#it envelops you. it draws you in. you breathe the clear shire air and the choking smog of mordor. you taste the bread and the wine. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kmomof4 · 4 years ago

Text

Of Darkness, Vampires, and Soulmates

Ch. 6 Of Soulmates

We’re back y’all!!! I am so glad that you enjoyed last weeks installment and I’m hoping that you’ll like this one just as much, if not even more!!! We have quite a bit throwing back to canon in this chapter and I so hope you enjoy it!!! Thank you all again for coming along on this journey with me! Words cannot express how much it truly means to me!!!

@profdanglaisstuff and @hollyethecurious both deserve every good thing and all the love I can possibly give for their invaluable assistance and input in the crafting of this story!!! I also want to express my appreciation to the ladies of the CSSNS and the CSMM discords for their encouragement and help with a title! And finally to @spartanguard for bringing this story to LIFE every single week!!! Real life got in the way this week, so the chapter art will be up tomorrow. But even so, my heart is so full, just know that I’ll never be able to adequately express how much your hard work on behalf of this story means to me! I am immensely grateful!!! Thank you all so much ladies!!! I couldn’t have done this without you!!!

Chapter summary: 19yrs after leaving Massachusetts, Emma returns to Killian.

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: 8751 of 41K total

Tags: Vampires, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Prophecy, Black Death, French Revolution, Magic, True Loves Kiss

Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag list: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @branlovestowrite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @nikkiemms @xsajx @klynn-stormz

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 6 Of Soulmates

19yrs later Emma Swan Fisher drove down the meandering gravel road that purported to lead to the address, and the man, written on the envelope tucked into her purse. Purported, because she had left the main road almost three minutes ago and there was still no sign of the house. She finally came around a bend and laid eyes on the… her jaw dropped, eyes nearly bugging out of her head. It was a mansion, there was no other word for it. She pulled into a courtyard in front of the most magnificent home she had ever seen. Realizing what she probably looked like, her jaw snapped shut. Being seen gaping like a fish wouldn’t exactly be the best first impression.

Climbing the stairs to the front porch, she could see into the house through the top half of the door. It was designed like a farmhouse window with wood mullions dividing the glass into smaller windows so that she could easily see in. The doorbell echoed as a tall, older gentleman came toward the door. She stepped back as she waited for him to answer.

He opened the door and a gasp left his lips. “Miss Emma?” Surprise colored his words and his face. She stepped back further in alarm at his question, nearly taking a tumble off the steps. He reached out, catching her before she could fall. He was clothed in black slacks and white shirt, open at the top with the sleeves rolled up. He was probably a little old to be sporting a mostly grey ponytail, she guessed him to be in his late 50’s, early 60’s.

“Do I know you?” she asked, regaining her balance. He still held on to her by the elbow and she had to stop herself from jerking away from him. He was only trying to help her.

He looked down and chuckled. “No,” he admitted, “I don’t expect you do, Miss. But I certainly remember you, although you were only a wee lass when last I saw you.” He looked back up at her with a broad smile. “I expect that you are here for Master Killian.”

“Uh, yes,” she agreed.

“Please come in, lass,” he invited, “I’m Starkey, his butler.” He held the door open for her and followed her into a bright, sunny room with floor to ceiling windows opposite letting in the late morning light. She followed him through several rooms, all sporting spectacular views of green lawns sloping down to the Atlantic, before he led her out to a screened-in porch, where she could just discern the waves breaking on the beach and the salty sea air wrapped around her like a blanket. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so beautiful and peaceful in all her life. “I’ll let Master Killian know that you’re here.”

“Thank you.” She nodded at him as he left the room. She was still stunned at the reception she had received when he had opened the door. It made the relationship that her mother must have had with this Killian Jones much more clear. If the butler knew who she was, and remembered her after all this time, they must have been very close, indeed. But if they were so close, why had Emma never heard of him? She knew, of course, that she had been born in Boston, and that the family had moved back to her mother’s birthplace in Minnesota when she was three. She’d been so young when they left Massachusetts, it never occurred to her to ask about their years there when she was growing up. She had a feeling though, that she was soon to get a crash course about that time of her life.

She couldn’t decide if she was dreading it or excited about the prospect.

Emma shook her head. It didn’t matter. She had come here today for one purpose. To hand deliver this letter, written by her recently deceased mother, to the closest friend she had ever had. She had been given this task just a few weeks before Ingrid died. Emma sighed. Those days had been a blur. Anna and Elsa returning home, home health nurses around the clock, being woken in the middle of the night with the news that the end was near, sobbing in her sisters’ arms after she was gone, taking care of legal affairs, it was a miracle that she remained sane. Once everything had calmed down, she knew she had to fulfill her promise. So here she was. Her past had no bearing on what she was here to do. It had no bearing on her future. She’d deliver the letter and leave, duty fulfilled.

