reason; to draw focus while the others attacked from all sides. It took almost more restraint than he possessed not to dart forward and pull Emma from the suddenly lax grip the vampire held upon her, to get between them and shield her with his own body from further harm. In truth, the way she slumped as the hold grew less nearly made his panic soar beyond his control, until she managed to catch his eye, raising her head just a moment, but the flicker in the snapping jade orbs told him she was ready the moment she had an opportunity, not quite as limp or defeated as she meant to appear.
The relief that flooded him was almost certainly premature, a distraction he could not afford, and yet it also suffused his being with new strength and will. Only a few steps more, and he would be close enough to land a damaging blow. From the corners of his vision, Killian could see that Jefferson, Graham, and Philip were all in position, each man poised and alert, ready to do just as they had planned. Wordlessly, Killian gave the signal, and even as he pushed forward, the dagger raised to drive through Dracula’s heart if he were to have the chance, the others moved in with him, matching him stride for stride.
If not for their stalwart presence, he might have lost himself, Killian realized, shaking the reddened haze of anger from his vision. But as they tightened their circle, his aim sharpened, and their monstrous foe’s attention was split between the oncoming assailants, just as they had hoped.
Even as Killian readied his arm, steeling himself to sink the dagger home, he saw the rapid movement to his left of Graham Morris driven forward by fighting instinct and chivalric nature past any further hesitation, despite their previous agreement that Killian must strike first with the fated blade. Graham’s slice went deep, and with a roar of pain the monster dropped its clawed grip on Emma completely. She fell to the floor in a heap, and that taloned grasp swiped outward, catching Morris in the gut and dragging across his torso viciously. Graham stumbled back with a gasp, clutching his middle where red already leaked through his fingers.
Killian could not falter; for just one moment, Dracula was stunned, injured - vulnerable - and so he drove the dagger into the monster’s chest, right where its heart would be, if that organ could still exist in one such as he, and followed through with all his might.
The vampire howled and snapped its terrible jaws, resembling even the guise of humanity less and less with every second. Mere breaths after the deathblow struck home, the vampire sunk to its knees. Yet, even with strength waning, lashed out and gripped Killian about the neck, too firmly to be shaken off and inexorably squeezing, closing off the air from his lungs. It was as though the fiend knew he had finally been bested, but would not sink into the fires below without taking his conqueror with him.
Killian Jones had long since readied himself for such an eventuality. In the long, solitary years he had spent tracking Dracula von Stiltskin’s whereabouts and seeking out any possible weaknesses which might bring about his defeat, he had accepted that his quest’s end would almost surely mean his own as well. And he had been at peace with that. There had been little but bitterness and pain for him in the world at any rate. But now, he found he could not let go just yet; he had reason to stay on this Earth, to live again, beyond Dracula’s downfall, thanks to the band of brothers who surrounded him, and especially the woman who was now rising from where she had fallen.
Scrabbling frantically at the hands which closed off his windpipe, desperate to see this battle finished once and for all, and that Emma was alright, he fought to free himself of the iron hold and the darkening edges encroaching on his sight.
Though it could not have been more than moments, time seemed to have stretched and lengthened oddly, so that Killian had almost forgotten Seward and Thornswood, until both made their own strikes at the monster almost simultaneously. Thornswood came from the right, hacking the creature’s arm with such force it was nearly detached at the shoulder, finally loosening the death grip on Killian and allowing him the air to stay conscious. Seward had attacked from behind, wisely intending to sever the vampire’s neck and remove the head, the only sure way to finish him off. The creature’s fall to its knees had thrown his aim off, however, and his blade was now sunk so deep in the fiend’s back that he struggled to pull it out to try again.
Pulling in great, gasping breaths, Killian searched for the dagger to remove the head himself. No matter how badly they had wounded Dracula, he would regenerate if they did not make certain he was ash. Yet all he could find was the intricate jeweled hilt. It would seem to have disintegrated within the beast upon finding its mark.
Before he could think what to do, Killian saw Emma rise, wavering unsteadily on her feet, but with the hair-raising war cry of a Valkyrie. She had pulled the knife he had sent with her from its sheath at her thigh and she struck the monster’s neck swiftly and certainly - as well as he could have done it himself - before falling to the floor again with a wail and turning her head into his chest.
