This short MC fic was my @cssns21 entry, and I tried my hand at a fae version of Emma and a knight version of Killian with it. It took a fair amount of inspiration from the classic Keats poem "La Belle Dame sans Merci", the lines at beginning and end of the chapters are from the poem, as well as from my desire to explore the Dark Swan idea from a different angle, with more of Emma's fighting back against those tendencies as we saw at first. At any rate, as I am going back through my @cssns contributions, I was excited to find this one next. I hope you will enjoy this if you didn't see it back then, and even if you did, maybe you will enjoy it again...
Summary: Legend has it that the fae woman in the meadow will ensnare any who dare enter her domain, but the knight who chances a meeting can tell there is more to the story than superstition and gossip has allowed. The path to the truth and redemption may be fraught with dangers - to the both of them - but is it not the sworn duty of a true knight to help any who may be in need?
**Thanks a million once more to @caught-in-the-filter who made the gorgeous cover art for this fic! I absolutely love it! **
{Also available on AO3, if that is your preference}
by: @snowbellewells
Part One
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
Some folks say that she was always malevolent. Born to beguile and lure the unworthy to their doom. The fae, after all, were not to be trifled with, and those who dared do so learned their lesson at high cost.
The whispers around the fog-wisped edges of her meadow haunt, the word spoken as warning with anxious glances over the shoulder, was that her beauty was matched only by her fury. That she was possessed with a thirst to punish those who would be lured by her fair form and bewitching song. Those who were wise came to skirt wide around those fallow fields in that sparsely populated corner of the kingdom, for it was said that even those of stoutest resolve and pure intentions found this powerful nymph - be it by her face alone or some magic she wielded to draw them into her web - nigh impossible to resist.
Some retellings of her legend had her thrown from the sparkling court of the fair folk for her cruel and deviant nature. Others claimed she possessed more power and magic than any single faery had before her, and it had simply been too much - bending her better nature into madness. Still other storytellers would paint her more as a tragic sacrifice. The Fae Folk must have one who punished those unworthy of their own kind, as well as the humans who got too close to discovering their kingdom’s gates or who would dare to upset the fragile balance of peace between the two species - who might dare to think themselves equal to, and attempt to win the heart of, a faery. She was simply the one chosen to mete out these judgements. A Guardian and a Gatekeeper, as it were.
And though there is often a grain of truth to any rumor, very rarely do such stories paint their characters as they truly are. Not in full. And the ballad of awe and fear told of the beautiful, but deadly, lady Emma - La Belle Dame Sans Merci - was just such a tale. The whispers bore fragments of reality, but could not explain it all. Though she was not blameless, she was not completely lost. Perhaps there only needed to be some small spark of light, some reason for her to look within for any shred of mercy she might still possess.
~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~
The wind rushed across his forehead, lifting the strands of his dark hair from his heated skin pleasantly and ruffling his steed’s mane before dancing on to bend the grasses along the quiet roadside and tug at the leaves on nearby trees. It was a pleasant morning to be about, though the way seemed strangely untraveled since his turn-off at the last crossroad. Killian Jones, knight-at-arms, found he didn’t truly mind the peacefulness and lack of fellow travelers, enjoying the sounds of breeze and birdsong and mulling his own thoughts. Though adventure, daring battle, and quests of honor made his blood pound with vigor, causing excitement to tingle in his nerve endings and a sense of fulfillment in being where he was needed and doing what he must flooded his being, he could admit if only to himself on this placid afternoon, that he sometimes still wondered if there was more.
He certainly did not wish to change his profession. He would never be happy as a blacksmith, farmer, or tradesman; anything so mundane, necessary as those roles were, would never satisfy him for long. And yet, he had begun to feel the weight of many battles, the lives he had held in his hands, and the blood he could sometimes still see behind closed eyelids, had begun to haunt him. If there was always another fight, another enemy to vanquish, more violence and death and Darkness, were they making any difference? Was a glimmer of the light they fought for shining through, or were they merely treading water, waiting to be subsumed?
It was what had brought him to this quiet roadside meadow alone, rather than back on the high road with his fellows, moving on to the next castle and the next foe they needed to vanquish. He had called out that he would rejoin them further down the road; it was not unusual for one of them to split off on some personal venture from time to time. It was a life of constant movement, never truly being at ease or settling anywhere, and yet it made sense that sometimes one would need to pause, linger, and think for a moment where it was still and inviting enough to do so.
Killian knew he had traveled in this corner of the kingdom before - though it had been some time back. He did not remember the way this road had curved and twined, becoming narrowed and more removed from the larger surroundings as it followed a trickling brook along its way. The sounds of the village some miles back now, of other travelers whom he had not seen for some time, even the rustling of leaves and grasses and the twittering of the birds seemed to fade. A stillness encircled him such as he had never experienced before. It might have been unnerving if he had not been seeking quiet and peace to think, answers for the questions that troubled him. His mount danced fitfully on occasion, tossing his shaggy black head as if ill at ease, but Killian found he was too entranced, too breathlessly curious to turn back now. Plus, Shadow was a spirited animal and his fitfulness did not truly alarm his rider. There was a reason only Killian seemed able to handle him.
