In the Inaugural year of the @cssns I was honored to be paired with the beyond amazing @abeylin1982 for my fic The Fate of the Medjai. To this day I stop and marvel at the gorgeous art she made for me and my humble story, and am still beyond honored that she worked with me and made such amazing works of art. I mean look at this art 👇🏽
CSSNS 2022 needs more artists! If you are artistically inclined in any way I hope you’ll sign up. Don’t miss out on the opportunity to work with an author, to combine your efforts. It is genuinely one of the best experiences I’ve had in fandom.
Go show abeylin1982 some love (link below), if you want to find the fic (still a WIP, link below), if you’re so inclined to join the CSSNS (link below)
I know I have been MIA for fic rec Monday for awhile now, but it wasn’t by choice. It just seemed like every Monday something came up. It ended up working out, however, because my dear friend @distant-rose was just interviewed by @the-citrus-scale (formerly The Lemon Mag). My fic rec for this week is her story from last year’s Captain Swan Supernatural Summer:
Seal of Fate - Emma Swan is so well written in this selkie fic! I always say that no one “gets” Emma Swan better than Ro, and in this story, she gets her personality spot on. There is a mystery to be solved as well and there were twists I didn’t see coming. The CS romance is wonderfully, realistically done, but it doesn’t take away from Emma’s personal mission. I knew next to nothing about selkies before reading this, and it had me drawn in from the very beginning!
I would actually recommend reading ALL of Ro’s fics, and I’m sure this won’t be the last time I rec one!
In celebration of the one year anniversary of my first @cssns fic, I’m reposting a chapter a day until my 2019 drop date, especially since each chapter has never been posted to tumblr before. Amazing art above done by the talented @shipsxahoy.
Summary: Five years after their wedding, Emma and Killian are ready to start a family. But Emma discovers that raising a family isn't that simple when your husband is a Dunedin (half-elf) and your mother-in-law is neither dead nor alive.
Killian grunted as he swung his arm up to the next ledge. He dug his hook into the craggy rock and pulled himself over the edge. Arms trembling from the long climb, he stood at the pinnacle of stone and gazed out at the horizon. He pulled the water skin from his satchel and took a long drink. He could see the Jolly Roger moored just a few leagues out from the rocky shore. His crew, especially Smee, hadn’t liked the idea of him making this quest alone. The witch, however, had made it clear. This was his journey to take and his alone. He was glad now for it; climbing over these rocks would have been even more difficult with a companion.
The salty breeze ruffled Killian’s hair and tugged at his blouse. He breathed deeply of it, the scent calming him as it always did. And yet there was another tug on his soul. That of rich loam, green moss, and the ancient groaning of trees. He shook his head as if to fight off that half of him. One thing was for certain; he was eager to be away from this rocky terrain.
He turned away from the view of the coast to make his way down into the valley below. The rocks were loose, held together by pebbly soil. Going up it had been both an aid to his hook and a danger. Imbed his metal appendage into a crevice too loose, and he could have gone tumbling to his death. It had been slow going. Now, the loose ground beneath his feet made it a quick journey to the floor of the valley below.
As he walked along the tiny trickle that he supposed could be called a stream, the ground slowly became less rocky. Soon, the water was a true stream, tumbling merrily over smoother rocks. Then it became a lazy river that emptied into a tranquil pool. A thin waterfall streamed from the cliff above, casting a shimmery rainbow in the mist.
By this time, the sun was beginning to dip low, so Killian made camp. He found a spot near enough to the water for the ground to be softer and more comfortable, but near enough the rock wall to keep him hidden in shadows. He didn’t dare make a fire. He ate from his meager rations and then curled up upon the grass, using his satchel as a makeshift pillow.
Dawn had barely come when a rustling sound awakened Killian. He started up from a light sleep, his sword quickly drawn. Heart pounding, he gazed about to see nothing. The silence surrounding him was an oppressive thing, causing the hair on his neck to stand up.
Then suddenly, something white was swooping down, almost clipping his head. He ducked, swearing under his breath, and then blinked in shock when he lowered his arms and looked up. There, standing calmly and regally by the water’s edge was a pure white swan. It lowered its head as if in greeting and Killian rose slowly to his feet. He eased closer to the bird, a question furrowing his brow.
“Is this the sign the witch spoke of?” he asked in a whisper. It felt odd to speak at all in this still and quiet place.
The swan bent its neck slowly, its beak almost to the ground. It seemed to bow before him. Then it turned suddenly, flapped its wings, and rose into the air. It spun in a circle above Killian’s head, then dove into the stream of the waterfall.
Killian rolled his eyes. “I suppose it wants me to follow it,” he muttered sarcastically.
He re-sheathed his sword, slipped his satchel over his head, and made his way gingerly across the slippery rocks to the waterfall. He reached out with his hand tentatively, and jumped slightly when the water parted like a curtain. On the other side, he could see the swan standing patiently, as if waiting for him.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered as he stepped through, “this better not be a trap.”
Once beneath the waterfall, the swan disappeared. Killian swore again as he turned in a circle. What now? He edged closer to the smooth, rock wall behind the falls, running his hand over the slick, wet surface. He paused when he felt indentations beneath his palm. He drew closer, and sure enough, there was a carving there. The elegant neck of a swan, the etchings of feathers at its back. Killian pressed harder against the carving, and a disk of rock collapsed into the wall, light shooting around its edges. Killian squinted against the sudden bright light, backing away hesitantly from the magic. But as the spots of light cleared from his vision, he saw an open archway and beyond it a tunnel carved into the side of the mountain.
Killian stepped inside, wondering how he would see in the dark cavern, only to see a light bouncing ahead of him. When he hesitated over following it, the light seemed to become agitated, coming closer and then skittering away again. As if the light were entreating him to follow.
Killian took a deep breath, reminding himself that swans – white ones at least – were an omen of light magic, not dark. Then again, his own heart was filled with nothing but black deeds. Perhaps the light here wished to snuff out the darkness of his villainous heart?
He made his way down the tunnel, hand hovering at the hilt of his sword, his hook held aloft and ready. The tunnel suddenly curved and dipped downward, and the light he had been following suddenly enlarged and morphed once again into the beautiful white swan. It seemed to stare at him for a moment, then it turned and flapped upward, disappearing in a shower of rainbow colored light. When the bird disappeared, there before him was a simple pirate’s cutlass hanging in an alcove of rock.
Killian shook his head in confusion as he stepped close. He picked up the cutlass, weighing it in his hand and examining the hilt. He rolled his eyes and tilted his head back when he saw the language etched there.
“Elvish,” he muttered, a bitter edge to his voice.
“You found it,” said a breathy voice behind him. He knew that voice well. It’s soft, airy quality that used to soothe him as a child.
Now it sent anger pulsing through his veins.
“You?” he choked out. He had meant it to come out accusing, but instead he sounded like a hurt and betrayed child.
Tauriel came closer, steps hesitant, her hands clasped before her. Her ginger hair was covered by a hunter green cloak. Killian took a step back, wary of her intentions.
“You were the witch in that glade?”
She shook her head, pulling the cloak from her head. “No, but she wasn’t a witch. She was one of my kind. One of the few willing to help elves in my position.”
“You mean the ones neither living nor dead?” Killian spat. “Nice of her. I should have known this was about you, not me. This weapon won’t even work against the Dark One, will it?”
Tauriel remained completely serene, though her eyes became dull and sad. It was an elven trait that Killian had always found infuriating, especially since his own emotions were always so volatile.
“No to both. No, it won’t help your quest against the Dark One. And no, my son, this is not about me at all. You are floundering, Killian, and I can watch it no longer.”
“Ah, yes,” Killian quipped, gesturing with his hook, “watch. All my mother ever does, ever has done. Watch. And what exactly about the show bothers you?”
Tauriel blinked as tears formed in the corner of her eyes, “You are in pain, Killian. You have closed your heart off, wary of love, and filled it with darkness instead.”
“What worries you, mother? That I will waste away like you?” Killian is practically snarling now, his fist clenching. His mother’s form is shifting, and he knows soon she will fade away. Trapped between the living and the dead, she can only communicate with him for brief moments at a time.
“No. For thankfully, the woman you lost was not your true love.”
“How dare you!” Killian cried, his face contorting with pain. “How dare you question the depth of my love for Milah!”
“Oh, my darling,” Tauriel said, reaching her arms out towards him, but they were now so ethereal, she couldn’t touch him, “that isn’t what I mean at all. But you can love again, I have seen it.”
Killian shook his head, “Please, none of your elven prophecies. All your kind ever does is speak in riddles. I’ve no time for it, nor do I put any stock in it.”
Tauriel was only a mere shadow now. “Even so, take the cutlass, my son. The swan would not have led you to it if it weren’t meant for you.”
Killian looked down at the weapon in his hand. It wasn’t delicate enough or ornate enough to have been wrought by elven hands. And yet the words etched into it were elvish. “What does it say?”
He looked up to find his mother gone; his question unanswered.
***********************************************
Killian Jones had varying types of dreams. Like anyone, some were a bizarre mixture of sights, sounds, and thoughts. Ridiculous tumblings of his mind with no meaning. And like anyone he also had dreams that represented his deepest desires and fears. Emma figured prominently in dreams like that and had for some time.
But being a few centuries old with far too many regrets, Killian also had dreams that were simply memories. *Most of them painful, causing him to wake with a start. Then he would take in his surroundings, see Emma lying peacefully next to him, and feel his heartbeat return to normal.
This morning was one of those times, though the memory of the swan, the cutlass, and his mother was not particularly disturbing nor wrought with regrets. Nevertheless, it troubled him, and he spent several minutes watching Emma sleep. He admired the way the early light of dawn shone against her hair. He lifted a few strands, relishing the soft feel of them between his fingers. The strap of her tank top had slipped from her shoulder during the night, and he leaned forward to fix it, his hand lingering against her skin longer than necessary. He leaned forward and planted a kiss there as well. Emma sighed and shifted, but didn’t waken.
He rose quietly from the bed, grabbing a t-shirt from the hamper and slipping it over his head. He didn’t bother with his brace, a fact that still, five years into marriage, filled him with gratitude and wonder. Emma truly loved every part of him.
He walked downstairs to the kitchen and used the Keurig machine to make a quick cup of coffee. He grasped the mug in his right hand and made his way to the back porch. His eyes scanned the quiet yard. Many would have missed the figure on the edge of the property, her green and brown garments blending into the trees. But Killian had the keen eyes of a sailor.
Okay, and the keen eyes of an elf, too.
He ground his teeth, his jaw clenching as he made his way across the yard to her, the dew on the grass wetting his bare feet.
“Mother.”
“Killian.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m always near, my son.”
Killian closed his eyes tightly. So many emotions swirled through him, it was hard to pin down exactly what he was feeling.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
Tauriel raised her hand as if to touch him, then retreated. “Now that you’ve made a home, and are no longer at sea, perhaps we can . . . get to know one another again?”
“And how is that going to work exactly? 5 minutes at a time?”
As if to confirm his words, Tauriel’s shape began to fade. As she disappeared into mist, she smiled and said, “I love you, Killian.”
When she was gone, his fist clenched around the coffee mug. For some reason, anger surged through him and he threw the ceramic as hard as he could against the nearest tree where it shattered into pieces.
“Killian?”
He turned to see Emma standing on the porch, her arms tight around her chest as she shivered barefoot in her knee-length bathrobe. As he walked towards her, he tried to give her a bright smile, and she gave him a crooked one in return.
“I never liked that mug either,” she quipped with a nod of her head towards the trees.
That got a laugh out of him as he walked up the porch steps. He enveloped her in a hug, placing a kiss against the top of her head. “Sorry, love. Tis nothing.”
“Why are you so upset with her still?” she asked, lips pressed against his collar bone. “I thought you both said what you needed to.”
Killian sighed as Emma pulled back to look into his face. His mother had shown up five years ago, right before their wedding. It had been a lot for Emma to process, finding out he was a Dunedain – half-elf. But she had taken it all in stride, including his mother who hovered between the land of the living and the dead.
“So did I, love. But I didn’t expect her to linger here.”
“She loves you,” Emma said, rubbing his arms gently up and down.
Killian gave a half-hearted smile. “I know. It’s just hard having a mother who’s . . .”
“A ghost?”
“I told you, she’s not a ghost. She’s not dead.”
Emma shook her head. “Okaaay, but she’s not really alive, either. Ghost is the easiest label.” Killian opened his mouth, and Emma lifted her hand to stop his explanation. “I know, I know. She’s immortal, but your father broke her heart, so she wasted away, blah, blah, blah. Got it.”
“Are you regretting marrying me? With my elf ears and my half-dead mother?”
Emma truly laughed as she lifted her arms to loop them around his neck. “With my life? You’re one of the most normal people I know. Even at three hundred plus and counting.”
Killian quirked a brow at her teasing. “And at least I’m not a flying monkey.”
Emma rolled her eyes and smacked him in the chest. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
She kissed him lightly as they both laughed. Killian then steered her towards the door back into the kitchen. They made breakfast, moving around the space together with five years of practiced ease. Then Emma went to take the first shower while Killian did the dishes.
If she noticed that he had side-stepped her question about his mother, she didn’t let on.
My fic for the 2019 @cssns will drops TOMORROW, so to celebrate, I’m re-posting my fic from last year (and also because I was a tumblr newbie back then and didn’t post the chapters here, just the link to Ao3)
Gorgeous art by @shipsxahoy!
Summary: Five years after their wedding, Emma and Killian are ready to start a family. But Emma discovers that raising a family isn't that simple when your husband is a Dunedin (half-elf) and your mother-in-law is neither dead nor alive.
Killian still wasn’t quite used to seeing his mother this way: sitting with a cup of Granny’s coffee, wearing a cream colored blouse and dark wash jeans. A necklace hung around her neck of green, blue, and brown beads, a gift from Emma and Elien. His little girl had explained that the colors reminded her of the elven lands. Tauriel’s red hair was pulled back from her face in a barette rather than in the loose knots of an elf. But the hairstyle still put her pointed ears on display.
“How are you settling in?” he asked her before taking a sip of his own coffee.
She smiled contentedly. “My room here is quite comfortable. And Moe French is being very patient with me at the flower shop. I’m still having trouble with that . . . what’s the magic box called again?”
Killian grinned over the rim of his cup. “A computer, mother.”
“Right, the computer,” she replied with a matching smile.