Though Killian was honored and truly touched to have Emma turn to him for strength in that moment, he pulled back slightly, lifting her chin and urging her to turn so she could also see what was happening before his very eyes. He felt he knew and understood Emma Swan almost as well as he knew himself, and he was unwaveringly sure that - just as he did - she would need to witness what was unfolding, for her own future peace of mind.
And what a sight it was at that - one he had nearly despaired of ever witnessing. With a last bellow that seemed to shake the rafters and the floor beneath their feet, the immortal monster met his end. An otherworldly wind whirled around the vampire as it was buffeted and torn, with bits of him being stripped away piece by piece. Chinks of light began to show through his form to the the far wall, and then it was as though he began to crystallize and dissolve, blown away like sand on the wind.
The howl of the dying creature as it was pulled apart, combined with the pressure and whipping of the blinding wind nearly stole their breath. It was all Killian could do to stand his ground and cling to Emma with all his might to steady her as well. When the small whirlwind finally eased, seeming to vanish back from wherever it had come, all of their company stood still as stone for several long moments. They were silent; frozen in shock and hardly daring to believe that Dracula von Stiltskin was now the mere pile of ash at their feet; the dust barely settled, but the long reign of terror at last at its end.
A wheezing gasp, low and ragged, from off to their left was what finally broke them from their frozen state. “I-Is he f-finished?” the voice asked desperately.
Where Emma had been leaning on him heavily, her reserves of strength and adrenaline nearly drained away, she suddenly jerked forward, her eyes meeting his in alarm, seeming to ask, ‘How could we have forgotten?’
They hurried toward the pained voice, now clearly accompanied by labored breathing, once the tumult had died down. Philip Thornswood had beated them there, already dropping to his knees beside their fallen comrade with a tense exclamation of “Morris!” that made his dismay all too clear. He reached beneath the other man’s shoulders, elevating his head and torso slightly and looking with worried brow to Jefferson for direction.
The doctor had also knelt beside the brave adventurer, pulling back the remnants of ruined shirt and vest to examine Graham Morris’ wound. But his grim expression only told them what they had already feared. There was so much blood - beneath him, around him, still leaking from the open wound - gaping appallingly no matter how much they wished to see otherwise.
Graham’s large, expressive brown eyes had gone a bit glassy, but they still flicked from one to another of his friends earnestly. “Tell me, please… whatever it is. Is the monster gone?”
There was nothing to be done for him, not that could be accomplished in a dank, drafty castle with no surgical equipment and so much blood loss. Clearly even the cowboy already knew it, and so none forced Seward to put the bleak reality into words. Instead, he reached out and took Morris’ hand in his, clasping tightly as Thornswood did the same at his shoulder. “Dracula’s reign of terror is over. We did it, my Friend. Rest easy on that.”
A rattling breath escaped the Irishman’s lungs at those words, as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment in deeply felt relief. They almost wondered if he was already fading when they flickered open once more and he asked, “A-and Emma? Miss Swan? Is she…?”
With a pained cry, Emma stumbled to his other side and dropped next to him on the cold cement floor, anxious to ease his mind and offer him her thanks if that were all that she could do. Reaching out a trembling hand, she smoothed a sweaty curl from his clammy forehead, squeezing his fingers - heedless of how they were tacky with dried blood - tightly in her own and then pressing their joined hands to her chest with emotion.
“I’m here,” she murmured, “We all are.” She didn’t know what else to do, but she didn’t want this brave man who had fought against evil and helped to save her life to feel alone for even one second in this horrible passing.
Morris managed a faint press of Emma’s fingers in return, almost smiling tremulously as he added with a ragged gasp, “M-Miss Swan? It is g-good to see you, milady. Are you truly alright?”
Tears still rimmed Emma’s green eyes, glittering in the strange half-light like jewels on her lashes as she nodded fervently. “Yes, I am. Please do not fret on that anymore. I will be fine. Thanks in no small part to you, Mr. Morris.” Her voice trembled with emotion at feeling the strength in his hand that she clasped in her own lessening with each moment that passed. The roving hero’s journey was inescapably nearing its end, and though he had fought well and seen their battle won, he would not have the chance to savor the victory they had wrought, nor to enjoy the newfound peace he had helped to secure.