The brooke, and the path following it, both turned again sharply, and Killian ducked to ride under the low-hanging branch of a tree, and when he sat back up in his saddle once more, the sight around that bend brought him up short. The creek came to a stop at last, running into a still pond, dark and motionless, and on the far side of the pond was some sort of cave, its mouth wide open as if beckoning those brave enough to explore. Flowers grew strewn through tall grasses, and all of it was waving soundlessly in the breeze like a beckoning sea.
Again, Killian found he was almost mystified by his own impulse to dismount and come closer. To seek out every secret corner of this meadow hideaway. He knew well enough not to venture into dark and unknown caves and underground passages, and yet the pull was nigh irresistible. He stood in wonderment, taking it all in as he stroked Shadow’s nose, soothing the restless gelding.
“What is it, lad?” Killian murmured to his horse, scratching behind its ears and trying to keep a firm grip on the reins as the creature continued to shuffle and toss its head.
Suddenly, the knight sensed he and his steed were no longer alone, a strong scent of apple blossoms and sweet honey stirred on the breeze and a chill ran over his skin, making the small hairs on his arms stand on end.
A dulcet, hypnotic voice spoke on the horse’s other side, a delicate feminine hand stroking over the animal’s nose caused Shadow to calm instantly. “Perhaps,” it offered subtly, “he knows something you do not.”
Killian had never known Shadow to gentle for anyone else; the creature rarely grew that still even for him, and the chill which had run through him a moment before now shivered down his spine. “And what might that be?” he questioned stoutly, not allowing any of his trepidation to show in his tone. “And who are you and what might you know of it?”
A form so fair, so ethereally bright and beautiful that he knew immediately she must be more than human, stepped into view from the other side of his horse. Long, glowing golden hair hung to her waist, twined with buttercups and bluebells, her feet were bare and gracefully shaped, her eyes a verdant green he wanted to fall into like a thick carpet of clover and grass, and the slight tilt of her voluptuously shaped pale pink lips somehow seemed to hint she already knew she had entranced him. The lady who had materialized there in the meadow at his side was breathtaking; her smile serene and inviting, her voice low and melodic, drawing him to lean in closer to hear what she would say next.
“Do you not hear strange tales of this place, warning travelers to be on their guard?” she tilted her head slightly, studying him as if bemused.
“I am a knight of the Realm, milady,” he replied, “Sworn to go where others may fear to tread, to protect the helpless and vanquish dangers wherever they might be. Seldom am I in one place long enough to hear all the local legends and superstitions, but even so, I would not let such talk turn me from my duty.”
That pale, lovely face continued to meet his own gaze head-on, not doubting, but merely watching as if weighing his response and gauging the sincerity of his words. Humming lightly to herself, she stepped away from him and Shadow, turning towards the pond’s smooth surface, almost as if taking for granted that he would follow.
Killian found to his chagrin that he had blindly followed two strides in her wake before realizing he had done so. Glancing back over her shoulder with arched brow and genuine question in her tone she asked, “Your duty brought you here then?”
Dipping his chin slightly toward the metal armor that covered his chest, Killian offered her a slight show of respect. He was not sure just where he had wandered, if he was trespassing on some royal land and this was some trick to ensnare him in wrongdoing, if he had wandered into some sort of enchanted space and she was a siren risen from the depths, or perhaps she was their next evil wizard or monster to fight, taking on a disguise of fair form to spy upon them and learn their weaknesses. As much as he felt a pull toward her and wanted to stay there speaking with her, there was at the same time a warring sense of unease in his being. The day was wearing on, he had yet to make arrangements for the night, and he had given his word to find his fellows once more as well.
“That I do not yet know,” he finally replied. “I broke off from a larger company at the last bend in the road. This meadow was so peaceful and inviting, and I suppose curiosity led me further as much as anything.”
For a time neither spoke, and Killian noticed for the first time that all other sounds had ceased as well. The rustling of the leaves and grasses, the birdsong and the plash of the brook into the larger pool were all muted; every bit of their surroundings gone strangely still. He knew it impossible, but for a moment it seemed as if he were frozen in a still life, unmoving, unblinking, like a statue carved in stone.
The beautiful vision stared into the water silently, so long and so deeply he wondered if she had forgotten his presence. Killian did not know whether to address her further or to turn and go, nor was he certain that his feet would move to turn from her if he did attempt to leave.
As eerily still as all was around him, he felt more concern in that instant that he had upset her, troubled or disturbed her somehow with his presence or his answers to her questions. Urging Shadow forward, he came to stand beside the mysterious lady once more, reaching out a hand meant to soothe or comfort.