Belle was kind to put in a word for Tauriel with her father. The shop was the perfect fit for her, putting her close to the sights and smells of growing things. Still, he sometimes caught her looking longingly towards the woods at times. That was why he was secretly negotiating with Rumple to purchase his old cabin. He knew she would be happier out there.
Tauriel set down her mug and regarded him thoughtfully. “But checking up on me isn’t the reason for this breakfast, is it?”
Killian sighed. “No.” He ran his finger along the edge of his mug nervously. This had been Emma’s idea, though he knew she was right. He and his mother needed this conversation.
“You can tell me anything,” she said softly.
His mother already knew his darkest sin. How could he possibly make things worse? “Why did you stay away so long? After . . . you know, what happened with father.”
Tauriel’s brow furrowed. “You asked me to stay away.”
Killian swallowed hard. “I thought . . . perhaps . . . that I had fallen too far. Become too dark for you . . . to love me.” He blinked furiously, willing himself not to let a tear escape. He suddenly felt like a small boy again.
“Oh, darling,” Tauriel said, reaching across the table to grasp his hand and hook, “nothing could ever erase my love for you. And trust me when I say I was never far. But you had suffered so much loss, had so much pain and anger, I thought it was best to heed your wishes and give you space.”
Her eyes shone with tears as she continued. “And I was watching when you met Emma the very first time, and I knew you had found your true love.”
Killian chuckled. “It wasn’t exactly love at first sight.”
“A mother knows. So I kept watching, so proud when you became the hero I always knew you were. And when Emma accepted your proposal, I finally thought that maybe you would allow me back into your life again.”
She squeezed his hand and hook with affection and Killian lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss there. “I love you, mother. I’m so happy you’re here with us.”
Tauriel’s smile was beaming as she pulled her hands into her lap. “I have waited so many long years to hear you say that.”
The tender moment was interrupted by a perky voice bustling into the diner.
“Tauriel,” Snow exclaimed, approaching their table with a large binder in her arms, “I hate to interrupt your breakfast, but I found some things on Pinterest this morning for the party, and I just had to show them to you.”
Emma was behind her mother, her hand grasping Elien’s. She caught Killian’s eye. “Sorry, I couldn’t stop her.”
“Nonsense!” Tauriel said, sounding almost as eager as Snow, “I can’t wait to see it all.”
She gestured for Snow to sit next to her and the two women began to eagerly pour over the contents of the binder. Elien insisted on sitting between her Grandma and her Effie, practically climbing over the table to squeeze between them. Emma shook her head at the three of them as she slid into the other side of the booth next to Killian.
“Oh, I like this,” Tauriel said, pointing at a picture in the binder.
“Isn’t that adorable?” Snow gushed, “The kids get to decorate little bottles and put sparkly sand inside as fairy dust.”
“Real fairy dust?” Elien asked eagerly.
“No, sweetie,” Snow laughed, running her hand over her granddaughter’s strawberry blonde curls, “just pretend.”
“Oh, and look at this, an archery competition,” Tauriel continued, turning the page.
“With foam tipped arrows of course,” Snow explained, “I thought we could put it right next to the horses. David’s going to dress up in his Prince Charming clothes and give the kids rides.”
“Mom,” Emma spoke up, “it’s just a kid’s birthday party. It sounds like your throwing Elien a full blown Renaissance festival.”
“Five is a big birthday,” Snow argued, and Emma laughed lightly at the indignation on her mother’s face. “And she’s a princess.”
“On both sides,” Tauriel put in.
“That’s right,” Snow said, a hint of teasing creeping into her voice, “Killian never did tell us he was of royal blood.”
Killian coughed, his face turning red. He scratched behind his ear as he muttered, “Well, I never said anything about being part elf either.”
“But Papa’s proud of being an elf now, and so am I,” Elien announced, pushing her hair back to show off her ears. “See how cool my ears are? Just like Papa’s and Effie’s”
Everyone laughed at Elien’s pronouncement and Tauriel pulled her in for a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. Emma watched her daughter, sandwiched between two grandmothers who looked no older than her parents but were technically 60 and 500. Then Emma squeezed the hand of her daughter’s father, who was 300, but didn’t look a day over 35. Emma was sure there would be days when Elien got older that she would roll her eyes in embarrassment over her crazy family, but Emma hoped she would also know how incredibly blessed she was.
Killian leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Nin ylv na-pant.”
Emma grinned, her eyes bright. She always loved to hear him speak elvish. “What does that mean?”
He kissed her forehead before answering, “My cup runneth over.”
He always could read her mind. She wondered if that was an elf thing.
My fic for the 2019 @cssns will drop this Friday, so to celebrate, I’m re-posting my fic from last year (and also because I was a tumblr newbie back then and didn’t post the chapters here, just the link to Ao3)
Gorgeous art by @shipsxahoy!
Summary: Five years after their wedding, Emma and Killian are ready to start a family. But Emma discovers that raising a family isn't that simple when your husband is a Dunedin (half-elf) and your mother-in-law is neither dead nor alive.
Rated T
Also on Ao3
Tagging (let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list): @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @optomisticgirl @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @kday426 @jennjenn615 @mythologicalmango @xhookswenchx @thislassishooked @resident-of-storybrooke @lovepurplepumpkins
Chapter Six:
For all the stories of hospitality and loyal friendship of elves, they were by and large an isolated people. Their lands were cloaked with magic and protected from what they saw as the corrupt influence of men and dwarves. They scoffed at the fairies who helped people while living high above them, using magic that the elves considered crude. The magic of elves was a mysterious thing; tied to the earth and highly spiritual in nature. They didn’t flit above it all like the fairies did, and if a human or dwarf needed their healing arts or their bows and swords, they would gladly give it.
Yet they still rarely fraternized with those not of their kind.
Tauriel mused over these things as she made her way through the forest towards the nearest village. She had never been to a tavern, but Legolas had. He said that the men’s ale and other spirits had little to know effect on elves. But the company was distracting.
And Tauriel desperately needed a distraction.
There were so many things she didn’t understand about the ways of her people. They were such a study in contradictions, and often Tauriel wanted to rebel against some of that hypocrisy. Why hide away in enchanted lands while men suffered and died? And why was it so scandalous for an elf to love a man when everyone knew of the Dunedin –the half elf. They had to come from somewhere.
And why was it so scandalous to love a dwarf?
She shook her head against that thought and massaged the ache that still rested at her breast. Perhaps she would not have been so open to the man she met that day and his charms if her heart had not been so raw.
She was still almost a mile from town when she saw him. He was of slender build, though broad shouldered, and he held a bundle in his arms wrapped in a dirty muslin cloth. With rapid, purposeful steps, as if he couldn’t complete his task fast enough, he approached the large, smooth stone by the tree line. He bent and deposited the squirming bundle gently. Pudgy little hands lifted from the folds of the fabric, grasping in the air for something, tiny fingers flexing then closing again.
“Glad, gar-hi hen,” he cried out into the woods.
It was the cry of human parents who couldn’t – or wouldn’t – care for their infants. They believed the elves would find these orphans and take them in, and sometimes that was true. But the woods were wild and sometimes, by the time the elves found a child, it was too late.
The man began to back away from the infant, who began to cry as if he understood his fate. Tauriel could contain her indignation no longer. She burst from the shelter of the wood and dashed to the child shivering on the slab of stone. She scooped him up while simultaneously shouting at the child’s father.
“Why are you humans so cruel?” she cried as he stopped and turned back towards her in surprise.
The man looked truly stricken as he lifted both hands in a placating gesture. “I can’t care for him,” he attempted to explain, “and everyone knows the elves foster many human children.”
“Many is a slight exaggeration,” Tauriel snapped. She tore her eyes away from the man’s much too attractive face and gazed instead at the babe in her arms. The child grasped onto her finger and pulled it to his mouth, sucking hungrily. He was still red and oh so small. And much too thin. Understanding dawned and Tauriel gasped, “His mother died birthing him. Didn’t she?”
The man before her ran a hand wearily over his face, nodding his head as he did so. His anguish seemed so deep, that she took a step forward and placed a hand to his arm.
“Keeping him is too painful, for it will remind you of her.”
He shook her hand off in irritation, and shouted, “No! It’s that I have no bloody idea what to do with him. Feed him? Care for him? I’m no father!” He began to pace, mumbling in agitation, seemingly caring little that she was listening. “He’ll remind me of his mother? That’s ridiculous. Remind me of a woman I just paid coin for? I was . . . lonely. I thought those type of women took care of those things . . . and then this,” he gestures almost in disgust at the tiny bundle in Tauriel’s arm, “shows up on my doorstep. The old woman who brought him said there was no doubt he’s mine. He’s probably got diseases . . .”
“A boy needs his father,” Tauriel said in disgust after his tirade. The man collapsed onto the large rock, his head in his hands. To her shock, he began to weep.
Tentatively, Tauriel sat beside the man. She shifted the baby to the crook of one arm and put the other hesitantly about the man’s shoulders. Her touch made him stiffen, and he sat up suddenly, rubbing at his face. Unsure what to do, she withdrew her arm and focused once again on the baby in her arms. He had the lightest peach fuzz on the cap of his head, and she ran her hand over it gently. She couldn’t help smiling down at him as he let out a little shuddering sigh, seeming to melt into her embrace. When she began to speak again, she was addressing the man next to her, but she kept her gaze trained on the infant’s face.
“Elves are not entirely welcoming to those not of their kind, especially the Woodland Elves. They will raise this boy, it is true, for they will never abandon an innocent to a cruel fate. Yet he will always be an outsider, never to fully belong.” She traced the baby’s petal-soft cheek and let out a small sigh as she finished.
“You sound as if you’ve experienced such rejection personally.”
She turned to find the young man gazing intently at her, his lips turned up in a charming smile. She now saw that his eyes were a bright blue, like the forget-me-nots that bloomed in the meadow. Tauriel glanced away from his penetrating gaze, a blush rising to her freckled cheeks.
“I may know a bit of what it feels, I suppose. My people are very . . . set in their ways.”
“Yet you push the boundaries.”
She turned at his words to find him regarding her with unabashed appreciation.
“I’m Brennan,” he told her, his smile widening to a full grin.
“Tauriel,” she replied with a simple nod.
He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, “And a lovely lass such as yourself must either be an elven princess or betrothed to an elven prince.”
She blushed deeper at how he had unwittingly hit the mark. “There are those who wish to choose my fate for me,” she told him bitterly.
“An arranged marriage?” Brennan questioned, scooting closer. So close, that Tauriel became completely intent upon the baby in her arms. “While your heart belongs to someone else . . . a simple warrior perhaps?”
Tauriel gazed into the distance. “I almost loved. Once. And you guess rightly that he was a warrior. He died in battle before I had a chance to give him my heart. “
“But he loved you.”
Tauriel turned, surprised. Brennan reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers barely brushing against the pointed tip. It sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.
“Yes, but it would have been forbidden. He was not of my kind.”
Brennan’s gaze was fixed on her. Uncomfortable with the feelings he stirred in her, she looked down at the baby who had now fallen asleep in her arms. No one had gazed at her that way since . . . well, in a very long time. Her heart swelled also at the solid warmth of the child she held.
“What’s his name?” she asked almost in a whisper.
“Liam.”
“Liam,” she breathed, leaning forward and brushing a kiss to his forehead. The place where her kiss had landed glowed slightly, and some of her elven strength seeped into his small frame. He let out a deeper sigh of contentment, and Tauriel relaxed when color rose to his slightly plumper cheeks.
“Come with me and be his nurse,” Brennan asked, voice eager. For the first time since he set the child down upon the stone, he reached out and set his palm against the boy’s head. Tauriel looked up again, not realizing how much closer he had drawn to her. His smile was intoxicating, his nose almost brushing hers. “You love him already, I can tell. We could be . . . almost like a family.”
Tauriel could admit, years later, that it had been a rash suggestion on his part. And on hers, she had been an absolute fool to accept. But her future among her people had seemed so stifling, and Brennan’s bright blue eyes seemed to hold so much promise. And the desire in those eyes lit a longing in her heart that had lain dormant after so much grief.
So she went home with him.
It wasn’t long before she became more than a nursemaid, finding herself in Brennan’s bed. She gave herself to him completely, in the elven way, giving him another son. But instead of naming him after Brennan or someone in the Jones family, Tauriel insisted on naming him after a warrior who died too soon, before she could really love him. She changed the name slightly, so Brennan would think it was elvish, but it was a tribute nonetheless.
Emma hit the ground with incredible force, almost face-planting into the ground. As it was, she got a mouthful of grass and when Killian rushed to help her to her feet, she was gagging and spitting.
“I forgot how jarring portal jumping was,” she muttered, “last time we did this, I landed on my feet.”
“Well,” Killian chuckled, as he helped brush her off, “it has been awhile.”
Emma picked some stray leaves from her hair as she turned in a circle and looked around. The trees seemed much taller and denser than she remembered in the Enchanted Forest. “What realm is this?”
“Still the Enchanted Forest, just a different kingdom. Middle Earth.”
Emma looked at her husband with an arched brow. “Seriously?” Emma rubbed her temples where a headache was beginning to form. “Never mind. I shouldn’t be surprised anymore. And I don’t care what this place is as long as we can find our daughter.”
Killian put his arm around her and drew her close. “We will, love.” Then he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s the family motto, isn’t it? That we always find each other?”
Emma attempted a half smile. “Well, this time around we need your mother’s help. Have you seen her?”
“I’m right here,” Tauriel called out, and Emma turned to see the woman striding from behind a large tree. She had never seen the woman look so determined. “You’ll need my help or you won’t get anywhere with the council.”
Emma crossed her arms. “The council? And how are you supposed to help when you keep disappearing?”
“I will let my son explain everything to you on your journey. You must go and retrieve the Arkenstone. It is the key to saving Elien,” as she spoke, Tauriel began to fade.
Emma dropped her arms, clenching her hands in to tight fists. “What? No! We don’t have time to go on a quest for some stone; we need to find our little girl!” Tears sprung to Emma’s eyes. “Elien’s only four! She’s probably so scared . . . “
Killian took her in his arms immediately, cupping her head and running his fingers through her hair soothingly. “Emma, I am just as frantic as you are to get to my little cygnet. But if my mother is right, and the elves have taken her, then no harm will come to her. Elves are the guardians of children, and their lands are enchanted with the strongest light magic. The worst that can happen is that she’ll miss us. And Granny’s onion rings.”
Emma managed to chuckle against his chest at that. She looked over at Tauriel and straightened, throwing her shoulders back resolutely. “Okay, then, how do we get this . . . stone thing?”