“Thank the Lord and all His saints for that,” he exhaled, the words barely more than a whisper of breath. When his eyes fell closed that time, his lashes did not flutter open again; the struggling rise and fall of his chest went still, and Graham Morris breathed his last.
Strong, formidable men all, his allies were, and still in that frigid, ruined throne room Emma’s tears were not the only ones shed over the body of the impetuous wanderer who had given his last to the cause. Somehow the hours had hurried on; the sun was rising once more over the eastern peaks, and they had to leave the forbidding outpost of their vanquished foe. Though it was hard to believe they would leave that castle to tread on the same earth after the waking nightmare they had just survived, there was little else to be done but to press onward as best they could.
Emma Swan raised her eyes, her gaze seeking the only imaginable solace to be found - the answering blue stare of Killian Joens, mourning too, but still resolute and offering the hope of comfort to which she could cling. She focused on him and drew from his strength as the new day’s sun bathed the tragic scene in yet more red and gold with its returning glow. For the moment she must beyond the loss to the future - one they would have with certainty, now that the vampire was no more.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Two Years Later…
A cool, gentle breeze drifts in through the open window as Killian Jones, once the driven and coolly implacable vampire hunter Van Helsing, stands looking out over the fields and grounds of the country estate he now shares with the two lights of his life: Emma, his beautiful bride of more than a year, the savior of his heart and soul, and their new son, who gurgles happily in his arms. Looking down at the baby’s playful noisemaking, Killian grins, utterly enchanted by the gummy smile the little lad gives him, kicking his chubby feet energetically and latching onto his papa’s finger with an impressively tight grip of his small fist. For a babe just days old, Killian feels he must be especially brilliant to already show such personality and expression, though he knows he is more than biased and does not care one bit.
Emma is still recovering from the delivery in their suite just down the hall, so he happily took the wee one for a bit of a walk about the place after his last feeding, and now finds himself standing in the nursery enjoying both the peaceful meadows outside the window view and the tiny miracle in his arms, still rather stunned that he ever managed to find such contentment after so much struggle and pain.
Just then he hears lightly shuffling footsteps behind him, mere moments before his wife’s slender arms wrap around him from behind. He smiles warmly, feeling the same satisfaction she seems to as she burrows her face between his shoulderblades and hums delightedly while breathing him in.
Making sure their son is cradled securely against his body and within the crook of his arm, Killian brings his other hand down to cover Emma’s own and squeeze gently, gladly returning the affectionate touch, even as he chides lightly, “You, my darling, are meant to be resting, not up and roaming about the manor.”
Her soft laughter seems to brighten the very air with its light notes of joy, carefree and open as both of them are only now learning to allow their emotions to be - on the surface and able to be shared. Laying her cool, soft hand to rest over his heart, even as she returns the loving press of his fingers around her own, she cannot help the playfully tart response that escapes her lips. “You know better than to coddle me like some china doll, Mr. Jones.”
He can practically see the challenging quirk to her brow, the way she tilts her head in expectation when when she baits him, just waiting for his reply, and the knowing curve upwards at one corner of her mouth, even though he cannot actually look her in the face with her cuddled against his back.
Taking the hand he holds and using it to pull her in a wide circle, Killian brings his wife around to face him and gather her close again. His arms are wrapped around his whole world in their small family, and their little one is cradled between them as he gazes down into Emma’s eyes. “Forgive me, Mrs. Jones, but I believe it is my duty and right to care for the well-being of my lady wife.”
Shaking her head at his overly formal repartee, she huffs out an affectionate breath of exasperated acquiescence.
Their back and forth is interrupted when their son begins to fuss, nosing doggedly at the front of Emma’s gown and letting her know without question that he is again ready for his meal. “He’s your child, that much is certain,” Emma adds tartly, a sardonic tone to her voice as she eyes her husband. “Insatiable.”
But even as she takes the child more fully into her own arms, moves aside her robe, and brings him closer to her breast, she lets one hand trail along Killian’s flank and playfully squeeze his rear in a moment’s tease, before moving away to carry their little boy to the rocking chair by the bassinet and settling in to feed him properly.
Killian’s body cannot help but jerk slightly in surprised response to her amorous caress, several parts of his anatomy coming to life. It is true that he always wants her, but he is not about to risk Emma’s health or comfort before her body is fully healed and restored from the birth of their son. “It would seem your roving hands prove I’m not the only insatiable one,” he murmurs lowly, a feral grin lighting his features as he follows her across the room and bends to take her lips with his own. The kiss is deep and leaves them both breathless. If all he can have at the moment, he will certainly make his kisses count.