But before he could make contact she whirled to meet him, her face a mask of pained struggle, her eyes wide and alarmed and so much darker than the jeweled green they had been before. Her voice was harsher, rough as she screeched for him to stand back, to get away from there. He didn’t understand the transformation, but he could see she was nearly vibrating with tension, trembling as if some force wanted to burst from her and she could scarcely hold it back. What had been a gentle breeze now howled about them, and the still pond was whipped into choppy waves. Killian stumbled back, dumbstruck, uncertain what was happening.
The idyllic beauty of his surroundings and the pleasant stranger before him had been changed instantaneously. None of the calm tranquility or gentle smiles which had lured him further in lingered now, and the enthralling vision before him now radiated tension and warning, her voice still rasping as if dragged over glass, saying that he must flee, she could only hold back so long.
Nearly as confused as he was alarmed or frightened, Killian shook his head, anxious to clear it of the doubt swirling through - had he imagined everything before? Or was he imagining things now? The anguish on that fair brow was enough to send him away for the moment, the pale maiden well on her way to enchanting him looked stretched to her limits, beseeching him to leave while he was still able. The chilvalrous knight he was fought against leaving such a one in pain or distress, but he also knew that he did not understand the situation, did not know all that was needed to act wisely.
And so, reluctantly, he swung up into Shadow’s saddle, his steed at least feeling no qualms about leaving. The beast tossed his head and wheeled to gallop off at the first mere prodding, hide quivering as he carried his rider back the way they had come in haste.
Killian, for his part, felt compelled to look back. For a moment, he could still see her form, curling in on herself slightly as she seemed to double over, and growing ever smaller in his view. The whole vista seemed to waver, partially obscured by a rising haze, until he could not have pointed out exactly where it had been.
Soon after, Shadow had carried them back to the main road, and Killian urged him to turn back onto it, to once more find his fellows, quite possibly in the next small village. Yet, though he appeared safely back on course, Killian could not forget what he had seen and heard… haunted by the face of the troubled maiden.
~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~
The faery, Emma, sagged in relief as the knight finally rode from view. She was breathlessly grateful for the mist which rose up from the surface of the pool, and the very air itself, now heavy and charged and hiding her from view, where before it had been so fresh and light with Spring. No wonder the man had been drawn to the small oasis. With the flowers and cool breeze and sparkling waters, her hidden grotto was made to be inviting, dangerously appealing. As was she herself - in form and face - or so she had been told when the curse was placed upon her.
Sinking to her knees in the tall grass, the thin blades and the faces of the daisies both brushed her skin if trying to offer comfort, Emma panted rapidly in effort to regain her breath. She had managed to hold it back, the dark power which had been twined with the natural light fae magic inside her. Her song, once capable of brightening skies, coaxing plants to blossom, and raising spirits that were broken or bowed, now would ensnare and entwine those same lost souls who might cross her path, draining them and never allowing them to leave.
One solitary tear slipped down her cheek as her breathing calmed and she contemplated the change wrought upon her being against her will. It kept her even from her own kind; loved ones who might ease the hurt and loneliness. For she did not know for certain if they were immune to the strange siren call she had been infected with, and she could not bear to risk such folly. It was horrifying enough to have almost trapped and harmed the handsome stranger who had stumbled upon her hideaway, but she would not surve being the death of one she loved.
Sadly, Emma finally managed to stand again, making her way slowly back to the mouth of the cavern where she spent so much of her time hidden away from the trees and flowers, the sunshine and fair breezes and springtime that she loved for fear of her curse withering it all and destroying others who wandered near, appreciating the same beauty of which she had once been the caretaker. Folly it had been to venture out today, and yet she had been unable to help herself, needing to see and smell and touch the bounty she had been denied. Then it had seemed the knight had just appeared.
Those eyes… a new sort of pang in her heart twinged at the reflection. They had been so blue, searching and deep, as pristine and sparkling as the waters before her and seeking to understand as if he sensed her pain. What an idea! Emma shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the frail hope. That could lead nowhere but disaster for the both of them. A proud, strong young life cut down for no reason if he did return. She was not sure exactly how her powers would snare him in thrall, drain him of life, only that the dark and twisted caster had proclaimed it would be so. She had managed to hold the welling of destructive energy she could feel rising within herself until the man had gone. And normally she managed to stay hidden well enough, removed from all others, that she did not chance unleashing it.
What had drawn her to this one? Caused her to show herself? Why had it almost seemed as if the knight could sense something was wrong? She did not know, and it troubled her, but there was no one to ask for advice. Quite possibly no answers to be had at all. She knew no other faery who had been punished in such a manner.
Turning to slink back into her cavern, Emma’s shoulders slumped. She certainly couldn’t risk being seen again this day; her strength was far too diminished to fight the poison surging to escape if any other hapless being discovered her. Such a horrible, unending punishment, for an unknowing, well-intended mistake, her spirit railed fruitlessly once again. How could she have known that bestowing her innocent heart in love would bring her here?