Tauriel’s face fell, “Unfortunately the answers you seek are with my people. Specifically my mother.”
“Who’s your –“ but Emma’s words trailed off as Tauriel disappeared.
“Well,” Killian said with that false smile he always used when he knew they had a difficult task ahead, “to the Woodland Elves it is.”
Emma turned to her husband and pinned him with an intense stare. “Killian. Who is Tauriel’s mother?”
The smile fell from Killian’s face and he swallowed nervously. “That would be the queen herself . . . “ he paused for a bit as if wary of continuing, “Galadriel.”
Emma blinked rapidly. “Galadriel? Are you kidding me?” She shook her head. “Captain Hook’s grandmother is Galadriel from The Lord of the Rings?”
Killian shrugged. “Come now, Swan, after all this time, that’s the weirdest connection you’ve heard?”
Despite the stressful situation, Emma had to laugh. After all, she lived in a town with Rumplestiltskin, the son of Peter Pan and the Black Fairy. She had gone to a wedding in Oz to see Red Riding Hood marry Dorothy. Her son, the grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming, had taken the daughter of the Mad Hatter to the prom.
“Point taken,” she grumbled. She fished a rubber band out of her pocket, then pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail. “So, pirate/elf, do you know how to get to Galadriel’s kingdom? Cause your mom sort of vanished on us again.”
Killian closed his eyes for a moment, tilted his head, and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, they seemed even bluer than normal. “I can feel it in the water, I can feel it in the earth, I can smell it in the air. Those aren’t just pretty words in a lullaby. As a Dunedin, I have a connection to nature that’s difficult to explain. I especially have a connection to the land of the elves. Therefore, I have no doubt that we must head northeast. And luckily, I also know we will be there before sunset.”
“That’s good news at least,” Emma sighed as she followed her husband deeper into the forest, “will these elves have dinner ready, too?”
“Actually, they probably will. Elven food may be different from what you’re used to, but its always sweet and always refreshing.”
“You had me at sweet.”
Killian chuckled, then they both fell silent for a few moments. The woods seemed darker and denser by the moment, and Emma reached out to grasp her husband’s hook. “Um . . . babe . . . what’s the name of this forest?”
Killian hesitated, scratching behind his ear. That gesture was like a neon sign to Emma – whatever forest they were in, it wasn’t good. “Ahem . . . Mirkwood.”
Emma’s face paled remembering the movie The Hobbit. “Shit. Killian, I swear, if one of those spiders comes after me –“
He pulled her against his side and gave her a squeeze, “I won’t allow it, darling.”
“You better not because you know how I feel about those things. Ever since Gideon . . .” she trailed off again, eyeing the forest nervously. Was it just her or was it filled with all sorts of creepy sounds? She tripped over a thick root, and Killian quickly steadied her with hand and hook at her waist.
“Well, love,” he told her with a cheerfulness in his voice that was in sharp contradiction to the setting, “my mother did want me to explain some things to you. So how about a story?”
Emma squeezed the hand that still rested at her waist. “You are good at those.”
“So, this elven council - and part of this your Tolkien fellow got right – was formed thousands of years ago when an elf named Cilbarin forged nineteen rings of power.”
Emma clambered over a group of mossy stones. “You mean the ones Sauron corrupted when he made the one ring?”
“Aye, one ring to rule them all. So it goes. Anyhow, the elves were given three rings, the race of men nine, and the dwarves thirteen.”
“I remember that from the movie. I never understood why the dwarves needed so many.”
“Well,” Killian laughed, “apparently they like to do things in large groups.”
Emma laughed too. “So that’s where the elven council came from?”
“Aye. These three elves were chosen because they were the rulers of the three races of elves. The Lake Elves, the Woodland Elves, and the Elves of Rivendell. Water, earth, and air.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “What’s Rivendell got to do with air? I thought it was full of waterfalls and stuff.”
“Aye, but it’s in the mountains. And when we go there to bring Elien home, you will smell something different in the air there. I can’t describe it exactly . . . it’s the way I imagine a star would smell.”
Emma shook her head. “I didn’t know stars had a smell.”
“They do,” Killian said, almost wistfully.
Emma tugged gently on his hand. “Is that why you wanted to name our daughter the elvish word for star?”
Killian smiled as he tucked a strand of Emma’s hair behind her ear. “No. I wanted to name her Elien because she, and you, are the lights that I know will always guide me home.”
Emma couldn’t help herself, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him soundly. “Then let’s go get our little star and take her home.”
Killian knew that the sun hadn’t set, and yet there was no denying the darkness that surrounded them. He could sense Emma trembling slightly next to him. She had tried to brush it off, saying she was cold, but Killian knew better. The giant spider Gideon had sent after her did a number on her. Ever since, she was absolutely petrified of spiders. His tough Swan, who hadn’t flinched at the sight of a giant, would scream bloody murder if she saw a spider in their house. Once she had walked into a spider web and almost had a panic attack. Not that he blamed her. Being trapped by a giant spider wasn’t something he wanted to experience either.
Killian tried to be subtle when he pulled his cutlass from its scabbard, but Emma’s widened eyes showed he hadn’t fooled her in the least. Emma’s face drained of color, but she still lifted her arms in determination, ready to send a burst of magic at anyone – or anything – that might attack. And Killian definitely had a bad feeling about this part of the forest. The air smelled dank and his ears kept picking up scuttling sounds.
He thought he had a tight grip on his sword, but when he suddenly found himself yanked off the ground, he lost hold of it. Emma shouted his name, and he saw a burst of magic shoot over his head. A hideous screeching sound followed, and Killian went crashing back to the forest floor.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Emma muttered as she pulled the sticky string of webbing off his back, “it had to be spiders.”
“I get that reference,” he chuckled, and even in the dim light he could see Emma roll her eyes. “Back to back.”
Emma nodded and turned, her hands up and ready. Killian widened his stance and held both sword and hook aloft. Spiders seemed to be scuttling through the trees above by the thousands, but Killian knew it was probably only a dozen or less. Half of them sent lines of webbing out with their spinnerets as the other half clambered down the tree trunks and charged at Emma and Killian. Emma’s magic seemed to be incredibly effective in stunning them, but not destroying them.
“What are these, zombie spiders?” she snapped. “This magic I’m using ought to be frying their asses.”
Killian didn’t have time to answer as he battled three spiders at once. He hacked two front limbs of one and stabbed the other through one of its many eyes. But the third grabbed him by the leg, yanking him backwards towards the trees. Killian managed to keep hold of his weapon this time, but his position was an awkward one. Before he realized what was happening, he was dangling in the air again, this time upside down.
“Emma!” he screamed, not for help, but because he could see her below, the spiders closing in around her.
What happened next was chaos. One moment Emma was turning to look up at him, trying to blast the web that held him with her magic, and the next a spider was leaping at her, knocking her to the ground. Killian screamed and fought his bonds as Emma wrestled the spider, narrowly missing stab after stab of its stinger. Killian heard a loud hiss above. He tore his eyes from Emma to see a spider hovering over him, its stinger ready and its arms reaching out to grab him. Then there was a whizzing sound right near his ear followed by an arrow imbedding itself in the spider’s head. Arrows were twanging everywhere, and light was illuminating the darkness. Spiders fell and others retreated back up into the tallest branches of the trees.
“Emma!” Killian yelled as the blood continued to rush to his head.
“I’m okay!” she called back.
There was another twang and a “whoosh,” and then Killian once again plummeted to the ground below. He groaned and rolled over just as Emma rushed to his side. She was trembling as she peppered his face with kisses, then she let out a tremulous sigh as she buried her face against his neck.
“I hate spiders.”
Killian held her close as he looked at the figure standing behind her. The elf gave him a smug smile as he slung his bow over his back. “Killian Jones. About to get himself killed. Again.”
Killian shook his head. “That was one bloody time.”
“That I witnessed. But tales of you have become legend, my old friend. Survivor indeed. How old are you these days? 300?”
Killian groaned as he hoisted himself off the ground. “Give or take. And my joints are beginning to feel it.” He then extended his hand, which the elf shook heartily.
Behind him, Emma cleared her throat. “Want to introduce me to your friend, Killian?”
“Yes, darling, I’m sorry. Emma, this is Legolas.”
Killian had sat through hours of Peter Jackson with Emma and Henry, so he knew his wife would have a reaction to this latest introduction.
“Perhaps she is simply overwhelmed by the events of the day.”
Killian shifted Emma’s weight in his arms as he stepped carefully over some roots. “My Swan is of much tougher stuff than that. I have never seen her like this.” He wished she would yell at him, demanding he put her down. Or at least mumble a sarcastic comment against his chest. About Legolas and his pretentious speech and how she should have known Killian was an elf, too.
“Your mother and your grandmother both said the savior would be your true love. But I must confess, I never really believed them.”
Despite his concern for his wife, Killian managed a roguish grin for his old friend. “Considering the mess you had to get me out of all those years ago, it’s no wonder you were skeptical. To be honest, I can scarcely believe it myself sometimes.”
“Your mother always said you were more like your name sake than your father.”
Killian couldn’t help gaping at that revelation. He shook his head as he pressed his lips together. “I doubt she would say that now after what I’ve done.”
“After what?” Legolas chuckled. “What mischief have you done in the last few hours, Dunedin?”
Killian stopped, the elf’s words confusing him. “What do you mean?”
“Your mother told me how much you reminded her of Killi on multiple occasions, the most recent being earlier today.” Legolas clapped Killian on the shoulder. “How do you think I knew to come for you?”
The fair haired elf gave Killian a wide grin, then continued forward into the thick wood. Killian stood still, blinking in surprise at his words. He glanced down at Emma, growing more concerned at her waning complexion and shallow breaths. His regret and shame could be pushed aside for now, his wife needed the healing arts of the elves, and soon.
Ahead, Legolas pushed aside a thick curtain of moss that clung between a huge tree and a pile of boulders. To the casual eye, it seemed to simply cover more large stones. Yet when the elf pushed it aside, it revealed an opening. Killian followed him through to be bathed in soft, ethereal light. Sound seemed muted here, the air filled with the haunting song of elves. Killian suddenly felt simultaneously lighter and stronger. He remembered this feeling from his childhood when he would visit the elven lands in his dreams. The Woodland Elves walked on their light footfalls, almost floating around him as they went about their ordinary tasks. One woman came forward with lambas bread on a large waxy green leaf.
“Some food for our guest,” she said in a gentle voice.
Killian shook his head then nodded toward Emma in his arms. “I can’t think of food until my wife is seen to.”
“I know what ails her.”
Killian would know that voice anywhere. Deeper and more commanding than his mother’s, yet still airy and breathy. He turned to see Galadriel herself regally descending a wooden staircase that wrapped its way around the bottom of a wide tree trunk. Legolas beside him bowed deeply to the queen, and Killian did the best he could with Emma still in his arms.
“Put her here,” Galadriel ordered, gesturing to a pedestal that looked like some sort of stone altar. Elven runes decorated it, and the parts Killian could see read, Of true love intertwined, a heart of stone turns to flesh. Though what exactly that meant, he had no clue. Elves loved being cryptic. Yet Killian obeyed the queen, and deposited Emma gently upon the thick pile of pure white cloth artfully draped across the top of the stone pillar.
Killian pulled his arm gently from behind Emma’s head and ran his hand tenderly across her check and then rested his palm against her heart. He looked up at Galadriel in alarm. “Her skin is like ice yet her pulse is racing.”
“She is the savior. Her heart knows it must free the Arkenstone. All things have aligned. The time is now.”
Killian shook his head in frustration. “There you go with those elven riddles again. Would you please just get to the bloody point! How do we make her better?”
Galadriel came forward, reaching her arm out to hover over Emma’s body. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, then they snapped wide as they regarded Killian coolly. His own blood suddenly felt like ice in his veins. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this.
“The Arkenstone,” he said as the silence stretched too long, “my mother mentioned it. Said we needed it to convince the council to relinquish Elien. She said you knew where it was.”
“I do,” Galadriel replied in an almost bored tone, “but you already have it.” She lifted her arm and pointed at the cutlass at Killian’s hip. “You’ve had it for years.”
Killian pulled the sword from its scabbard and stared at in confusion. He then looked back up at the elf queen with an arched brow. “This is just a crude pirate’s cutlass that just happens to be engraved with elvish runes.”
“Your mother sent you on a quest for some old useless sword? Think, Killian. I foresaw the same future as she. What led you to the cave that held that weapon?”
Killian looked down at his wife in wonder. “A swan,” he whispered hoarsely.
Galadriel reached down and ran a delicate hand over Emma’s golden hair. “Long ago, an elven maiden fell in love with a man – a boy, really - of a race called the Tuor. They were a people with the sea in their veins, and they were not willing to dwell long where they could not hear the sound of its waves. The elf and the lad were very young, and their parents forbade them to be together. Foolish and young, they sought a witch and asked that she join them together eternally. They didn’t stop to ask the price.”
Galadriel waved her hand over the hilt of the cutlass. The elvish runes shimmered and then morphed into a blood red stone. Killian startled.
“The Arkenstone!” He reached down with his hook and tried to pry the gem free.
“That won’t work,” Galadriel said, infernally calm. “The Arkenstone is the heart of the elven maiden; the cutlass the heart of the Tuor youth.”
“That’s . . . morbid,” Legolas spoke up for the first time. He leaned over Killian’s shoulder in curiosity at the weapon.
“The elf’s parents were devastated,” Galadriel continued, and Killian wanted to scream at her to hurry up and get to the point of the story. “They enchanted the sword, protecting the Arkenstone with those runes. Then they constructed this altar. They were my great, great, great grandparents,” Galadriel looked up to fix her gaze on Killian, “and you, my grandson, are a descendent of the Tuor. That is why the earth and sea are so balanced in your blood. It is why you are happy in that quaint little town by the ocean. Why you aren’t fickle like your father was, always drawn to the open water.”
Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “As fascinating as my lineage may be, I’m more concerned with the here and now. Mainly my ill wife and my kidnapped daughter. So if you could kindly get to the point.”
Galadriel pressed her lips together, then released a long sigh. “The runes foretell of a love that will make right all wrongs. A love between a redeemed one and a savior. Your mother and I have known for many long centuries that the redeemed one was you. You can use Emma’s heart to release the Arkenstone.”
Killian’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Take the cutlass . . . and run it through Emma’s heart.”
Killian tossed the sword upon the ground in anger. “No! Never!”