She hums in agreement; relaxed, at ease, and happy as the little one settles again and she brushes tender fingers over the soft tufts of dark hair atop the boy’s hair. Quincey Morris Jones blinks eyes as blue as his father’s up at them sleepily once he has begun to get his fill. They had decided almost immediately to pass the surname of the lost member of their band of brothers on to their first child; it seemed the only tribute fitting enough to truly honor his sacrifice, and a worthy namesake to give their boy who would surely grow up to be as honorable and true as the man of whom they would tell him proudly.
As Killian takes the newborn, who is once more dozing, from his mother’s arms and lowers him carefully into his crib, he looks back at his wife. Her eyes practically glow with love for him, and a small, secret smile plays upon her perfect mouth. Beckoning Killian to her, Emma accepts his hand to rise, and lets him guide her back to their bedroom, where he curls around her protectively, staying dutifully at her side to insure her rest. Watching over her as she drifts back to sleep, and he hovers on the brink of it himself, Killian thinks of the day when he will tell young Quincey tales that prove just how marvelous a woman his mother is. So beautiful, daring, and brilliant that men would dare to risk all for her sake.
THE END~
Author's Note: I truly cannot believe that I've completed this story - and my work for the last @cssns but I won't be too sad as I still have ones from past years to finish, and I can always come back to read the many other amazing entries to the event's collection. @cssns was such a wonderful thing to be part of, and I will always be grateful to have been a small part of it!
As to this story's last chapter, I hope you will fondly remember a similar final line to the novel by Bram Stoker. When it struck me that I could use a similar closely line for this story, I was so excited!!! (Still, I thought I should give credit where credit was due, even if I have put it in my own words and context.)
And secondly, please PLEASE forgive me for Graham Morris! You truly can't be hurting much more than I hurt myself in trying to write it. (That's part of what has taken so long to complete this final chapter.) I knew when I made him the likeness of the American cowboy Quincey Morris (my adored fave character in the original novel) that this part of the story would come, I still wasn't prepared for how hard it was to actually follow through and do it.
I hope you've enjoyed this one - I've really loved working in this universe!!
Tonight we have the third and final chapter of For All Life and For All Time, @snowbellewells Dracula inspired AU!!!! Make sure you have your tissues handy, then enjoy and give Marta all the love!!!!
CSSNS24 fic" For All Life and For All Time" {the final chapter, fic complete!}
Yes, it has taken me longer than I hoped, but I have finally finished my three-part Dracula-themed Victorian CS AU for the @cssns!!! I'm really pleased with how it's come together, and I'm excited to share this last part with you. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. (And I hope the mostly happy ending will allow you to forgive the bit of pain we'll have to endure in getting there...
Summary: Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.
Also available from the start here on Tumblr or on AO3
(See just a couple more author's notes at chapter's end)
Part Three
by: @snowbellewells
Unable to help himself, a roar of outrage and horror tore from Killian’s chest, ringing across the wide, high-ceilinged space at the sight of the monster draining Emma’s life flow from her veins. Forgetting their plan, forgetting the compatriots around him, seeing only another woman he loved ravaged and dead and himself unable to save her, violent red rage coursed through his body as he charged forward.
Either the prick of the vampire’s fangs into her neck, the pain that immediately followed, or the wild howl of a man unmoored and the sound of oncoming feet, seemed to snap Emma into awareness. A startled cry escaped her lips, eyelids fluttering rapidly as she struggled to regain her bearings before they snapped open in shocked realization of her position in Dracula’s clutches and what was happening to her and around her. She recoiled with a visible shudder, and what strength she had saw her struggling once again to free herself.
Somewhere in the haze that nearly consumed him, Killian drew some morsel of comfort from the sight. Though her slim build and weakened state made her attempts akin to those of a songbird beating its wings against the firm, steel bars of a gilded cage against von Stiltskin’s implacable, inhuman strength, she didn’t stop for even a moment. Emma was still herself, not lost to them yet.