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose
I am so, so sorry that it has taken me this long to post Part Two of this story. The good news is: it’s Part Two of Three, so you shouldn’t have to wait too long for the conclusion now. I went back and forth over where this one should end, and how much background and explanation to give; I hope you will still enjoy it as you did Part One. I was really touched and encouraged by the lovely feedback I got on it! :) Without keeping you further, here’s Part Two...
Summary: Legend has it that the fae woman in the meadow will ensnare any who dare enter her domain, but the knight who chances a meeting can tell there is more to the story than superstition and gossip has allowed. The path to the truth and redemption may be fraught with dangers - to the both of them - but is it not the sworn duty of a true knight to help any who may be in need?
Part One HERE or on AO3
Part Two
“I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.”
That same night at the village inn, Killian Jones quietly watched the jostling, laughing, and boisterous crowd that swirled around him, keeping to himself at a table in the common room’s corner by the large hearth fire. The ale was cool and refreshing, the stew and bread homemade, warm and filling, but he found himself unable to enjoy it. His mind was still back in the meadow with the tormented maiden, beautiful and yet clearly in pain; his spirit was troubled for her sake, and yet at a loss as to how he could offer aid.
Perhaps he could learn some background on the woman or her secluded haunt from the locals and revelers there that night. Looking around him, the knight sought out others who appeared more somber and less addled by drink and bawdy pursuit of the serving girls. Many were the tables full of loud boasts and laughter, games of dice and shouted challenges, but there were others on the outskirts like himself, more interested in food to strengthen them on their way and warming themselves by the fire before returning to the chill night air and darkness. Though his morning’s traveling company seemed to have gotten farther than he had expected, perhaps not catching up to them had been a boon. His questions and attempts at conversation would cause much less of a stir as a single rider, alone and unassuming. Large groups tended to draw attention, no matter how honorably they behaved, and he sensed his curiosity would make enough of a disturbance as it were.
Along the facing wall, practically tucked behind the end of the bar, was another table at the edge of the revelry. In this flicker of the shadows, was another less populated table; the two men seated there eating their meals and talking quietly amongst themselves. They appeared well at home, with the ease of folks who visited often and had long since claimed their place. So, figuring them for locals, Killian began to carefully cross the room toward them, trying to draw as little notice as possible.
Once he reached the pair, he stood before them, offering a short nod in greeting before speaking. “Greetings, gentlemen. For the price of another round, might I join you for a spell?”
The two men, both a little rumpled and weary, but not seeming bad sorts, looked at each other curiously, but then shrugged, and the one on the right gestured to an empty seat. “Aye, if it please you.”
Killian took the empy seat, signalling the server and ordering another round before broaching the subject which most weighed on his mind. He calmly sipped from his refilled cup, and debated just how to proceed without sounding a lunatic and running the other men off.
In fact, before he could finish arranging his words and open his mouth to speak, the slightly younger on his left, with a shrewd look on his face and curious focus spoke up. “You aren’t from these parts, are you?” he questioned bluntly, clearly already well aware of the answer.
Killian let himself chuckle, though a bit surprised and taken aback by the other’s forthright manner. Yet, if he wished to have honesty from these folks, it was only right he offer honest answers himself. “Aye, you’re quite right,” he confirmed.
“Well then,” the other pressed, “what brings you here, and wishing to talk to us at that? Our little hamlet isn’t of much note. Most just ride on through, but that doesn’t mean we hold with any troublemakers or unsavory types causing trouble or affecting the safety of our people.” He got this out in a burst that was clearly meant as warning, still eying the newcomer warily.
But then his companion, the older gentleman who had first welcomed Killian to sit, held out a staying hand toward his friend. His eyes were calmer, though no less sharp or intelligent. It seemed, however, that age and experience had leant him a bit more perception of people. The slight greying of his dark hair near his temples gave that away as he spoke up with a quiet sort of command. “No need for that now, William. This man means no harm; in fact, he carries himself as one of the traveling knights who protect our borders and are owed our respect and gratitude. Am I right, sir?”
Killian tipped his head in deference, impressed at how he might have known, and moved aside his cloak so both could see the identifying coat of arms upon his breastplate and quality of the sword at his side, which had also been well-hidden by the mud-splattered, loose traveling clothes, but clearly proclaimed his occupation and standing. “Aye, you are,” were all the words Killian needed to speak.
“Apologies,” the younger villager hurried to say, with an apologetic bow of his own head. “We have had some trouble of late - not foreign invaders or dragons, you understand - nothing worth your notice, but one can’t be too careful. I want to see my neighbors and children safe and able to live without fear.”
“I am not offended,” Killian assured. “Caution is always wise.” He truly was not. If anything, he felt more certain that he had picked the right people from whom to seek information; good, common souls who were honorable and protective of their home and loved ones, and in that, must know the area and any perceived or rumored threats or strange personages thereabouts.