Galadriel picked the weapon up and handed it back to him. “You must. Trust me, Killian. All will be right.”
Killian swallowed hard, refusing to take back the sword. Tears pricked his eyes as he looked down at his wife and back at his grandmother.
“If you wait much longer, she will die.”
For a long agonizing moment Killian caressed Emma’s face. He couldn’t deny that her skin was growing colder and her lips were faintly blue. He took a deep breath and slowly took the sword from Galadriel.
“Consider it pay back,” Galadriel remarked with the slightest twitch of her lips.
Killian scowled openly at her. “That isn’t funny.”
Galadriel gave a slight half shrug, as if the entire situation was of no consequence. It irritated him and gave him hope in equal measure. He swallowed again, several times, his throat going dry. Tears welled up in his eyes so that it was hard to see Emma through them, but he didn’t let them fall. His hand was clammy as it squeezed the hilt of the sword.
“You must drive it straight through her heart,” Galadriel instructed.
“And you promise she’ll be okay?”
Galadriel nodded serenely. “I give you my word that all will be right.”
Killian took a deep breath, closed his eyes tightly and raised the sword high, poised over his true love’s chest where her heart beat such a rapid rhythm, he swore he could hear it. He opened his eyes to be sure his aim was true and plunged the sword into Emma’s chest. Her eyes flew open and a gasp flew from her lips. Then she choked and sputtered in pain. Blood poured from the wound in her breast.
“K-Killian?” she asked in anguish, a single tear slipping from her eye.
The cutlass turned to ash and blew away on the wind, much like another sword from another dark day so long ago. The Arkenstone fell into Galadriel’s outstretched palm. With the weapon gone, Emma’s wound poured thick red blood. Killian cared nothing for the ancient gem. He fell to his knees beside his wife, tears streaming down his face.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he choked out. His hand hovered over the rapidly bleeding wound, unsure what to do. “What’s happening?” he shouted at Galadriel.
Emma convulsed as he drew her in his arms. She kept trying to speak, but all she could get out was a broken attempt at his name. He sobbed as he held her in his arms.
“You said she would be okay!” he screamed at Galadriel. “Do something! You promised me!”
Galadriel still stood, so calm and regal before him. “I said all would be right. I never promised she wouldn’t die.”
“What!” he screamed.
“Killian,” Emma said weakly against his chest. When he pulled back to look at her, she reached up and cupped his face in her hands “I love you. Take care of Elien for me.”
Then she shuddered and went limp in his arms. Killian’s wails now were unintelligible. Legolas raced forward, his face pale, but Galadriel stopped him. The sight of her, still so self-righteous and calm, sent rage through him.
“You lied to me!”
Galadriel shook her head. “This isn’t an ending, Killian Jones. You are her true love. You still have a heart beating in your chest. Share it with her.”
A tiny flicker of hope flared to life within him, but it sputtered out just as quickly. “How can I? You said yourself her heart is – was – pure. Mine? It’s blackened. I can’t curse her with it.”
Galadriel shook her head. “Do you ever listen? Just like your mother before you. How many times have you been told that your heart is elven through and through? It is steadfast, loyal, devoted to a fault. And above all else, it is of pure origins. Men were molded of dirt and clay; elves were molded of the stars. They can never be fully corrupted.”
Killian didn’t know exactly where she was going with this (why did elves talk so bloody much, anyway?), but before he could interrupt her with dripping sarcasm, she reached out and unceremoniously yanked his heart out of his chest. He cried out in pain. (Seriously, he would never get used to that very unpleasant sensation.)
But when Galadriel held his heart up in front of his face, all the pain was a distant memory. For there, pulsing in his grandmother’s palm, was a perfect, pure red heart. His heart. From his own chest. If he hadn’t experienced it himself, he would have thought it a trick.
“B-but . . . how?” he stuttered.
“Redemption, Killian.” And the smile she gave him was gentle and kind. All he could do was swallow and give her a nod in return. He lay Emma down gently upon the blood-stained cloth of the altar. He then lay down upon the mossy ground next to her.
The pain he had felt when Galadriel removed his heart was nothing compared to the pain when she twisted it and tore it in two. He felt dizzy and disoriented for a moment, until she plunged half of it back into his chest. Life seemed to surge through him, and he sat up quickly and rushed to Emma’s side. He smiled tentatively when he saw the color in her cheeks, and he reached out to brush her hair from her face as her lips parted with a tiny puff of breath. Then he laughed with happy tears streaming down his face when her eyes fluttered open.
“Killian?” she asked, her brow marred in confusion.
All he could do was pepper her face with kisses and then draw her close, cupping the back of her head with his hand. She hugged him back, but he could tell from the stiffness of her body that she was still confused.
When she pulled away from him, she looked around at the blood, then touched the jagged rip in her blouse. She blinked several times then cocked her head at him and asked, “Did I just . . . die?”
Killian laughed again as he kissed her swiftly on the lips. “Yes, but you’re back. You’re back.”
“Wait a second,” Emma said, pushing him a bit roughly by the shoulders, “did you stab me, pirate?”
Killian glanced up at the elf queen and then gave his wife a smirk. “We can consider it payback.”
Emma rolled her eyes and smacked him lightly in the chest. She swung her legs over the side of the stone altar, and Killian put his hook at her back and took her hand in his. “Easy,” he warned, “you did just die, love.”
“Yeah,” she told him as she shooed away his fussing, “and I feel like shit, to be honest. How have you done this so many times?”
He chuckled again and couldn’t help grabbing her and kissing her again. God, he was so relieved that he hadn’t lost her. Emma laughed herself and gladly kissed him back. Then she shook her head and placed her hand to her chest in awe.
“Did you . . . ?”
He grinned broadly at her, but also couldn’t help scratching behind his ear. “Aye.”
She shook her head and kissed him again.
“I must say,” Legolas quipped, “you both really embrace this true love thing wholeheartedly.”
Emma pressed her forehead to Killian’s, blushing prettily. Then she looked at the elf and pointed a finger at him. “And you’re seriously Legolas?”
The elf sketched a quick bow, “Ah, so you’ve heard of me?”
Emma shook her head and glanced at Killian, “I can see you come by your cockiness honestly.” Then Emma saw the queen, who had taken a seat upon a throne of polished branches. “Galadriel?” Then she whispered to Killian. “Are we supposed to bow?”
“I think that ship has sailed, love,” he whispered back.
Galadriel spoke, “While I am grateful for the savior’s help in releasing the Arkenstone, your presence here is not wanted, Dunedin.”
Killian’s jaw twitched as he snapped a reply, “If you didn’t want us here, grandmother, then you shouldn’t have kidnapped our daughter.”
Galadriel arched one eyebrow. “That was Elrond’s doing, not mine.”
“Please,” Killian scoffed, “you’re the most powerful of the council of three. Even if Elrond acted alone, you would have known of it. Now what purpose do you have for my little girl?”
Galadriel sighed as she lounged back upon her ornate seat. “Our people are dying out. In particular, none of the council leaders has an heir. Arwen wed a Dunedin, your mother . . . “ here Galadriel gave a wave of her hand as if Brennan Jones weren’t even worthy of mention, “and Legolas here refuses to wed, spending his days fraternizing with dwarves.”
Legolas pushed forward off the tree where he had been reclining. “Why single me out? Everyone knows it’s rare for an elf to wed, even rarer to procreate. Why do you think we’re going extinct?”
Galadriel gave Legolas a withering glare, “As Prince of the Lake Elves, it would have been your duty.”
Legolas released the fists he had subconsciously been clenching and let out a quick breath. “Killian,” he said, taking his old friend by the hook and giving it a shake, “it’s been a pleasure, but I will take my leave.” He then turned and scowled at Galadriel. “Perhaps then her majesty can focus on the more important matters at hand.”
As for Emma, her mind was still whirling with the implications of Galadriel’s words. “Wait. You’re talking about heirs and the survival of the elves. You’re not talking about . . . I mean . . . my daughter’s only four-“
“And we wish to raise her as an elf in the safety of Rivendell. Messengers have already been sent to King Aragorn, and we hope a betrothal between Elien and his son will swiftly be arranged. They are both Dunedin, so it isn’t ideal, but eventually their bloodline-”
Killian and Emma spoke at once, interrupting the queen.
“Hell no.”
“Over my dead body.”
Emma reached over and put her hand to Killian’s lips, “I think we’ve had enough dead body’s for one lifetime, babe.”
He kissed her hand quickly then turned to the queen. “Emma and I make one thing perfectly clear: Our daughter is not a pawn for political gain. She will be raised by her parents, given the happy home we were both denied, and all decisions for her future will be Elien’s and Elien’s alone.”
Emma nodded firmly in agreement. “No one decides our daughter’s fate for her. No one.”
Galadriel hung her head for a moment or two, then lifted it to gaze intently into Emma’s eyes. “I know what it is to marry for duty. It is why I broke with the council over this.”
Emma’s expression softened. “Thank you.”
Galadriel rose regally, extended the Arkenstone, placed it in Emma’s palm. “This is the key. It can only be used once; to transform an elf into a human, fully mortal. Arwen and Aragorn sought it for ages to no avail. It was meant for you.”
Emma gripped the stone in her fist and turned a wary gaze to her husband.
“So that,” he asked, “will remove any elven blood from my daughter? She will no longer be part elf?”
Galadriel turned away and walked over to retrieve a pitcher from a table beside her throne. “Aye,” she answered simply before filling the pitcher from a stream of water that poured over a mossy opening in a nearby tree.
Emma shook her head. “I don’t like this, Killian. It’s still taking away a part of her. Against her will.”
Killian nodded in understanding as he closed his hand over Emma’s, the both of them now clutching the stone. “I know,” he said slowly, his jaw clenching, “but it may be the only way to peacefully take our little girl home.”
“Or we can bust in there and take her by force,” Emma snapped.
“Don’t underestimate the power of the elves,” Galadriel warned, “they are fierce warriors.”
“And there are only two of us, love,” Killian added gently.
Emma sighed deeply, her brow furrowed in concern. Killian knew she didn’t like it, but what choice did they have?
“Your mother,” Emma said hesitantly, “perhaps she can convince the Rivendell elves to let her go?”
“Don’t be so sure that you will find help from my daughter,” Galadriel said cryptically. She had moved to stand before a shallow stone basin filled with water. She gestured for them to come closer. “See what there is to see.”
Emma grasped her husband’s hook and found comfort in the nod of his head and his hesitant smile. They took their place in front of the basin. If this was anything like the movie Emma had seen, she knew what this was. Galadriel’s pool. The elven queen poured water from her pitcher in the water so slowly and carefully, that it barely made a ripple on the surface of the water. Emma leaned closer.
“This is a mirror into time,” Galadriel intoned, “showing what is, what was, and what will be.”
Emma glanced up with an arched brow. “Do you really have to say that? Or is it just for dramatic effect?” Galadriel pierced her with such an icy glare, that Emma quickly diverted her gaze and mumbled, “Sorry. Continue, your . . . er, majesty.”
“Another possibility is before you,” Galadriel said as the waters of the pool shimmered. A male elf appeared, with a tight, serious face and dark hair. “Elrond may be willing to trade Elien for the Arkenstone.” The pool rippled again and showed a happy family, an elven mother, a human father, and a curly headed little boy. “His daughter Arwen is destined to live a long, lonely immortal life. The Arkenstone can spare her that pain.”
Galadriel poured a bit more water into the pool, and this time the ripples caused the basin to shake and the water to swirl. Killian pulled Emma closer to his side as they looked down into the churning water. They both gasped as they saw Elien being pulled away by a group of elves, screaming, “Papa! Mama!” Emma clutched the front of Killian’s shirt, her heart breaking. What they saw next confused Emma and made Killian’s jaw clench and his hand tighten into a fist. Tauriel held the Arkenstone in her palm as a red mist swirled up from it. She seemed to breathe it in until the stone was drained of its color and it lay like gray rock in her hand.
“What does that mean?” Emma asked, glancing between Galadriel and Killian, utterly confused.
“She will steal it,” Galadriel told them, “and use it for herself.”
My fic for the 2019 @cssns will drop this Friday, so to celebrate, I’m re-posting my fic from last year (and also because I was a tumblr newbie back then and didn’t post the chapters here, just the link to Ao3)
Gorgeous art by @shipsxahoy!
Summary: Five years after their wedding, Emma and Killian are ready to start a family. But Emma discovers that raising a family isn't that simple when your husband is a Dunedin (half-elf) and your mother-in-law is neither dead nor alive.
Rated T
Tagging: (please let me know if you wish to be added or removed from this list) @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @optomisticgirl @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @kday426 @jennjenn615 @mythologicalmango @xhookswenchx @thislassishooked @resident-of-storybrooke
Chapter Five:
Night fell on Neverland, the only discernible difference between it and day being the piercing cries of Lost Boys. The fact that over half of Hook’s crew could hear them was a testament to what turned an innocent lad into a cutthroat pirate. Smee, Starkey, and a handful of others were the only ones who could sleep peacefully on the island. And as a whole, Killian’s crew preferred to anchor far enough away from shore to escape the haunting sounds. Actually sleeping on the island was something few of them were willing to volunteer for.
But on this particular night, it wasn’t an option. Pan had some sort of job for them again, and it required two things: close to a dozen men and readiness before dawn. So here they were, trying to get comfortable despite the constant weeping.
Killian had volunteered for first watch and sat against a tree, nursing his flask. He rubbed his forehead wearily, wishing desperately for a respite from the agonizing wails. When he dropped his hand, he thought he saw something moving amidst the trees. Hand at the hilt of his cutlass, he eased forward hesitantly. He almost started at the blinking green eyes that caught the moonlight. Then he saw the pale, pointed ears against red hair.
“Oh, it’s just you,” he muttered, leaning back against the tree and taking another swig of rum.
His mother stepped forward on silent feet. “I know these cries torture you, my son.”
He shrugged. “Course they do. Orphans understand other orphans.”
She blinked, obviously hurt, but he had long ago stopped caring. “I hear them too,” she said softly, ignoring his jab.
Killian furrowed his brow curiously. “How is that?”
“Elves have soft hearts towards children. We understand them.”
Killian scoffed as he tilted back his flask. He had heard stories of elves fostering orphans. Ironic.
“I see you got Dionysus’s flask back,” Tauriel commented.
He shrugged and lifted it high, making a show of admiring it. “What can I say? Your old boyfriend knows me well.”
Tauriel scowled openly. “Since you’re in a foul mood, I’ll leave you. There are hurting children who could use an elvish lullaby.”