Killian mastered himself somewhat as he drew near to the vampire and his struggling victim. He must find his clarity, follow through on the plan they had laid out if they were to give Emma her best chance, and to survive themselves. Thankfully, his brothers-in-arms had only recently weathered the horrifying loss he feared, the image of Aurora’s pale and terrifying beauty as the vampiress the Count had made her, and the lengths to which they had gone to restore her humanity, if only in death, must still haunt them now, but it had served them well. The other three had fanned out over the space, insuring that whichever way the monster turned he must needs face one of them in an attempt to fly.
To see the feral gleam in the creature’s eye though, Killian did not believe retreat would be his action this time. As much as on her blood, Dracula was feeding on Emma’s wretched noises and her futile attempts to escape, writhing and bucking in his grasp to no avail. A malevolent glee seemed to seep from every pore under the dead, white skin, causing the vampire to glisten with it, an oozing sheen of evil that seemed almost a protective layer cloaking their foe.
It was now or never; Emma could not afford their hesitation, the element of surprise had been lost even before their arrival, and they were all in place now, as prepared as ever they could be. Raising his voice with a commanding authority he hardly felt, Killian drew from his cloak for the vampire to see, the dagger he had sought halfway across the continent, brandishing it as he would a shining shield. “Von Stiltskin,” he bellowed, staring down the nightmare who had stalked his dreams for years, “let her go!”
At first glimpse of the dagger in his adversary’s grip, the vampire fell back with a hiss, momentarily struck enough to ease his grip on Emma slightly and to remove his fangs from her neck as his displeasure was made known. The unsettling, glowing eyes were murderous, unhinged, but also showed fear in spite of the creature’s anger. Killian moved forward again that much more confident the weapon must indeed wield the powers purported. Why else would the Count hesitate to attack him now, as he drew within striking distance? Particularly with the speed he knew Dracula to possess. He had set himself as the bait for that very reason; to draw focus while the others attacked from all sides. It took almost more restraint than he possessed not to dart forward and pull Emma from the suddenly lax grip the vampire held upon her, to get between them and shield her with his own body from further harm. In truth, the way she slumped as the hold grew less nearly made his panic soar beyond his control, until she managed to catch his eye, raising her head just a moment, but the flicker in the snapping jade orbs told him she was ready the moment she had an opportunity, not quite as limp or defeated as she meant to appear.
The relief that flooded him was almost certainly premature, a distraction he could not afford, and yet it also suffused his being with new strength and will. Only a few steps more, and he would be close enough to land a damaging blow. From the corners of his vision, Killian could see that Jefferson, Graham, and Philip were all in position, each man poised and alert, ready to do just as they had planned. Wordlessly, Killian gave the signal, and even as he pushed forward, the dagger raised to drive through Dracula’s heart if he were to have the chance, the others moved in with him, matching him stride for stride.
If not for their stalwart presence, he might have lost himself, Killian realized, shaking the reddened haze of anger from his vision. But as they tightened their circle, his aim sharpened, and their monstrous foe’s attention was split between the oncoming assailants, just as they had hoped.
Even as Killian readied his arm, steeling himself to sink the dagger home, he saw the rapid movement to his left of Graham Morris driven forward by fighting instinct and chivalric nature past any further hesitation, despite their previous agreement that Killian must strike first with the fated blade. Graham’s slice went deep, and with a roar of pain the monster dropped its clawed grip on Emma completely. She fell to the floor in a heap, and that taloned grasp swiped outward, catching Morris in the gut and dragging across his torso viciously. Graham stumbled back with a gasp, clutching his middle where red already leaked through his fingers.
Killian could not falter; for just one moment, Dracula was stunned, injured - vulnerable - and so he drove the dagger into the monster’s chest, right where its heart would be, if that organ could still exist in one such as he, and followed through with all his might.
The vampire howled and snapped its terrible jaws, resembling even the guise of humanity less and less with every second. Mere breaths after the deathblow struck home, the vampire sunk to its knees. Yet, even with strength waning, lashed out and gripped Killian about the neck, too firmly to be shaken off and inexorably squeezing, closing off the air from his lungs. It was as though the fiend knew he had finally been bested, but would not sink into the fires below without taking his conqueror with him.