Each man reclined once more in his seat and calm settled over the table, despite Killian still feeling a tension and insistence pressing upon him. He needed answers. That lovely and heartsore woman he had seen just a few hours past still lingered in his mind; her eyes and her tone beseeching him to leave for his own sake, but the loneliness and pain just behind her anxious command kept pulling him back.
With a last fortifying swallow of his ale, Killian leaned forward, not wishing to be overheard by the numerous others close by. “I do not intend to bother you good folks any longer than necessary, nor to bring any trouble upon your fair village. All I seek is a bit of information.”
“Fair enough then,” the elder returned, meeting his eyes squarely and offering an encouraging nod. “Go right ahead. If I know anything of help, I will gladly share it with you.”
“Well...ah…” Killian cleared his throat hesitantly, though knowing there was nothing for it but to press on. “I realize this may sound quite outlandish, but I was riding past a meadow, just a few miles east of here earlier in the afternoon. I was part of a larger group, but something almost compelled me to turn aside and gain a closer look. It was a lovely spot, peaceful with birds calling and plants swaying in the breeze, calm, and as I followed a rough path further on, it was almost as though the rest of the world faded away. There was a pool of still water and some sort of a cavern standing on its far bank.”
He paused, relieved that neither of his listeners were laughing at him or scoffing in disbelief. They both seemed quite rapt by his tale. Determined now to see it through, Killian finished, “Though I felt at ease, my horse was restless. I dismounted to attempt calming him, and suddenly a gorgeous woman appeared at my side. She spoke with me for a short time, and she was so enchanting I found myself unsure if she were human, or if she were there at all rather than a figment of my imagination. Then, suddenly, a wind swept up and all turned grey and stormy. This frightening look came over her, and she bade me gone - urging me to leave while I still could as if her life depended on it. And yet she did not flee herself. Leaving her churned in my gut, goes against the very code I follow, but the more I lingered it seemed only to worsen her distress, until finally I returned to my previous course, which brought me here.”
He paused then, swallowing hard as he fully met the men’s eyes for the first time since he had begun his tale, having either been staring at his hands or the scarred wooden table, or into his mind’s eye to recall all he could of the strange encounter. Both seemed stunned, before glancing to each other uneasily then back at him. The more outspoken breathed, “The Belle Dame,” with a strange sort of fearful awe. “You’ve seen her and lived to tell of it.”
Dark brows furrowing in confusion, Killian found himself repeating the title curiously, “Belle Dame, you say? Who is she? How did she come to be out there alone?”
“Ach, no! I think not, Sir Knight! You should be counting your blessings ye made it back to the road and forget all about that place!” He stood abruptly, as if nervous to be speaking any further on the subject, and thanking the knight for the drink, said his goodbyes before hastily taking his leave.
His hurried exit left Killian all the more confused as he turned to his other new acquaintance. “What was all of that?” he questioned.
“The younger generation,” the greying gentleman sighed, shaking his head. “Blood hot and ready for action, and yet such an edgy, superstitious lot. I can tell you what I’ve heard, though I’ve never put much stock in such fantastic tales. Some do, however. Will there being one of them, as you could see.”
“I would be most obliged for your enlightenment,” Killian replied, waiting patiently.
“The story goes, around these parts, that some years ago, the fae folk made their home in this corner of the kingdom. Most folk didn’t even know they were there a large portion of the time; they don’t like to be seen, working their magic in the background. However, flowers and trees grew more beautifully and with greater bounty, and crops and gardens were also healthier, producing all the grower could need. It was commonly believed to be a blessing from their kind.”
Killian nodded, even as the old villager shook his head a little bemusedly, not sure what to make of his own tale. The knight was curious and concerned enough to take any scrap of information he got. He had to start somewhere in unraveling the mystery. “Well,” he prompted, clenching his hand not to grasp the laconic storyteller by the shoulders and try to hurry him along, “what happened?”
“Don’t rightly know myself,” his companion reminded. “Not sure how much reality is in these local legends… but, the story goes that those faeries in these parts were good, their magic pure, natural and unpolluted. Or that was so until one of their number wanted more. This outlier sought greater abilities, more magic, to hold power and rule of the people for himself. The tales say he amassed so much that he became unstable, and his mind was twisted toward Darkness. He attacked his own leaders, and his own people, and after the confrontation, it seemed all their folk disappeared - whether relocated or ended, none claim to know.”
Again, Killian strove for patience, not much closer to what had happened to his mysterious lady in the meadow than he had been before the conversation had begun. Swallowing down his impatience, he prodded once more, “Be that as it may, how does it involve the woman I saw?”
“Right, right you are, good sir,” the man acknowledged. “Pardon an old man’s rambling. As to the woman you saw, best I can recollect, folks telling these stories believed her to be daughter of the good and rightful fae rulers, their princess and only child. They say she was somehow cursed by this Dark One who spoiled the faery’s haven. She was forced to seek companionship and yet always be alone, for though she draws people in, her voice and her touch enthrall and entrap, making those who fall under her spell, unable to leave, even as their life is drained away. Supposedly that was the reason for her naming as ‘La Belle Dame san Merci’.”