Killian ignored her, relishing the burn of the rum as it went down. Soon the lullaby his mother had mentioned floated on the breeze, and one by one, cries were stilled. Yet the more peaceful the night became, the more Captain Hook drank.
Killian didn’t know if it was the vast amounts of rum he had consumed the night before, or if it was the tall tales of his crew, but his head was bloody pounding.
“It’s a ghost, I tell you!” Smee insisted. “I saw her myself, floating through the trees.”
“And then the crying stopped!” another mate added.
“What of it?” another scoffed. “How do ya know it had to do with the ghost?”
“Because she sang,” Smee told them, “in a foreign tongue.” He turned to his Captain, “Did you hear her, sir?”
Killian clenched his jaw in irritation. “I’m much more interested in this mysterious job of Pan’s, Smee, so I’d ask that you not distract the crew.”
“Y-yes, sir, of course, sir,” Smee muttered, twisting his red cap in his hands before sticking it back on his head.
But that didn’t stop the whispers among the men. Whispers that a ghost haunted Neverland. The ghost of a mother whose child had died, they reasoned. The mother searched the island for her dead child, soothing the cries of the lost ones. Of course, some of the pirates took the story in a more sinister direction, blaming the ghost for luring Lost Boys and pirates alike into Mermaid’s Lagoon, Dark Hollow, or the Echo Caves.
By the time they arrived at the rendezvous point, Killian was ready to send his entire crew over the bloody plank. Dawn had not yet broken when Pan appeared on a pile of boulders above the pirates, flanked by his most trusted Lost Boys. Felix eyed Killian coldly, beating his twisted club repeatedly into his palm. Killian met his gaze with a cocky smirk and a small salute of his hook. He still prided himself on giving the little bastard that nasty scar down the side of his face. He’d deserved it and then some.
Hook then addressed Pan with equal sarcasm. “So what is the purpose of this odd little parley?”
“Funny you should call it that,” Pan answered, “for I have given your request some thought.”
Hook raised his eyebrows. “My request?”
“To leave this island.”
Killian attempted to school his features. It couldn’t be that easy; this must be one of Pan’s games. Pan jumped down from the boulders and drew closer with cold, calculating calm. He got right in Killian’s face, but the pirate refused to retreat a single millimeter.
“Do you hear that?” Pan asked him.
Killian shook his head and gave a short, dismissive laugh, “There’s nothing to hear, imp.”
“That’s exactly it,” Pan said, turning away from Killian to pace around him. He said nothing for a long moment, and Killian found it difficult not to roll his eyes. The little demon did have a way of drawing out the dramatics. Finally, he stopped pacing and looked Killian straight in the eye. “And you and I both know you can hear them. The cries of the Lost Boys?”
Killian swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as his men whispered behind him. He had never told them he couldn’t hear the weeping; he had merely avoided that topic of conversation. Clearly, his men had assumed their fearless leader was immune to that type of psychological torture.
Pan drew close. He leaned forward and whispered in Killian’s ear. “You’ve never wanted those who sail with you to know what you really are, Dunedin.”
“Let’s speak privately,” Killian hissed back.
“Fine,” Pan spat, “let’s.”
Hook shouted for his crew to return to the ship and ready it for departure. Pan likewise dismissed his companions. When it was just the pirate and the imp in the small clearing, Pan smirked and took a seat upon the rocks.
“I tried to kill her,” Pan informed him, as casually as one would discuss the weather, “alas, I can’t kill someone who isn’t really alive.”
Killian tried to stop the muscle in his jaw from jumping, but he couldn’t. As much anger and hurt that he felt towards his mother, as much as he fought with her, he loved her dearly. More perhaps even than he had loved Milah or even Liam. At least, it was a different sort of love. One with a bond he couldn’t sever, no matter how much he sometimes wanted to.
Pan laughed sadistically. “That bothers you!”
Killian narrowed his eyes. “Okay, I see what you want. My crew and I leave, and my mother is forced to go too. That way, your Lost Boys stay desperate and miserable, just the way you like them.”
“I’m not the only one who leads with fear, Captain Hook,” Pan sneered, “and if you think leaving is as simple as all that, then you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”
“Then what is your price?” Killian hissed through clenched teeth.
Pan lounged backwards against the rocks. “Oh . . . just Tiger Lily’s hiding place.”
His eyes widened. “What do you want with her?” The fairies on this island – Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell – were honestly the closest he had come to friends in a long, long while. Perhaps it was because they had both lost their wings. Tiger Lily in particular, seemed to understand the allure of darkness and its crushing weight more than most.
“Let’s just say my history with her goes way back,” Pan shouted, lurching up from his casual posture, face contorting. It was the most unhinged Killian had ever seen him. He quickly composed himself, a slight red tinge to his cheeks. “All I’m asking is where to find her.”
Killian’s eyes narrowed. “So you can kill her.”
Pan shrugged. “Maybe. It really isn’t your concern.”
Killian closed his eyes, weighing his options. He had longed to leave this island for so long. Milah’s memory deserved vengeance, and with knowledge of the Dark One’s dagger, he could finally achieve it. Tiger Lily may not have magic, but she was a fierce fighter. All Killian was doing was giving Pan a location. He could send a message of warning to Tiger Lily once the Jolly Roger was far enough from shore.
“Hangman’s Tree,” he finally told Pan.
This was exactly why Captain Hook didn’t have many friends.
Killian Jones had conflicting emotions right now. On the one hand, it was a gorgeous early September day with bright sunshine, a pleasant breeze, and the first hints of yellow and orange in the trees. His little girl skipped merrily between her parents down the sidewalk, her little navy jumper and knee socks making her the most adorable picture. Elien’s light red hair was pulled up into pigtails that curled at the ends and bounced as she skipped along.
On the other hand, it was his baby girl’s first day of preschool.
“What are you brooding about Killian?” Emma laughed as Elien darted ahead. “Don’t you dare jump in that puddle, Elien! You aren’t wearing your rain boots!”
Elien skidded to a halt just at the edge of a murky puddle and glanced up at her mother with a mischievous grin. “I was just looking!”
Emma elbowed him in the ribs. “Who does that sound like?” she teased. Then she threaded her arm through his as they walked along behind Elien. “Now, about this brooding . . . “
Killian sighed. “Doesn’t four seem awfully young to go off to school?”
“Well technically, she’s four years and five months old,” Emma quipped, then laughed at the tortured look on his face. “Relax, Papa Bear! It’s half day preschool. We’re taking turns picking her up at lunch every day. Aurora – gentle, soft-spoken Aurora – is her teacher. What could go wrong?”
Emma would kick herself later. Almost a decade of peaceful, small town life had obviously made her complacent. Because why else would she have tested fate with a statement like that?
One minute, Elien was poking at a worm in the rain puddle with a stick while Killian shouted a warning for her not to get her socks muddy. The next minute, there was a roar and a scream, and Elien was gone. Swallowed up in an instant by the swirling portal that opened up beneath her. Emma and Killian dove forward to catch her, but the portal closed just as swiftly as it opened. They both ended up rolling with groans onto the hard pavement. Heedless of their injuries, they scrambled to their knees, and pounded at the unrelenting pavement, screaming Elien’s name. Both of them were near hysteria, and their panic brought a crowd running to help.
People joined them in their pointless pounding, calling Elien’s name over and over again. Other’s asked questions that only made Emma and Killian snap in anger. Were they sure it was a portal? What color was it? Where did it lead to? Emma was grasping at her hair in frustration because there were simply no answers. An ambulance arrived on the scene, which made Killian practically lose it. His daughter didn’t need medical attention, she needed a bloody magic bean.
But Emma and Killian did need medical attention. Emma had broken her arm diving to the pavement while Killian had scraped his knuckles raw and sliced his knee with his own hook. But Emma shooed the paramedics away like pesky flies and merely waved her hand, using her magic to heal them both. Elien needed them, and she needed them strong.
The problem was, they had no idea where Elien had ended up. Anton arrived with a pouch full of beans, but where did they begin? There were hundreds of realms, each of them containing thousands of miles of terrain.
Emma sat on the curb, rolling a bean between her fingers. Killian paced along the sidewalk behind her. The crowd had long ago dispersed, and only Anton, David, and Snow remained.
“Do you think it was Elien’s own magic?” David asked hesitantly.
Anton shook his head. “Not even Rumplestiltskin could just open a portal. You need a bean, or a magic door, or a wand. Some magical object.” He turned to Emma. “Unless Elien had something like that?”
Emma rubbed her head wearily, “I don’t think so. But how can I know for sure? This town was created with magic, she could have picked up a freakin’ enchanted pebble for all I know.”
“Listen,” Snow said calmly, “instead of focusing on how the portal opened, let’s try and figure out where she might have gone when she went through. I mean, how do portals work?”
Killian stopped pacing, a grin lighting his face. “They take you to the place you’re thinking of.”
Emma scrambled to her feet. “And Elien visits the Elven Lands all the time in her dreams!”
“Which means she’s in Middle Earth.”
The group turned to see Tauriel standing near the pavement. She was more ethereal than usual, which happened when she ventured this far into town. She was frantic as she gazed first at Emma, then at her son. “They’ve taken her. My people. Hurry. I’ll be right behind you.”
Then she was gone.
Everyone exchanged glances, and Emma lifted the bean that she held in her hand. With her other hand, she reached out for Killian’s hook. “Well, I’m relying on you, elf. Never been to Middle Earth.”
Killian shook his head at her good-natured teasing. “Let’s not wait another minute, love, our little girl needs us.”
Emma stepped closer, but before she tossed the bean, she gave Killian an accusing look. “This wasn’t some grand scheme to keep your baby from starting school, was it?”
Killian arched a brow. “This entire situation is making school look better and better.”
Emma glanced back at her parents. “Hold down the fort while we’re gone?”
Her parents gave a nod of assurance in answer. Then Emma tossed the bean, and with a deep breath and a clear mind, she jumped, completely trusting her husband’s memories to take them to their daughter.
In celebration of the one year anniversary of my first @cssns fic, I’m reposting a chapter a day until my 2019 drop date, especially since each chapter has never been posted to tumblr before. Amazing art above done by the talented @shipsxahoy.
Summary: Five years after their wedding, Emma and Killian are ready to start a family. But Emma discovers that raising a family isn't that simple when your husband is a Dunedin (half-elf) and your mother-in-law is neither dead nor alive.
Rating: T
Also on Ao3
Tagging: (let me know if you would like to be added or removed from this tag list) @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @optomisticgirl @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @jennjenn615 @kday426 @mythologicalmango @thislassishooked @resident-of-storybrooke @xhookswenchx
Chapter Two
Whenever The Essex made port, Killian always felt a pull deep inside of himself. There was, of course, the energy pulsing from everyone on board, as well as the cacophony of sounds. Docking a ship this size was no easy feat, and all hands were needed. The creaking of wood, splashing of waves, and the slapping of sails were all magnified as the large vessel was maneuvered into port. Added to that were the sights, sounds, and smells of whatever portside town they were approaching.
But for Killian, it was more than that. He loved the sea, the same as his brother and his father. Salt water was in his veins, as the old expression said, and there was something calming about the moon reflected on the glassy surface of a calm sea. Something invigorating when an entire crew battled the crashing waves.
And yet . . . there was another part of him that yearned for the feel of soil and grass between his toes. A part of him that missed the sight of sunlight filtering through tree branches and the cool feel of bark beneath his palm. He sometimes felt torn in two.
On this particular day, Killian felt a tug towards the forest that hugged the tiny village where they had docked. His bare feet slapped against the wet wood of the deck as he surged forward when the gangplank was lowered. But before he could descend, a gnarled hand grabbed him across the chest and pulled him back.
“And where do ya think ya be goin, lad?” snarled the Captain.
“Shore leave,” Killian answered, tilting his head back to look up at the wizened old man. He glanced over at Liam, who shook his head wearily. His brother clearly had a look of frustration on his face.
“And risk ya runnin’ off like last time? You belong to me, boy.”
“I didn’t run off!” Killian argued, his eyes darting between the captain and his brother. “I just wanted to go to the woods, that’s all. To play.”
Liam stepped forward then and wrapped an arm around Killian’s shoulder. “See, sir? He’s only nine. He just wants to run and play.”
“Run is the part that worries me,” the man scowled. “You both are my property, so the answer is no.” He stooped and fished a dirty rag from a bucket near the railing, then tossed it at the boys. “And there’s plenty to do while she’s docked. So get to it.”
Killian tried to be brave; he really did. He knew every tear he shed only made his brother’s own pain worse. But he couldn’t hold back the sniffles as he bent to swab the deck on his hands and knees.
“Don’t worry, little brother,” Liam whispered, giving his shoulder a light squeeze, “we’ll get these chores out of the way, and then the captain will have a change of heart. You’ll see.”
But it didn’t work out that way. There was always another chore to be done, and waiting for the captain to have a change of heart was like waiting for the sea to run dry. The most Killian was allowed to do was run up and down the docks and play in the tide pools beneath the pilings. Even then, the captain was there shouting for him to come back aboard before he had much chance to get a good game going or make a friend with a village child.
He also never got a chance to see her. He got a glimpse one afternoon as he played in the dirty sand, trying to catch a crab on the end of a stick. The little crustacean scuttled into the water, and as Killian watched it swim away . . . there she was. She normally wore green, but here in the surf she wore a dress of filmy white.
“Killian,” she smiled, her green eyes sparkling. But just as he straightened and went to run into her outstretched arms, he heard his name again. This time shouted from the docks overhead. He hesitated for a moment.
“Killian!! You good-for-nothing little rat! Where’ve you run off to?”
“Go on,” she told him softly, “it’s okay. I’ll see you tonight, remember?”
Killian grinned at her promise and then took off. It wasn’t as much time as they had when he’d managed to get away to the forest, but for now, it would have to do. They were setting sail this very morning.
He dashed as fast as he could down the boardwalk and up the gangplank to the ship. He was surprised when he got on board to find most of the crew gathered against the far railing, leaning over, jostling, and shouting.
“I saw her, I swear I did!” shouted the boatswain, pointing down the beach.
“What?” Killian asked, hopping up and down trying to see over the men. He ducked beneath legs to try and get closer to the railing, but he kept getting shoved back. “What did he see?”
“The ghost,” the third mate finally answered him. He was one of the few on board who treated Killian and Liam with kindness, and he hunched down to look the nine year old in the eye. “Sailors tend to be superstition. Don’t let it worry you, lad.”