Killian Jones had long since readied himself for such an eventuality. In the long, solitary years he had spent tracking Dracula von Stiltskin’s whereabouts and seeking out any possible weaknesses which might bring about his defeat, he had accepted that his quest’s end would almost surely mean his own as well. And he had been at peace with that. There had been little but bitterness and pain for him in the world at any rate. But now, he found he could not let go just yet; he had reason to stay on this Earth, to live again, beyond Dracula’s downfall, thanks to the band of brothers who surrounded him, and especially the woman who was now rising from where she had fallen.
Scrabbling frantically at the hands which closed off his windpipe, desperate to see this battle finished once and for all, and that Emma was alright, he fought to free himself of the iron hold and the darkening edges encroaching on his sight.
Though it could not have been more than moments, time seemed to have stretched and lengthened oddly, so that Killian had almost forgotten Seward and Thornswood, until both made their own strikes at the monster almost simultaneously. Thornswood came from the right, hacking the creature’s arm with such force it was nearly detached at the shoulder, finally loosening the death grip on Killian and allowing him the air to stay conscious. Seward had attacked from behind, wisely intending to sever the vampire’s neck and remove the head, the only sure way to finish him off. The creature’s fall to its knees had thrown his aim off, however, and his blade was now sunk so deep in the fiend’s back that he struggled to pull it out to try again.
Pulling in great, gasping breaths, Killian searched for the dagger to remove the head himself. No matter how badly they had wounded Dracula, he would regenerate if they did not make certain he was ash. Yet all he could find was the intricate jeweled hilt. It would seem to have disintegrated within the beast upon finding its mark.
Before he could think what to do, Killian saw Emma rise, wavering unsteadily on her feet, but with the hair-raising war cry of a Valkyrie. She had pulled the knife he had sent with her from its sheath at her thigh and she struck the monster’s neck swiftly and certainly - as well as he could have done it himself - before falling to the floor again with a wail and turning her head into his chest.
Though Killian was honored and truly touched to have Emma turn to him for strength in that moment, he pulled back slightly, lifting her chin and urging her to turn so she could also see what was happening before his very eyes. He felt he knew and understood Emma Swan almost as well as he knew himself, and he was unwaveringly sure that - just as he did - she would need to witness what was unfolding, for her own future peace of mind.
And what a sight it was at that - one he had nearly despaired of ever witnessing. With a last bellow that seemed to shake the rafters and the floor beneath their feet, the immortal monster met his end. An otherworldly wind whirled around the vampire as it was buffeted and torn, with bits of him being stripped away piece by piece. Chinks of light began to show through his form to the the far wall, and then it was as though he began to crystallize and dissolve, blown away like sand on the wind.
The howl of the dying creature as it was pulled apart, combined with the pressure and whipping of the blinding wind nearly stole their breath. It was all Killian could do to stand his ground and cling to Emma with all his might to steady her as well. When the small whirlwind finally eased, seeming to vanish back from wherever it had come, all of their company stood still as stone for several long moments. They were silent; frozen in shock and hardly daring to believe that Dracula von Stiltskin was now the mere pile of ash at their feet; the dust barely settled, but the long reign of terror at last at its end.
A wheezing gasp, low and ragged, from off to their left was what finally broke them from their frozen state. “I-Is he f-finished?” the voice asked desperately.
Where Emma had been leaning on him heavily, her reserves of strength and adrenaline nearly drained away, she suddenly jerked forward, her eyes meeting his in alarm, seeming to ask, ‘How could we have forgotten?’
They hurried toward the pained voice, now clearly accompanied by labored breathing, once the tumult had died down. Philip Thornswood had beated them there, already dropping to his knees beside their fallen comrade with a tense exclamation of “Morris!” that made his dismay all too clear. He reached beneath the other man’s shoulders, elevating his head and torso slightly and looking with worried brow to Jefferson for direction.
The doctor had also knelt beside the brave adventurer, pulling back the remnants of ruined shirt and vest to examine Graham Morris’ wound. But his grim expression only told them what they had already feared. There was so much blood - beneath him, around him, still leaking from the open wound - gaping appallingly no matter how much they wished to see otherwise.
Graham’s large, expressive brown eyes had gone a bit glassy, but they still flicked from one to another of his friends earnestly. “Tell me, please… whatever it is. Is the monster gone?”