As the man ceased talking, he picked up his drink once more, draining the last of it while Killian attempted to reconcile all he had heard. His next words were spoken more to himself than his tablemate. “So this was done to her? Not a power she cultivated or sought herself? That explains her distress… and why I was pulled there from the road. She must be desperate to break free…”
Whether or not he was still being addressed, the grizzled villager felt it only fair to remind, “Not wanting such powers would not make them any less dangerous, mind you. Though you’d be chasing a lot of old tales and superstitions, most likely.”
Killian brought himself back to the present with an effort. From here it would be best to keep his own council. “I thank you for your time and information,” he spoke in farewell, standing and pulling two gold coins from the satchel at his hip to place on the table for the man’s trouble. “Goodnight.”
His agile grace honed by years of swordfights and daring feats, horseback riding, dodging arrows and flames, allowed him to slip rapidly back through the crowd and away from the inn with haste, almost as if he had never been there at all. As outlandish as the tale he had heard might seem, Killian had seen many things in life which would have been unbelievable until he stood facing them. Somehow he simply knew the villager’s tale had the right of it. Though he might not yet know how, he was determined to aid the fae princess - to see her free of the bindings of loneliness and fear that held her with all speed. If she had meant to capture him, he would not be standing there free; she had some control and a clearly honest and pure heart, despite the curse which had caused such anguish. It was that anguish in her eyes he could not stop seeing over and over in his mind which would not allow him to delay.
~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~
The following morning dawned bright and warm, even as the sun pierced through the canopy of leaves on the trees surrounding the cavern where Emma had sunk in despair the previous evening. It had all seemed so hopeless, she remembered sadly, her heavy limbs stretching as she sat up and watched the already powerful sunlight of a summer’s morn melting away the vivid pinks and oranges of the sunrise which had painted the sky and shining heatedly down between fluffy clouds on the green oasis around her.
There was no trace of the storm and turmoil that had risen from nowhere mere hours before, and she shuddered to think that perhaps that howling wind and frighteningly discolored green-grey sky had been her doing, even without conscious intention. Her curse had demanded that handsome knight’s being, and yet she saw no trace of him, no sign he had failed to get away, and so she thanked providence for that small gift. It was why she had withdrawn here, trying to remain unseen. She did not wish to take a life - any life - and yet she did not know how far her powers to withstand the control would go.
And that man, in particular… She had never seen such a specimen, not of human flesh and sinew. His loss would have been all the more devastating for the beauty it woud have taken from the world. Not only in looks, but there had been something noble about him, chivalry and honor in his bearing and his actions toward her. And the depths of those pure, stunning blue eyes… they knew sadness, but showed kindness and compassion as well, reaching out to span the gulf between them. It was a foolish wish; a hopeless sentence to ruin for him and more guilt and pain for her, but she had wished all the same to let him remain there, to have him by her side, to no longer be so alone.
Yet so far, over the course of years since she had been afflicted, she had managed not to take a life, despite what the Dark One had intended in his fury and hate and the fearful rumors that circled in the nearby village. She would not have such a one fall victim to her first failure of will. Oh, she knew those mortals who dwelt in the vicinity believed otherwise, that any person who turned up missing was blamed on her and the lure of her deadly beauty. Still, painful as the misconception was, Emma found she was glad for it. The fearful avoidance of her hiding place kept those people safe.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the deserted princess - for local legend did have that part right - meandered aimlessly toward the pool’s still waters, trailing her delicate hand through the tall grass and wildflowers as she moved amidst their riotous profusion. Only halting when she stood in nearly the same spot she had the day before - next to the dashing knight and his steed - Emma closed her eyes to picture what might once have been.
Years ago, it had not been just this solitary meadow, but a whole kingdom hidden in plain sight. The beauty, enchantment, and natural abundance had stretched for miles and miles, making the corner of the human’s country one of the best to live in and work. As it housed her parents’ glorious court within its hills and dells, valleys and heights, the fae people’s blessing upon the land profited all manner of men and beasts in the area along with their own kind.
Emma could still picture (when she let herself and felt she could bear the plucking of her heartstrings) her mother and father’s thrones hidden deep in a woodland clearing, both raised seats formed of twisted whorls of tree roots and twined with exquisite leaves and flowers as gorgeous as any jewels or precious metals human royalty would gather. It had always seemed the sun filtered down through the treetops in sparkling shafts, more stunning than anywhere else. The diffused light had cast a halo about her mother’s head, glittering all the more in setting off her kind eyes - the same alluring lively green of Emma’s own. How she missed that look of gentle understanding her mother saved just for her; though she had been queen of the entire faery realm, she had always had time for her only daughter.