“Ain’t no superstition!” the boatswain argued. When he grinned down at Killian, there was a wicked twinkle in his eye. “I seen her many times. Every port we come to, there she be, haunting the docks. One minute she be there, the next, she’s vanished into thin air!”
The third mate shook his head. “Sea foam and fog, nothing more.”
“With pretty red hair and a haunting song?”
Killian gasped at the boatswain’s description. Liam was suddenly behind him, grabbing him by the shoulder and clapping a hand to his mouth. Killian squirmed in his brother’s grip, scowling up at him.
“He gets scared real easy,” Liam explained to the crew, “so can we not talk about this?”
The boatswain chuckled and leaned towards the boys. “She’s a heartbroken window, haunting the docks for her long-lost husband. And any sailor she fancies, she grabs him and yanks him down to Davy Jones’ locker.”
The man clenched his hand in a fist right in Killian’s face to emphasize his point, and the entire crew laughed uproariously. Killian wrenched free from his brother’s grasp.
“That’s not true! She wouldn’t hurt anyone!”
The crew exchanged confused looks, and Liam rushed forward.
“My brother has a vivid imagination,” he chuckled as he pulled Killian towards the hatch that led below deck. Killian kept fighting him, even as he hauled him down the ladder.
“It’s mum, Liam! They’re talking about mum!”
“Shut up!” Liam shouted, shoving Killian so hard that he fell with a crash into the barrels of rations lining the far wall. Killian bit his lip, trying to keep back his tears as he gazed up at his brother in shock. Liam’s eyes widened, and his face went pale. “I’m so sorry, little brother, I didn’t mean to . . .”
Killian jerked away from his brother’s extended arms, turning and curling in on himself. He buried his face in the circle of his arms as the tears could no longer be held at bay. Liam reached out hesitantly and put an arm around him.
“I just can’t talk about her anymore,” Liam whispered. “You’re all I’ve got, and I can’t . . . I don’t . . . She only comes to you, and I guess I know why, but it . . . it makes me so angry!”
Killian turned towards Liam and threw his skinny arms around him. Liam was right. They were all each other hand.
Tauriel still “haunted” every port; still visited Killian in the night. But that was the last day he ever spoke of her. To Liam or to anyone else.
Storybrooke had become a sleepy little town in the five years since Emma and Killian’s wedding. So sleepy that patrolling was often a boring chore of traffic violations and warnings about jaywalking. Occasionally there was a truant teenager or a disorderly drunk. Emma constantly made Mayberry jokes. Which she of course had to explain to her husband.
Emma was relieved on this particular morning that the town was so peaceful. Her eyes were scanning the alleyways and sidewalks of main street as her yellow bug rolled slowly along, but her mind was elsewhere. Mainly on her husband. His hurt and sadness was completely understandable to her. In many ways his situation with his mother reminded her of those early years with her own parents. Her mind had understood why they had sent her away, but all her heart understood was the abandonment. As Killian himself had once said, the wounds of childhood lingered.
“Hello there, love.”
Emma grinned as Killian’s voice came through the static of the walkie talkie. She snatched it from the passenger’s seat and pressed the button.
“Still not using talkie code, Deputy. Over.”
His responding chuckle sounded odd through the static. “A deputy must wax eloquent when his sheriff is exquisitely beautiful. Over.”
Emma rolled her eyes although he couldn’t see her.
“And I know you’re rolling your eyes at me, Swan.”
Emma laughed at that. The way he read her was even more uncanny five years into marriage. “That’s Sheriff Jones, Deputy Jones. And I’m heading back into the station. Over and out.”
Emma set the walkie talkie down on the dashboard as she rolled slowly to a stop at the traffic light right beside the park. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of red hair. There, along the tree line, stood Tauriel Jones. Her mother-in-law. The woman fixed her gaze on Emma. Emma pressed her lips together in a firm line as she pulled the bug over and parallel parked. It was eerie the way the woman could communicate with a look, and it was clear she wanted to chat with her daughter-in-law.
Actually, everything about Tauriel was eerie. The fact that she wasn’t really alive, for one. Emma was constantly calling her a ghost, and Killian was constantly correcting her. But the last time Emma checked, “not fully alive” meant a ghost. The whole “not fully dead” thing was still confusing.
Tauriel had shown up in Storybrooke about five years ago when Emma and Killian were engaged. Killian said he hadn’t seen her since right before Regina cast the curse. Emma could see in his eyes that the timing bothered him for some reason, but she hadn’t pressed him about it. At any rate, his mom showing up had thrown them both for a loop. Killian had issues with the woman, that was certain. And then there was the bomb dropped on Emma that her husband was a Dunedin.
In other words, not fully human. As in, half elf. As in, he was blessed with unnaturally long life. Neverland aside, he most likely would have lived to 200 or so and aged only slightly.
It had been a lot to take in, for sure, but nothing could shake Emma’s love for this man. She would march to the Underworld all over again if she had to. So she was marrying a man who was half-elf, so what? As Killian would tease, it was better than a flying monkey.
In all seriousness, Killian was her true love, no matter what, and she would do just about anything for him. Hence why she was walking across the park to talk to his “mostly dead” mother. She actually chuckled at her own Princess Bride joke.
“Are you laughing at me?” Tauriel asked placidly.
Killian had explained to her once that elves had little, if any, sense of humor. That was definitely an understatement.
“No,” Emma said with a wave of her hand, “I was just thinking about . . . never mind. What’s up?”
Emma crossed her arms over her chest. It wasn’t as if Tauriel had a lot of time to shoot the breeze. Elves were immortal, Killian had explained, though they could be killed in battle, or . . .
Or they could waste away of a broken heart. And Brennan Jones had been many things, but faithful sure wasn’t one of them.
“You know because of my broken heart, I am cursed to wander the realms.”
Emma nodded, circling with her hand for the elf to get to the point. “Yeah, and I also know you’re gonna get all fuzzy soon and disappear on me, so . . .”
Tauriel gave that tinkling sound that Emma had come to learn was an elf’s laugh. “Aye.” She scratched behind her pointed ear, looking so much like Killian, that it made Emma’s heart ache. He always seemed to think he was like his drunken, dead beat father, but Emma saw so much of him in his mother. “My son is hurting, Emma. And I wish to help him.”
Emma bit her bottom lip. “I know, but I just don’t know how you can fix it.”
Tauriel reached forward and grasped Emma’s shoulders. “Yes, he is still angry with me. But that isn’t what I speak of.”
Emma gasped as the hands resting at her shoulders became lighter. She could now see the red leather through the outline of Tauriel’s hand. The woman’s face fell as she realized her time was ending.
“Ask him to give you a child, Emma.”
“I can’t!” Emma cried, surprised that those panicked words were the first ones from her mouth.
“You must. You wonder why you aren’t with child yet. I can see it on you, Emma, the desire to have a child with the man you love. He must will it.”
Emma shook her head as Tauriel faded almost completely away. “What do you mean?”
“An elf must will a child into existence.”
Those were Tauriel’s final words as she disappeared completely. Emma swore under her breath and stomped her foot in frustration.
“Tauriel wants me to tell her son to knock me up.”
Emma dropped the bomb on her mother causally at lunch right before cramming an onion ring in her mouth. Just as she had anticipated, Snow’s mouth dropped slightly and her fork hovered over her lasagna.
“Um . . . she said that?”
Emma laughed as she dragged another onion ring through ketchup. “Well, not in those exact words.”
Snow took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. She swallowed and dabbed her napkin against her lips before responding. “Well, what was your reaction?”
Emma smiled at her mother as she took a sip of coke. She should have known her mother would respond diplomatically. She was a queen, after all. But then Emma’s face grew serious as she thought about Tauriel’s request.
“It scared me.”
Snow’s brow furrowed. “So you don’t want to have a baby with Killian?”
Emma shook her head, frustrated when tears welled in her eyes. “No, actually, I do.” Emma glanced around nervously, then leaned closer to her mother, “That’s why I went off my birth control pills.”
Snow clasped her hands under her chin. “So you’ve been trying.”
“Not . . . exactly,” Emma hedged as she carefully broke her grilled cheese into two pieces. When she glanced back up at her mother, those identical green eyes were wide.
“Emma,” her mother admonished under her breath, leaning in closer and lowering her voice to a whisper, “do you mean to tell me you went off your birth control pills without talking to him first?”
Like a child caught in a lie, Emma took a huge bite of her sandwich to avoid answering for a moment. When she swallowed, she quickly attempted to explain. “I meant to! It just . . . every time I started to bring it up, I don’t know. I got scared, okay?”
“Oh honey,” Snow replied softly, taking her daughter’s hands in hers, “you must know he wants the same thing.”
“How?” Emma asked, her eyes darting nervously, “How do you know that?”
“Because,” Snow said simply, “I have eyes. I saw how he was with Henry. I see him with the children of Storybrooke. Every kid in this town adores him because he’s putty in their hands. He’s even good with the lost boys at the convent.”
Snow took a few more bites of her lasagna, and Emma did the same with her grilled cheese and onion rings.
“He is good with kids,” Emma finally conceded, “but that doesn’t mean he wants one of his own. Besides Henry, I mean.”
Her mother shrugged one shoulder and gave Emma a teasing smile, “Well, there’s only one way to know for sure, honey. And can I be honest?”
Emma laughed nervously as she gnawed on her lower lip. “Do I have a say?”
Snow laughed too and squeezed her hand. Not letting go, she said, “Emma, sweetheart, it’s a conversation that’s about five years overdue.”
Emma sighed and squeezed her mother’s hand in return. She knew she was right.
Later that night, Emma exited the bathroom of their master suite, rubbing lotion into her hands as she approached the bed. Killian was sitting up against several throw pillows reading a book, but he eagerly tossed the volume aside when he saw her standing there in nothing but one of his old pirate shirts. He reached his arms out as she drew near, circling her waist. His hand slipped up the back of the shirt to rub her bare skin and his stump rested at her hip. He tilted his face up to hers, and Emma pressed a kiss to his nose. He pulled her down into bed with him, gathering her close to his chest. When they were first married, every touch went from tender to passionate in sixty seconds flat. But as the years waxed on, they had learned to cherish the moments of simple intimacy. The kind that built slowly to a deep molten heat. Not that fast and frenzied wasn’t still fun at times. But they had time to cherish now, and they luxuriated in it.
Emma enjoyed the feel of being in his arms for a moment. Then with a sigh, she sat up next to him, running her fingers through his hair as she spoke.
“I talked to your mother today.”
Killian’s brow furrowed. “Aye?”
Emma nodded. “She . . . just wanted to make sure you were happy.” She bit her lip, knowing she was dancing around the subject. “Are you? Happy, I mean?”
He sat up a little higher in the bed, seeming vexed about the question. “Of course I am, my love. You doubt it?”
Emma attempted to soothe him by running her thumb along his cheek and then his jaw line. “No, of course not. I just . . . I mean, it does get boring around here.”
Killian laughed and cupped her face. He brushed a kiss against her lips. “After all we’ve suffered, I’m okay with boring. Besides, I prefer to think of it as contentment with family by my side.” He searched her eyes for a moment before adding, “A family, that . . . hopefully, continues to grow?”
She swallowed. It seemed the perfect segue to the topic that, as her mother had said, was five years overdue. But what if he was only referring to Henry giving them grandkids? She decided to test the waters. Emma traced Killian’s ears with her fingertips. Biting her lip and swallowing the nervous lump in her throat, she spoke with what she hoped was nonchalance.
“You know, when – if – we have a baby, I hope he has your ears.”
Killian blinked and his jaw fell open. “You . . . are you saying you want to, I mean, that you’d like . . . a baby? With me?”
Emma chuckled nervously, “Who else would I have it with?”
The silence that stretched between them had Emma so nervous, she slid down and snuggled next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his heart. Was it her imagination, or was it pounding in his chest?
“I have a confession to make,” she whispered against his skin, “I stopped taking my birth control pills.”
“You did?” she couldn’t read his voice at all, yet she was too nervous to lift her head and look him in the eye.
“Mhm.”
“How long?”
Emma let out a shuddering breath as she answered, “Two years.”
Killian’s arms tightened around her. “And you’re probably wondering why you still aren’t with child.”
Emma sat up abruptly, her turn to gape at him in shock. “That’s your response? What about the fact that I went off birth control without even discussing it with you?”
“Getting a woman pregnant has never been something I have to worry about,” Killian explained, his eyes darting about the room. “Not that I’m telling you it isn’t possible, it’s just – “
Emma sighed. “Killian, I know. Your mother explained it to me. Sort of.”
“What?” he exclaimed, his eyes finally settling on Emma’s. “That’s what she wanted to talk to you about?”
Emma shrugged. “She said she could tell that I . . . longed to be a mother of your child. Her words.” Emma suddenly found her hands twisting in her lap suddenly fascinating. “And she’s right. But she also said that it would never happen if I didn’t talk to you, which for some reason, I’ve been terrified to do.” She finally looked up, struggling to keep the tears that were rising at bay. “Do you not want kids? Because I thought when you picked out this big house, that it was sort of implied, but then time went on, and you never brought it up, then your mother tells me –“
Killian cut off her words with a swift kiss, pulling her onto his lap. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I want a child with you, Emma, more than anything. I guess I was waiting for you to bring it up. I’ve never wanted to push you into anything, including this.”
Emma rolled her eyes as she slipped her arms around his neck. “How do we still suck this bad at communication?”
He laughed as he thumbed her chin, “Long years of loneliness does that to a person, I suppose. But we keep making progress, don’t you think?”
Emma nuzzled against his shoulder. “So, this whole elf conception thing . . . “
Killian’s groan reverberated against her cheek. “An elf – or in my case Dunedin – has to will a child into conception. It’s why you have no need to worry about dozens of my illegitimate children running about the realms.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “So, you do . . . what exactly? To conceive a child, that is?”
Killian shifted beneath her. “I don’t know the biology exactly. All I know is that I have to sort of let a part of myself go when I make love to you. It’s sort of like . . . giving a piece of myself away, if you were.”
“And only male elves have to do this?”
“No, a female does as well. Or both, if it’s two elves,” Killian explained, rubbing her upper arm absent-mindedly.
Emma tilted her head to smile up at him. “Which means your mother wanted you from the start, Killian. She willed you into existence. That’s pretty cool.”
He smiled softly, his gaze a bit distant. “Aye, I suppose you’re right. I never thought of that.”
Emma sat up and shifted, straddling him with a mischievous smile upon her face. “So,” she said teasingly, running her hands through his chest hair, “if you wanted a child, why didn’t you just will it before now?”