There was nothing to be done for him, not that could be accomplished in a dank, drafty castle with no surgical equipment and so much blood loss. Clearly even the cowboy already knew it, and so none forced Seward to put the bleak reality into words. Instead, he reached out and took Morris’ hand in his, clasping tightly as Thornswood did the same at his shoulder. “Dracula’s reign of terror is over. We did it, my Friend. Rest easy on that.”
A rattling breath escaped the Irishman’s lungs at those words, as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment in deeply felt relief. They almost wondered if he was already fading when they flickered open once more and he asked, “A-and Emma? Miss Swan? Is she…?”
With a pained cry, Emma stumbled to his other side and dropped next to him on the cold cement floor, anxious to ease his mind and offer him her thanks if that were all that she could do. Reaching out a trembling hand, she smoothed a sweaty curl from his clammy forehead, squeezing his fingers - heedless of how they were tacky with dried blood - tightly in her own and then pressing their joined hands to her chest with emotion.
“I’m here,” she murmured, “We all are.” She didn’t know what else to do, but she didn’t want this brave man who had fought against evil and helped to save her life to feel alone for even one second in this horrible passing.
Morris managed a faint press of Emma’s fingers in return, almost smiling tremulously as he added with a ragged gasp, “M-Miss Swan? It is g-good to see you, milady. Are you truly alright?”
Tears still rimmed Emma’s green eyes, glittering in the strange half-light like jewels on her lashes as she nodded fervently. “Yes, I am. Please do not fret on that anymore. I will be fine. Thanks in no small part to you, Mr. Morris.” Her voice trembled with emotion at feeling the strength in his hand that she clasped in her own lessening with each moment that passed. The roving hero’s journey was inescapably nearing its end, and though he had fought well and seen their battle won, he would not have the chance to savor the victory they had wrought, nor to enjoy the newfound peace he had helped to secure.
“Thank the Lord and all His saints for that,” he exhaled, the words barely more than a whisper of breath. When his eyes fell closed that time, his lashes did not flutter open again; the struggling rise and fall of his chest went still, and Graham Morris breathed his last.
Strong, formidable men all, his allies were, and still in that frigid, ruined throne room Emma’s tears were not the only ones shed over the body of the impetuous wanderer who had given his last to the cause. Somehow the hours had hurried on; the sun was rising once more over the eastern peaks, and they had to leave the forbidding outpost of their vanquished foe. Though it was hard to believe they would leave that castle to tread on the same earth after the waking nightmare they had just survived, there was little else to be done but to press onward as best they could.
Emma Swan raised her eyes, her gaze seeking the only imaginable solace to be found - the answering blue stare of Killian Joens, mourning too, but still resolute and offering the hope of comfort to which she could cling. She focused on him and drew from his strength as the new day’s sun bathed the tragic scene in yet more red and gold with its returning glow. For the moment she must beyond the loss to the future - one they would have with certainty, now that the vampire was no more.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Two Years Later…
A cool, gentle breeze drifts in through the open window as Killian Jones, once the driven and coolly implacable vampire hunter Van Helsing, stands looking out over the fields and grounds of the country estate he now shares with the two lights of his life: Emma, his beautiful bride of more than a year, the savior of his heart and soul, and their new son, who gurgles happily in his arms. Looking down at the baby’s playful noisemaking, Killian grins, utterly enchanted by the gummy smile the little lad gives him, kicking his chubby feet energetically and latching onto his papa’s finger with an impressively tight grip of his small fist. For a babe just days old, Killian feels he must be especially brilliant to already show such personality and expression, though he knows he is more than biased and does not care one bit.
Emma is still recovering from the delivery in their suite just down the hall, so he happily took the wee one for a bit of a walk about the place after his last feeding, and now finds himself standing in the nursery enjoying both the peaceful meadows outside the window view and the tiny miracle in his arms, still rather stunned that he ever managed to find such contentment after so much struggle and pain.
Just then he hears lightly shuffling footsteps behind him, mere moments before his wife’s slender arms wrap around him from behind. He smiles warmly, feeling the same satisfaction she seems to as she burrows her face between his shoulderblades and hums delightedly while breathing him in.
Making sure their son is cradled securely against his body and within the crook of his arm, Killian brings his other hand down to cover Emma’s own and squeeze gently, gladly returning the affectionate touch, even as he chides lightly, “You, my darling, are meant to be resting, not up and roaming about the manor.”