Her father’s indulgent smile and his large hand cradling the back of her head when he would clasp her in his strong arms for a proud hug, was equally missed, though sometimes Emma almost dreamed she could still feel its echo. If she still lived in that peaceful, happy world she once had, the knight would have been in no danger. She could even have imagined showing him the wonders of her kingdom and opening his eyes.
True, they usually liked to hide from other beings, keeping to themselves and abstaining from the troubles and quarrels of men, that did not mean it was expressly forbidden. Her parents held the rarest magic of all between them - True Love - and they had always expressed their hope that she would know the same joy and fulfillment… wherever she might find it. She knew they would have welcomed any she saw fit, any man who was worthy, as she had somehow known right away that darkly handsome knight was.
If only that whole world were not gone.
Instead they had been forced to leave her here alone, stripped of her kingdom, her birthright, and even her family. Their faery homeland had long since vanished from this place and relocated elsewhere, as they had done for centuries when danger or discovery came too close to their borders. Emma, rathern than someday taking up leadership from her parents, had been the sacrificial lamb who allowed the rest of her people to escape free from harm.
She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself as though chilled, even in the bright sunlight. The Dark One had been adamant about that, his twisted face, maniacal eyes and shrill voice still haunting her nightmares and making her heart slam erratically against her ribs, just as he had that horrible day he appeared in their midst. He was without remorse in his demand that all should suffer as he did. He had fully intended to leave her alone and desolate, just as he had been left, for her parents to suffer the agony of having their only child ripped away from them and lost forever as he did, and he meant all the fae world to fear him and bow to the immensity of his power, so none would dare cross him again.
With a deep sigh, she reached a hand out to trail her fingers idly in the still water before her. It was a hopeless situation; one she had endured for long enough to accept that there was no balm or ease for her loneliness - not without someone else, someone innocent - paying for it with their life. Most times she could soldier through her days, enjoying the breeze on her face, the sun as it shone down upon her, the quiet beauty of nature in this small haven she was left with. It could never measure to some sort of living company, but it did soothe her, just as the natural world did for all of her kind. So, she attempt to draw what little succor she could from the land, the flowers, and the animals around her and strove to keep anything else, even her beloved home and family, far from mind.
She had been mostly successful at the endeavor, for long chunks of time together...until yesterday. Removed from the rest of the world and ageless as she was, days and weeks, months and years, flew by, one much like another. But then the tall, dark-headed knight had entered her hidden alcove, with his gentle words and chivalrous desire to help. His earnest expression, begging her to trust him, even as she tried to warn him he was in danger, still hovered in her memory, stirring unknown feelings and a breathless, aching hope within her that she had thought buried long ago.
A single unbidden tear slid noiselessly down her cheek as she remembered just how high the cost had been the last time she had felt such distress and empathy for another and sought to aid him.
Long ago, she had encountered the Dark One’s son, a young man just about her age, as she was exploring along the very edge of the forest at the eastern border of her parents’ kingdom. His soft brown eyes had been furtive and desperate as he pled for her to keep his secret, for her not to tell anyone she had seen him. Baelfire, that was his name, he had told her earnestly, feared the way his stolen magic and quest for more and more power was twisting his father into a monster he no longer recognized as the ‘papa’ who had raised him. Emma had agreed to say nothing, and brought him food from her table and maps from her parents’ library as he hid in the forest and plotted where he might go to hide from his father’s reach. It had been dangerous, thoughtless, even more than she could have known, but her conscience simply would not allow her to act otherwise.
By the time they had realized that no matter where he went within the realm, his father would be able to track him and that the only reason he had not done so already was that Baelfire had given him a story of visiting a few cities and towns before settling in to train with his father to someday take on his legacy and mantle of power - something Baelfire wanted nothing to do with in truth. Emma had magic herself, which had made her new friend anxious at first, but unlike his sire’s, hers was natural to her. She had been born with her gifts, and as such, they were pure, light, and good. The solution finally came to her, though both dreaded it as they had become rather attached to each other by then. She must send him to another realm entirely - one completely without magic - where his father could not locate him in order to follow.
She still remembered how he had shoved an only slightly trembling hand through his mussed brown hair and then given a resolute nod, knowing it was the only way. Emma had smiled wanly, nervous but also sure she could do it for this young man who had become her friend, who deserved a life of his own choosing. Reaching out to squeeze his hand she had whispered, “I hope you will be happy there,” then stepped back. She had closed her eyes, gathering all her reserves of focus and energy, hands outstretched as light began to emanate from them and envelope Bae in a glowing sort of halo. She concentrated on the ancient words she had studied in preparation and all the knowledge her tutors had ever imparted, and at last released her command. In a brilliant flash, Baelfire was gone. She had no way of truly knowing he had reached his destination, but a strong sense of satisfaction and peace inside her made Emma believe it had worked.
The Dark One’s retribution had been swift, bitter, and severe. She was not sure how he had determined who aided his son or what exactly had been done, but when he arrived at the foot of her parents’ throne in a cloud of red smoke, he had been certain his son was lost to him, and he meant to punish the one who had made the escape possible, or to raze the entire kingdom to the ground.