She was surprised when Killian’s face actually tinted with a faint blush. “It isn’t exactly something I could do without you . . . er, noticing.”
Emma’s eyebrows shot up. “Will it hurt me?”
Killian smiled a bit cockily, “Oh no, Swan. I have a feeling you will thoroughly enjoy it.”
Emma cocked her head, smiling even more broadly, “Oh really?” She leaned closer to him, her lips hovering just over his. “So, are we doing this?”
Killian just nodded, then pressed his lips to hers. It didn’t take long for the kiss to become heated, and soon what little clothes they were wearing had been discarded.
Killian was always an attentive lover, ever in tune to what Emma needed in order to climax. He knew Emma’s favorites, but he also seemed to intuitively know when she wanted something different. In short, the man was just plain good in bed.
But tonight was different. Emma was glad that Henry had moved out and that they had no neighbors on this corner street because she had never cried out so loudly in ecstasy. Emma couldn’t even explain the sensations that washed over her. In some ways, it was as if they truly became one person for a moment. She also saw herself in that moment through his eyes: her body incandescent and dazzling. For one exquisite moment in time, she felt what Killian felt when he made love to her, and it was indescribable.
Afterwards, Killian was trembling in a way she had never seen, and his skin felt clammy as he drew her close.
“Oh. My. God.” she gasped. “That was the most amazing experience of my life. How are there not millions of elves? I want to do that again. And again. And again.”
Killian laughed wearily. “Well,” he gasped, “that’s going to be a bit difficult on my end.”
Emma shifted to see Killian struggling to keep his eyes open. His face was pale and waning. She reached up to cup his cheek, and found it cold. “Are you okay?” she asked in alarm.
“Aye,” he gasped out sliding farther beneath the covers, “I just need to sleep . . .”
His voice slurred as he spoke, his eyes fluttered closed, and then he was fast asleep. He was like any man, ready for a nap shortly after sex, but she had never seen him like this. Her brow furrowed slightly in concern as she leaned over and kissed him gently. She rolled over to go to sleep herself, but she lay awake for a long while, her hand on her abdomen and a smile upon her lips.
Killian had mentioned to Emma once that elves rarely conceived children, and as the days went by, she saw firsthand why. Killian had her scared to death, sleeping for three days straight. Even when he finally woke up, it was another five days before he had the strength to get out of bed. Yet every time she went to check on him, he assured her it was normal when conceiving an elven child.
“Well,” she quipped one day as she sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his hair back from his face, “it better have worked.”
He smiled, turning his head to kiss the palm of her hand. “Oh, it worked. Trust me, love. When an elf wills a child into existence, he always succeeds. You are with child at this very moment; there’s no doubt about that.”
Emma rested her hand upon her still flat stomach, a look of wonder lighting her eyes. Killian’s own eyes were bright even as they drooped with fatigue. Emma thought she felt a fluttering within, though she knew it was far too soon for that. It was only her imagination, filled with joy and anticipation.
As if he could read her mind, Killian told her, “You aren’t imagining things, my love. The babe is moving within you.”
Emma gasped in surprise. “How is that possible?”
Killian mumbled his next words as he drifted off to sleep, “Did I mention that the gestation period for elven babies is different?”
Emma shook her head at her now sleeping husband. “No, Killian Jones, you left out that little detail.” But then she felt that fluttering again, and she couldn’t really be angry. This was going to be interesting, that was for sure.
Dr. Whale didn’t know any more than any other doctor when it came to Emma’s very unique pregnancy. According to the books on elves in the library, an elf was pregnant for only three months. But Emma wasn’t an elf, and Killian was only half elf, so they really just had to wait and see. And so it was, that after less than six months of pregnancy, Emma gave birth to a healthy, seven pound baby girl. When she first held her, warm and squalling, Emma laughed as she traced the baby’s tiny ears.
My fic for the 2019 @cssns will drop this Friday, so to celebrate, I’m re-posting my fic from last year (and also because I was a tumblr newbie back then and didn’t post the chapters here, just the link to Ao3)
Gorgeous art by @shipsxahoy!
Also check out the additional art that @cocohook38 made for this chapter here. I flailed like crazy when I saw it the first time! Our Captain Swan family dressed in elvish clothing is brought perfectly to life in her drawing.
Summary: Five years after their wedding, Emma and Killian are ready to start a family. But Emma discovers that raising a family isn't that simple when your husband is a Dunedin (half-elf) and your mother-in-law is neither dead nor alive.
Rated T
Also on Ao3
Tagging:(let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list) @welllpthisishappening @kday426 @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @snowbellewells @profdanglaisstuff @wellhellotragic @mythologicalmango @xhookswenchx @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @lovepurplepumpkins
Chapter Seven:
“Lend dreams nin mel
Glenn-nai i even lands
Lend songs bo i thul
Im tur-feel ha in i nen,
Im tur-feel in i coe,
Im tur-smel ha in i gwilith”
Tauriel ran her hands soothingly through her little boy’s dark brown hair as he drifted off to sleep in her lap. Every year his hair got a shade darker. When he became a man he would mostly likely have black hair like his father’s. His eyes were already that stunning shade of blue. He still had Tauriel’s freckles, but those seemed to fade as the years went by. She sighed as she watched the eight year old’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. Oh, how she hoped her son would choose a different path than that of his father!
It worried her that he had fallen asleep like this. He was so thin and hungry. Life as a slave boy on that ship was much too cruel. A tear slipped down her cheek as she stroked her precious boy’s face. This wasn’t the life she wanted for him. Her heart broke at how she couldn’t even care for her own child. She couldn’t even pass any of her elven strength on to him, since she wasn’t fully alive. She found berries in the forest for him to eat, but what he really needed was lambas bread. Hopefully he would dream deeply enough tonight to find himself in the elven lands, and her people could give him better nourishment. She waved her hand over him and muttered in elvish.
“I polod im-gar, im on-na cin.”
Tauriel let out a relieved breath when some color came back into her son’s cheeks. Using magic in her condition was always a guessing game. One thing was for sure; it wasn’t enough to change her son’s circumstances.
Tauriel heard course words and laughter coming from the clearing on the other side of the trees. She eased Killian gently and swiftly from her lap and into a pile of soft moss. She waved her hand over the child once again.
“Taur, coe; beri-hi hen. Lore, nin red, lore tovon a lor.”
The moss and earth obeyed her command, wrapping Killian like a blanket. The roots of the tree nearby rose up and arched over him. No passerby would guess that a child slept there. Tauriel turned and moved on her soft and soundless feet towards the voices. She almost gasped at what she saw through the cover of leaves.
A man, of dark hair and strong, slender build, had a petite, buxom maiden against a large tree. She was laughing merrily, her head tipped back as the man trailed passionate kisses along her neck. His hand cupped her bosom.
The man was Brennan Jones.
Memories assaulted Tauriel of that painful day when she had found him with another woman. His hands caressing another in the same way he had caressed Tauriel just the day before. His lips drinking in the taste of someone else. It was a jarring image that no one should have to endure. The woman Brennan was with now wasn’t the same one she had caught him with that fateful day. Seemed he was faithful to no one.
Brennan moved to loosen the woman’s laces as she buried her fingers in his hair. He began gasping out, “Loreena! Oh, Loreena!”
Tauriel rolled her eyes as she turned to slip back to get Killian. The last thing the boy needed was to see the wretched man again. Not after the year of misery the poor child had endured. All because Brennan Jones knew nothing of faithfulness and commitment. But before she could take even a step, Brennan’s female companion corrected him.
“My name is not Loreena.”
The coldness of the woman’s voice gave Tauriel pause.
“Sure it is,” Brennan chuckled, flashing the woman that charming smile of his. Only someone who knew him well, like Tauriel, would be able to see the slight nervousness in his eyes. Tauriel bit her lip to keep from chuckling. The man had known so many women, he was bound to have difficulty keeping them all straight.
“No. It is not.” Then the woman transformed right before his eyes. Gone was the head of light brown curls, gone were the petite curves, gone was the upturned, freckled nose. Instead stood a woman of regal bearing, tall, with long, straight raven tresses and milky white skin. Tauriel clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from gasping.
“Carabosse!” Brennan cried. It was the mistress he had taken when wed to Tauriel!
“Yes, it’s me,” the woman replied coldly. “I’m surprised you remembered my name. What was it . . . Margeurite? The blonde you left me for? And you were married to the redheaded elf when you took me as a lover.” She chuckled wryly. “You like a sampling, don’t you?”
Brennan sauntered close to the woman, reaching out to stroke her shiny ebony hair. “Yet none were as exotic as you, Carabosse.”
“Your flattery will get you nowhere, Brennan Jones,” the woman told him, taking a step back. “You should know better than to become entangled with a witch. Especially if you do not plan on being faithful. What is that expression? Ah yes, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
Brennan’s eyes widened and he went suddenly pale. “Come now, Carabosse, surely we can – “ His words were cut off suddenly as he clutched his throat and gasped for breath. He lifted a trembling hand towards the witch for a moment, but then collapsed to the ground.
Carabosse knelt beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “Sleep well, my former lover. Sleep long and fitfully. For I do not think there are any upon this earth who feel any kind of love, much less true love for a despicable man like you.”
She leaned forward and brushed her blood red lips across Brennan’s forehead, then stood. Still looking at the still form at her feet, she called out, “I know you are there, elf.”
Tauriel startled, and quickly began to head back to where Killian lay.
“Show yourself,” Carabosse called after her. As if Tauriel had any intention of doing her bidding. Until the witch added, “I know your son is with you.”
Tauriel froze in her tracks. She shut her eyes tight and pressed her lips together. She couldn’t risk the witch hurting Killian, so she squared her shoulders and stepped out from the copse of trees. Carabosse smiled serenely at her.
“You can thank me,” she told Tauriel, gesturing at the man sprawled upon the forest floor.
“You knew I was here the whole time.”
Carabosse shrugged. “I could have put him down in the room at the tavern. But I sensed your magic in the woods, and I thought to myself, now that would be awfully poetic.”
“So you’re just going to leave him here.”
Carabosse’s eyes widened in surprise. “You worry for his well -being? After the pain he put you through?” The witch gestured at Tauriel’s body, which had begun to fade slightly. “This whole wasting away thing you elves do. Surely you hate him.”
Tauriel looked down at Brennan’s handsome face. He had a way of charming a woman, of making her believe she was the only one so beautiful, so desirable. Looking back, Tauriel realized his praise was always for her beauty: her hair, her eyes, her figure. He never really knew her heart, her soul, or her mind.
“I gave myself to one who was not deserving. I should have opened my eyes before it was too late. And now I pay the price.”
Carabosse spoke with surprising tenderness. “A grieving heart can make desperate decisions.”
Tauriel’s gaze snapped up to the woman’s face, so cold, so seemingly indifferent. Yet there was a tiny bit of softness in her eyes. “H-how did you know?”
Carabosse shrugged. “Word gets around. Especially when it’s an elf and a dwarf. Two races who are supposed to hate each other. Besides,” she inclined her head towards the trees, “you named your son after him.”
This wasn’t a topic Tauriel wished to discuss with a stranger, so she lowered her gaze back to Brennan. “We can’t just leave him here. Between the wild life and the elements, he’ll be killed.”
“You elves,” Carabosse scoffed as she turned to go, “always helping. Always caring too much.”
“It is against our nature to turn our backs on the weak and suffering.”
“You can’t undo my magic.”
Tauriel tilted her head, “I can change it.”
Carabosse rolled her eyes, “Fine, suit yourself. As long as he spends many long years in that red, burning room of torture, it will be enough for me.” And with that, the witch disappeared in a cloud of blood red smoke.
Tauriel worked quickly once the witch had disappeared. Killian’s presence helped her stay corporeal for much longer than normal, but her time, even with her son, was coming to a close. She didn’t have much time left, and she still wanted to see her child back to his ship. So she first erected a protective coffin of sorts from roots and moss. Then she put a protection spell around it, so at least Brennan wouldn’t be eaten by wolves or freeze to death. Then she spoke a spell over him.
“Lore tenna sanda mel hir cin, lore mal an i lumenns-o tindu, lore.”
Essentially, the spell allowed Brennan to awaken during the brief time between twilight and midnight. Most likely, he would only be partially awake, for Carabosse’s magic was powerful. To most, he would appear like a bedridden, sick man, but at least he would be freed from the torture of that horrible red burning room. Tauriel’s counter-spell also allowed the sleeping curse to be broken if Brennan could find a true love. Tauriel rested her hand upon the twisted branches of the make-shift coffin.
“May you find a woman with a heart so pure that she can make yours finally faithful.”
The journey from the land of the woodland elves to Rivendell was normally one of many long weeks, so Emma was thankful for the pouch of beans that Anton had given them. She was ready to go immediately, but Killian insisted they stay the night so she could rest.
“Killian, I can’t possibly sleep with Elien still so far away,” she argued.
Killian reached out his hand and cupped her cheek, his expression a mixture of tenderness and concern. “You died earlier, love.”
Emma chuckled wryly as she grasped his hand and kissed his palm. “Only with us is that a normal occurrence.”
“And you will sleep, I can promise you that,” Galadriel told her, “many have come here to be refreshed on their journeys. You will feed on lambas bread and drink of sweet, refreshing springs of water. And by the time you have finished, we will have a bower ready for you.”
Emma pressed her lips together. She had to admit, she was starving and her legs felt like rubber. “Okay,” she finally relented, “but we leave first thing in the morning.”
“With you, that may mean eleven o’clock,” Killian quipped.
Emma smacked him, “So wake me up, sailor!”
He laughed lightly as he pulled her close. “I won’t let you sleep the day away, Swan, I promise. But I will make sure you rest.”
The elven meal they were brought didn’t seem like much: two squares of lambas bread, a wedge of cheese, and a small bowl of wild berries. Yet it satisfied Emma’s hunger completely, and every bite of the lambas bread sent a pleasant warmth all through her. Then she and Killian were escorted up the winding staircase of one of the enormous trees. One of Galadriel’s maidservants opened a door made of birch branches and thick opaque glass. It lead into a room that reminded Emma of both a giant bird’s nest and a domed hut. The bed was sunken into the bowl shaped floor, padded with the softest moss Emma had ever felt and piled high with blankets of soft deer skin. There were also piles of down stuffed pillows woven of silk. Killian told her the elves harvested the silk from the husks of the cocoons that hung in the trees.