Her soft laughter seems to brighten the very air with its light notes of joy, carefree and open as both of them are only now learning to allow their emotions to be - on the surface and able to be shared. Laying her cool, soft hand to rest over his heart, even as she returns the loving press of his fingers around her own, she cannot help the playfully tart response that escapes her lips. “You know better than to coddle me like some china doll, Mr. Jones.”
He can practically see the challenging quirk to her brow, the way she tilts her head in expectation when when she baits him, just waiting for his reply, and the knowing curve upwards at one corner of her mouth, even though he cannot actually look her in the face with her cuddled against his back.
Taking the hand he holds and using it to pull her in a wide circle, Killian brings his wife around to face him and gather her close again. His arms are wrapped around his whole world in their small family, and their little one is cradled between them as he gazes down into Emma’s eyes. “Forgive me, Mrs. Jones, but I believe it is my duty and right to care for the well-being of my lady wife.”
Shaking her head at his overly formal repartee, she huffs out an affectionate breath of exasperated acquiescence.
Their back and forth is interrupted when their son begins to fuss, nosing doggedly at the front of Emma’s gown and letting her know without question that he is again ready for his meal. “He’s your child, that much is certain,” Emma adds tartly, a sardonic tone to her voice as she eyes her husband. “Insatiable.”
But even as she takes the child more fully into her own arms, moves aside her robe, and brings him closer to her breast, she lets one hand trail along Killian’s flank and playfully squeeze his rear in a moment’s tease, before moving away to carry their little boy to the rocking chair by the bassinet and settling in to feed him properly.
Killian’s body cannot help but jerk slightly in surprised response to her amorous caress, several parts of his anatomy coming to life. It is true that he always wants her, but he is not about to risk Emma’s health or comfort before her body is fully healed and restored from the birth of their son. “It would seem your roving hands prove I’m not the only insatiable one,” he murmurs lowly, a feral grin lighting his features as he follows her across the room and bends to take her lips with his own. The kiss is deep and leaves them both breathless. If all he can have at the moment, he will certainly make his kisses count.
She hums in agreement; relaxed, at ease, and happy as the little one settles again and she brushes tender fingers over the soft tufts of dark hair atop the boy’s hair. Quincey Morris Jones blinks eyes as blue as his father’s up at them sleepily once he has begun to get his fill. They had decided almost immediately to pass the surname of the lost member of their band of brothers on to their first child; it seemed the only tribute fitting enough to truly honor his sacrifice, and a worthy namesake to give their boy who would surely grow up to be as honorable and true as the man of whom they would tell him proudly.
As Killian takes the newborn, who is once more dozing, from his mother’s arms and lowers him carefully into his crib, he looks back at his wife. Her eyes practically glow with love for him, and a small, secret smile plays upon her perfect mouth. Beckoning Killian to her, Emma accepts his hand to rise, and lets him guide her back to their bedroom, where he curls around her protectively, staying dutifully at her side to insure her rest. Watching over her as she drifts back to sleep, and he hovers on the brink of it himself, Killian thinks of the day when he will tell young Quincey tales that prove just how marvelous a woman his mother is. So beautiful, daring, and brilliant that men would dare to risk all for her sake.
THE END~
Author's Note: I truly cannot believe that I've completed this story - and my work for the last @cssns but I won't be too sad as I still have ones from past years to finish, and I can always come back to read the many other amazing entries to the event's collection. @cssns was such a wonderful thing to be part of, and I will always be grateful to have been a small part of it!
As to this story's last chapter, I hope you will fondly remember a similar final line to the novel by Bram Stoker. When it struck me that I could use a similar closely line for this story, I was so excited!!! (Still, I thought I should give credit where credit was due, even if I have put it in my own words and context.)
And secondly, please PLEASE forgive me for Graham Morris! You truly can't be hurting much more than I hurt myself in trying to write it. (That's part of what has taken so long to complete this final chapter.) I knew when I made him the likeness of the American cowboy Quincey Morris (my adored fave character in the original novel) that this part of the story would come, I still wasn't prepared for how hard it was to actually follow through and do it.
I hope you've enjoyed this one - I've really loved working in this universe!!
Tonight we have the third and final chapter of For All Life and For All Time, @snowbellewells Dracula inspired AU!!!! Make sure you have your tissues handy, then enjoy and give Marta all the love!!!!