Even if she hadn’t already been determined to admit to her role when the time came, she would never have let such vengeance fall on her people in her stead. Emma had stepped forward even as her mother gasped in alarm and her father moved to draw his sword and join her. She had turned to face them, love brimming in her eyes along with her unshed tears. “It’s alright,” she had promised them, begging them to understand. “I did what I thought was right, and I will bear the consequences of my choice.”
That evil, maniacal cackle had been all she heard after that, returning to awareness only when she landed in this clearing she had now dwelt in alone for longer than she had known her home before. Oh, the Dark One had returned to gloat and explain just how alone she was, that her people had moved elsewhere, and the conditions of her particular curse - what would happen to anyone she might seek out to end her isolation. Then he too had vanished, though Emma feared he was always watching.
Wiping her useless tears away, she returned to the present and stood up, determined to stop mulling over a past and future she could not change. However, when she spun away from the water, she came face-to-face with that same handsome knight who had first pierced her miserable haze the day before.
A startled yelp of surprise escaped her, not having heard anyone approach. For a moment, seeing the very one who had been ruling her thoughts standing right beside her stole her breath. Stumbling backward, her hand clutched her chest as if to still her pounding heart.
Before she could react any further, the gallant man had reached out steadying hands to clasp her elbows and keep her from falling as her sudden reeling backward knocked her off balance. “Easy, there! I did not mean to startle you,” he tried to soothe in a calming voice.
She nodded, quickly straightening and drawing in a deep breath, intent on grounding herself once more. When she glanced up to meet his gaze from beneath lowered lashes, she even offered a sheepish smile.
His smile in return faltered when the knight got a good look at her face. Emma realized too late that the fresh tear tracks must still be evident and hurried to turn her head away. Roughly calloused fingered touched her chin with a gentleness and care that seemed impossible from one so strong, clearly honed for battle and living by his sword. “What is it, Milady?” he asked with a voice as silky and soothing as his touch only addling her further. “What ails you?”
“It’s n-nothing, Sir,” she murmured unconvincingly. Even to her own ears the reassurance sounded hollow and she wondered where all her grace had gone. “Nothing you need worry yourself over.”
“But you have been crying,” he pressed, forehead furrowed with concern, and thick, sooty brows drawn low over the troubled stormy blue of his eyes. “Are you hurt?”
Seeing it wisest not to trust her failing voice any further, Emma merely shook her head, not sure how else to convince him. What was he doing back here? Why did he even care? Had she already lured him without meaning to?
She shrugged out of his grasp as gently as possible, needing to get a bit of space between them as she retreated a few steps.
He followed her a step and reached out once more, beseeching, but he did not crowd her or attempt to touch her again. “Please, Lass,” he begged, “let me help you if I can.”
‘Oh, if only he could,’ her mind wished, her fingers itching to reach out and meet his, to feel contact with another again. Yet one more tear spilled silently from her eye and she shook her head furiously, cursing her own weakness. “There’s nothing you can do,” she sighed. “Please just go, while you are still able.”
He refused however to break eye contact, not moving an inch. Emma wasn’t sure how long she had before her thrall would begin to take him over, nor exactly what would happen if her curse began to trap and drain him of his own free will. She had managed so far not to see many people at all over the ages, and when she had, she had hidden until they were safely away. Never had she been drawn to someone enough to show herself - until him - and she still wasn’t sure why. Only that it had been folly to speak to him in the beginning, and she must convince him to leave her before it was too late.
Whether it was fear or a true delirious haze on his face, her heart caught in her throat when the knight responded resolutely. “I would normally strive to do just as a lady wishes. But I cannot leave you.”
Trembling, Emma searched his handsomely chiseled features, trying to discern if he was already bewitched, no longer under his own control, or if he were simply that selfless, unable to leave another in distress if it were within his power to lend comfort. She was not sure it mattered either way; she would not see him drained of will, vigor, and eventually life altogether. Such a valiant hero could not be sentenced either to following her as some mindless shade or to be a corpse littering the ground of the place she would no longer be able to abide living.
She raised her hand to push him back, to return him to the rest of the world and safety by magical force if she must. Refraining from using her magic for so long after what it had cost her, made her hesitant, but no less determined. Her lips had parted to utter the necessary words when he caught her hands again. Her fingers pressed back against her will, and she tried to steel herself despite the temptation.
“Please, wait,” his low croon attempted to comfort her as she squeezed her eyes shut, avoiding his beguiling gaze and her own fear of drawing him in further. “I won’t hurt you.”
Forcing herself to face him once more, she was almost taken in by temptation. He was so strong, so resolute, perhaps he could resist… But then she shook those thoughts clouding her judgement and her own longing away viciously. That was merely desperation and loneliness speaking. Sighing mournfully, she drew a deep breath and replied, “No, you wouldn’t. But I will hurt you.”