Even though they had complete privacy inside their woven bower, the songs of the elves still filtered through.
“Lend dreams nin mel
Glenn-nai i even lands
Lend songs bo i thul
Im tur-feel ha in i nen,
Im tur-feel in i coe,
Im tur-smel ha in i gwilith”
“It’s the same song you sing to Elien,” Emma said with a yawn as she curled up beneath the blankets.
“Aye, love,” Killian replied as he lay down behind her, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her close until she was tucked under his chin, “elvish lullabies. It’s why we know you will sleep long and deep.”
“You said we,” Emma said drowsily, her words beginning to slur, “I thought you didn’t like being called an elf.”
“Sometimes I don’t mind,” he answered, his own voice fading into sleep.
Emma turned in his arms to rest her cheek against his chest. Between his warmth, the rise and fall of his chest, and the song of the elves, fighting the pull of sleep was impossible. I feel almost like the bower is rocking gently, was her last thought before she drifted off, like sleeping on the Jolly Roger . . .
Elien Jones sat at the edge of the pool of water, gathering sticks and smooth, colorful pebbles. The mist from the waterfall that spilled into the pool dampened her strawberry blonde hair, curling the wisps that framed her face. She gnawed on her lower lip in concentration the way her mother often did.
“Is that a fairy house you’re building?” Elrond asked her kindly.
“No,” Elien answered simply, shaking her head. She picked up a waxy leaf and carefully stuck the largest stick through its center. Then she flipped over the sticks she had woven together and pushed the tall stick with the leaf through the center. “It’s a pirate ship,” she explained.
Tauriel pressed her fingers to her lips to suppress a smile as Elrond frowned. She schooled her features then turned to the eldest council member imploringly. “I beg of you to reconsider this plan. Elien is a special little girl. She doesn’t belong here.”
“Of course she’s special!” Elrond exclaimed. “The daughter of the savior, a product of true love, and a Dunedin? She is the perfect match for my grandson in every way. And one day, they will rule our people. United and strong once again.”
Tauriel shook her head wearily. “That’s not what I meant. Her magic is bigger than the elves, bigger even than her mother’s destiny. I have seen it. To keep her here would be like . . . trapping a majestic Eagle in a cage.”
Elrond gazed at her with furrowed brow, “They would rule more than just the elves then, a united kingdom of men and elves. A mighty force for good, for peace.”
Tauriel scowled openly. “Her destiny is more than preserving bloodlines. More than who she will wed.”
Tauriel turned away from the elf to go to her granddaughter. She watched as Elien pushed the little boat gently into the water. It promptly sank. She tilted her golden head for a moment, then lifted both hands towards the water. Her magic pulsed forth, the water bubbled, and the little boat popped back up on the surface. A shimmer swirled around it, and then it bobbed merrily along until it disappeared in the mist at the base of the waterfall.
“What a lovely ship,” Tauriel told the girl as she knelt next to her and wrapped an arm over her shoulder.
Elien smiled as she gazed into the mist, dimples appearing in both cheeks. Tauriel brushed the child’s hair back from her face, her heart aching at how much the child looked like Killian at times. He argued that she looked like her and Emma. But Tauriel often felt she was looking far into the past as she gazed into the little girl’s face.
“Effie,” Elien said, turning to her grandmother with a furrowed brow and a serious expression, “I knew you would come.”
Tauriel smiled as she cupped the child’s face in her hands. “Of course I did. And your mama and papa are coming too. We came to save you.”
Elien’s gaze drifted to the ground, the long lashes she had inherited from Killian brushing the tops of her cheeks. “No. You didn’t. I’m the one who will save you.”
Tauriel’s eyes widened in confusion. “Why do you say that, child?”
Elien’s mossy green eyes looked full of wisdom beyond her years as she held her grandmother’s gaze. “I have seen it in my dreams.”
Killian’s suggestive grin as he helped Emma up after they crashed through the portal was more irritating than attractive. Since she was more focused on dusting herself off and picking leaves out of her hair.
“What?” she snapped, then immediately sighed as she rubbed at a bruise on her elbow, “I’m sorry, babe. I’m just on edge and, you know, slightly battered.”
Killian’s gaze softened as he rubbed her arms gently. “I know, my love, no offense taken. I was merely admiring this look on you.” He then pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek.
Emma smiled and blushed even as she shrugged. “Guess I’d make a good elf, huh?”
Killian’s eyes took in the dress of rich burgundy velvet with gold trim. Emma’s fair skin was milky white in contrast, and the gold brought out the honey-colored hues in her hair. Lambas bread always made skin and hair brighter, but Emma’s seemed to positively radiate light. Her hair was held back from her face in the traditional elven way, braided in loose knots. Emma lifted her hand to pat the braids gingerly.
“These aren’t literally knots are they?” she asked hesitantly, “Cause that would be a pain in the ass to comb out.”
Killian blinked, not really sure what she was saying, more distracted at the shape of her arms as the wide sleeves of the dress slipped down to her elbow. The movement also gave him a peek of her cleavage against the scooped neckline. Emma just laughed and shook her head.
“You can take this dress off me later, pirate, let’s go get our little girl.”
The portal had deposited them only a half hour’s walk away from the borders of Rivendell, so they didn’t have far to go. Killian’s elven senses directed them, and they walked in silence for a few moments. Emma glanced his way, admiring the soft leather breeches he wore beneath the green tunic cinched at his waist. Over that he wore a cloak of lighter brown, edged in bright green thread. He had grumbled when the elves brought the garments to him, but in the end he had to admit that his jeans and leather jacket were not only worse for wear after the run in with the spiders, but weren’t warm enough for the woods they would be traveling through. Emma liked him in the outfit; she swore it made those ears she loved so much seem more pointed, made the flecks of green in his eyes more pronounced. Of course, she honestly liked him in just about anything. Captain Hook, “Prince Charles,” Killian Jones of Storybrooke, or Killian the Dunedin, he was all of those things to her. And she loved every part of him. He glanced her way and arched a brow.
“Admiring something, love?” he teased.
“Always,” she told him, grasping his hook in her hand. She didn’t let go as they made their way along, and finally worked up the courage to ask him something she had been wondering for quite some time. “Killian? Why did your mother stay away so long?”
He stopped abruptly. “What do you mean?”
Emma wet her lips nervously. “When she showed up right before our wedding, you said you hadn’t seen her since right before the curse was cast. That was a long time, and I thought she was cursed to wander after the one she loves most. So . . . “
Killian clenched his jaw, his eyes darting, landing anywhere but on Emma’s face. “I’m sure she was around, but . . . “ he finally met Emma’s eyes, releasing a long breath, “I told her I never wanted to see her again.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “But why? What did she do?”
Killian lowered his head as shame washed over his face. “She did nothing. It’s what I did. The last time I saw her . . . it was also . . . the last time I saw my father.”
Emma’s eyes widened as she put it all together. “Oh.”
Killian ran his hand wearily over his face. “I was leaving that hut, leaving my father there cold on the ground, and there she was. She looked so . . . distraught. She begged me not to leave my little brother alone. Said she knew it would haunt me.”
Emma stepped closer, cupping his face in her hands. “Hey. Look at me. I’ve heard this story, remember? It didn’t change how I felt about you then, and it still doesn’t now.”
Killian nodded, blinking away shameful tears, and turned his face to kiss her palm. Then he grasped one of her hands with his and laced their fingers together. “I responded to my mother in the only way I could at the time – with anger and rage. I already was ashamed of what I had done, but I wasn’t about to let her know that. So I told her I had finally done what she never had courage to – I made our father pay for all of his crimes. I never saw my mother weep like that. How could I ever look her in the eye again? After what I had done? After I had become so dark?”
“And that’s why you told her you never wanted to see her again.”
Killian nodded. “And she honored my request. But I’ve always wondered. If it was because she – stopped loving me. That I had become such a villain that even she couldn’t love me.”
Emma shook her head as she drew closer. “I have heard your mother talk about you enough to know that could never happen.”
“My father’s love had its limits. Why not hers?”
Emma kissed him softly, first on the lips then on his nose, then each cheek. She then wrapped her arms around him, pressing her lips to his collar bone. “Because she’s your mother,” Emma whispered against his skin, “nothing could ever make me stop loving Henry or Elien.” She pulled back to look into his eyes again. “And she’s so much like you. You could never stop loving any of us either. It just isn’t in your nature; and it isn’t in hers.”
Killian stroked her cheek, a peace settling over his features. “In my heart, I know you’re right. That’s why I just can’t believe that she would take the Arkenstone.”
Emma took a step back, tugging lightly on his hook. “When have we ever let fate determine our future? This family fights for each other, sees the best in each other. I really don’t give a shit what you’re grandmother’s pool says.”
Killian chuckled as he walked alongside his wife. “That’s the Emma I love.”
Emma had to admit that the towering waterfalls of Rivendell were a sight to behold. And she understood now what Killian meant about the air here. It strengthened her as she breathed it in, and the light seemed . . . not brighter, but more rich, making every color more vibrant.
Yet she cared little about her surroundings once a familiar voice cut through the air. “Mama! Papa!”
She and Killian’s elven escorts, though armed, were no match for their determination to go to their daughter. They both shoved the guards aside heedlessly as they dashed through the doorway into Elrond’s throne room. They then fell to their knees as they gathered Elien into their arms, peppering her with kisses. Killian had been right; the elves had taken good care of their little girl. She was well fed, and even seemed happy. And Emma had to admit she looked adorable in her tiny elven dress of lavender and silver.
“Can we go home?” Elien asked with a frown as she pulled away.
“Of course we can, cygnet,” Killian told her as he scooped her up.
“This should be her home,” Elrond spoke up, “with her people.”
Emma marched right up to the elf and without hesitation punched him in the jaw. “That’s for kidnapping my child. And for the record, her people are in Storybrooke.”
“But elven blood runs through her veins.”
“Well, so does human blood,” Emma snapped back.
“The fate of her people hang in the balance!” Elrond shouted. “We’re talking about the greater good!”
“And I’m talking about what’s best for Elien!” Emma was in the elf’s face now. “I know what it’s like to sacrifice having a family for the greater good. My daughter won’t suffer the same thing.”
“Then you and your husband can stay here,” Elrond argued, more calmly now.
“I don’t think your listening,” Emma seethed, “we’re taking her back to Storybrooke where she has grandparents and an uncle and godparents and friends.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t your decision.”
“Says who? I’m her mother.”
“Enough!” Tauriel shouted. It was the loudest Emma had ever heard her speak. “Elien is my granddaughter, not a pawn.”
“Besides,” Killian interjected, “it isn’t the elven way to keep a child against her will.”
Elrond’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed before he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. His royal guard rushed into the room on their silent elven feet, their arrows making a soft, yet eerie swishing sound as they pulled them from their quivers in perfect synchronization and notched them to their bows.
“I stand corrected,” Killian muttered. He set Elien down gently. “Get behind me, little love.”
Emma inched her way over and she and Killian kept their daughter safely sandwiched between them.
“I don’t want to threaten you,” Elrond said.
“Could have fooled me,” Emma replied sarcastically.
“Elrond, you can’t seriously be considering forcibly removing a child from her parents,” Tauriel argued, “this isn’t the elven way!”
“Not the elven way?” Elrond snapped. “Soon the ways of our people will die out. More and more of our youth are leaving these lands, intermarrying with the race of men. Our magic is weakening, our lands dying.”
Tauriel laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Then perhaps it’s time we joined the race of men instead of keeping ourselves apart.”
Elrond’s face contorted with grief and sadness. “You sound like my daughter. My precious Arwen who will suffer your fate when her true love dies.”
“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” Tauriel asked gently. “Giving her a bloodline that will help her hold on as I have done.”
Killian exchanged a look with Emma, and then he stepped forward slowly, pulling the Arkenstone from the satchel at his hip. “If I may, my Lord, offer an alternative?”
“The Arkenstone!” Elrond breathed, reaching for it with a trembling hand.
Killian pulled it back against his chest. “Aye. The stone that will take away your daughter’s immortality. In exchange for my little girl, of course.”
Elrond’s eyes flashed. “Or my army takes it by force.”
“Or I take it!”
Every eye in the room turned in shock at the sound of the small voice. Elien Jones stood in the middle of the throne room, her green eyes flashing fire, magic tingling between her fingertips. She raised her hand towards her father, and the Arkenstone flew into her hand.
“What are you doing!” Elrond screamed, racing forward. Elien flung her hand, and Elrond was frozen in place.
Emma and Killian shouted their daughter’s name, but they found they were frozen in place as well. The stone pulsed an even brighter red in the little girl’s hand. Emma lifted frantic eyes to her husband, but he looked just as frightened as she did.
“Elien, honey,” Tauriel said gently, easing down on her knees in front of her granddaughter, “you need to put the stone down.”
“No, Effie,” Elien said in her little girl voice, “it’s meant for you.”
Elien placed the stone into Tauriel’s palm, then she placed her tiny hands over her grandmother’s. Magic sparked, and snaking red lines poured forth from the stone, enveloping Tauriel. When it cleared, she collapsed to the ground, and the stone rolled across the floor. It was no longer red, but a dull glassy color. Elien released her hold on the others, and Killian and Emma raced to Tauriel’s side.
“Mother,” Killian said gently, helping her up to a seated position.
She moaned and held her head, and Killian grasped her arms, half laughing in disbelief as he squeezed her shoulders, then her hands between his. She hadn’t felt so solid since he was a tiny lad.
“You’re . . . you’re . . . “
Tauriel put her chest to her heart. “I’m mortal.” She reached up and cupped Killian’s face in her hands, marveling at the stubble beneath her palms. Her little boy, all grown up, and she could finally really, truly feel him. “Oh my precious, precious boy.”
Killian embraced his mother then, holding her tightly as he hadn’t been able to in so many long centuries. Tears filled Emma’s eyes as she watched them. Elien flung her arms around both her papa and her Effie. Tauriel turned to her granddaughter and peppered her face with kisses. Then they yanked Emma in for a group hug.
“The stone chose you.”
The Jones family looked up to see Elrond standing over them. Emma smiled at Killian.
“Galadriel didn’t see your mother taking the stone, she saw Elien giving it to her.”
Tauriel shook her head. “But why? Why me?”
Elrond reached out and took Tauriel’s hand, helping her to her feet. “Because of the many long years of sacrifice for your son. You have earned your rest, Tauriel of the Woodland Elves.”
She turned to her son, her daughter-in-law, and her granddaughter. “And I know just where I’ll spend my final years.”