Suddenly, Emma felt a familiar shiver race down her spine. It had been awhile since she’d felt it, but not so long that it was wholly unfamiliar. She had felt a similar shiver occasionally over the years when she’d visited Boston with her college friends on the weekends. Especially when they visited the North End. But now, the tingling she’d felt under her skin when she entered the gates of the estate, intensified into full body chills before coalescing around her heart and almost tugging her back toward the main house. She turned away from the view of the ocean back into the house, only to meet another vision in the form of the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on.

A myriad of emotions paraded themselves across his beautiful features. Relief, joy, sadness, excitement, something else that she wouldn’t name. He looked at her as someone would look at their greatest pride and joy, and dearest love all at once.

“Emma,” he breathed.

Emma stepped toward the man slowly, trying to bring her racing heartbeat under control. Her steps faltered slightly as she approached him, trying to catalog everything about his appearance. He was young. Way too young to be a close friend to her 57 year old mother. He didn’t look to be any older than she was. His black hair was gently mussed as if he had a habit of running his hands through it, black scruff with just a hint of ginger, the bluest eyes she’d ever seen (and given the blue eyes of her mother and sisters, that was saying a lot). He was dressed casually in jeans and a gray pullover that stretched enticingly across his chest and biceps. She couldn’t help but wonder at the strength of those muscles and how they’d feel underneath her hands. A shiver of desire ran through her that she promptly squashed. Whoa! Where did that come from? She ran her tongue across her lips as her eyes met his. The tightness in her chest subsided briefly but then intensified as she approached him. Along with the tightness, a wave of dizziness overcame her so suddenly that her knees buckled and she nearly fell at his feet before he caught her in his strong arms.

“Emma,” he cried, “Are you all right?” His clear concern for her well being took the edge off the embarrassment she felt showing that kind of weakness to a virtual stranger.

“Y- yes,” she stammered, “I’m fine. Thank you.” She clutched at his forearms as she gathered her legs back under her and attempted to stand.

“Here,” He lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the small table in the breakfast nook before setting her down on one of the chairs. “How about I make us some hot chocolate? See if we can’t get you feeling a bit better.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Hot chocolate would be great.”

A few minutes later, Emma watched as her host placed two hot chocolates with whipped cream and cinnamon on the small table and sat down opposite her.

“How did you know how I liked my hot chocolate,” she asked, with a small smile.

A sad smile crossed his face as he shrugged. “Lucky guess. This was how Ingrid liked to drink hers.”

Emma took a sip of her drink. “I’m so sorry about that, Mr. Jones,” she apologized, with a shake of her head.

He waved away her apology. “No need to apologize, lass. I’m just glad that your color is a little better now that you have some ‘elixir of the gods’ in you, as Ingrid used to call it. And please,” his penetrating blue gaze seemed to pierce to her very soul, “call me Killian.” She nodded, unable to look away from the intensity of his gaze.

“It’s been many years since you and your family left Massachusetts, Emma.” He looked into her eyes, hope and a shyness that she didn’t expect swirling in their depths. She couldn’t explain this unexpected draw to him, but she wanted to stick around and try to get to the bottom of the mystery connecting this man to her family. “How is your mom? Your sisters?”

Emma was brought back to the man before her with the mention of her mother. “Oh, I’d nearly forgotten,” she exclaimed, reaching into her purse with the letter. “That’s why I’m here.” She handed the envelope to him. “My mom asked me to hand deliver this to you.” She looked down and tried to swallow over the sudden lump in her throat. He gently took it from her and she heard the rip of him tearing it open.

She looked up when he’d been silent for several moments reading the letter in his hands. Sorrow sat upon his brow and his eyes were very red, as if he were trying to hold back tears. He folded it back up and laid it on the table between them.

“So Ingrid is dead,” he sighed.

“Yes.”

“When your family didn’t come back four years ago and there was no contact, I was afraid that something like this might have happened,” he murmured. “Tell me,” he pleaded.

The clear anguish and sorrow on his face nearly broke her heart anew. She couldn’t possibly refuse him this, no matter how much she wanted to question him.

“The uterine cancer won in the end,” she began, haltingly. “She was diagnosed just before Christmas of my senior year in high school, 2012. Being so close to the Mayo Clinic, she was able to be treated there.”

Killian nodded. “They’re the best at what they do. I’m glad they were able to treat her.”

“She went into remission just before Anna and I graduated. Anna got her degree in graphic design from the Minneapolis College of Art and Design and was planning a fall wedding, so,” she shrugged, “perfect timing.”

“Indeed.” His blue eyes bore into hers sending even more shivers of attraction down her spine that she felt helpless to stop.

“The type of cancer it was,” she continued, “we always knew there was a good chance of it coming back. We were planning on moving back here after I graduated, I was accepted to Harvard, but we decided that she should stay close to her doctors.” Killian nodded at her to continue. “She stayed healthy all through my years at Harvard, but…” here she faltered, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed again. “It came back. She told us the day after I graduated. She was dead three months later.”

Killian bowed his head in sorrow. “It’s taken this long for the estate to get settled and all the legal proceedings to wind up. I’m sorry.”

His head snapped back up again. “You have nothing to be sorry for, lass,” he choked out. “I’m glad you were able to come and give me the news in person, though. I wouldn’t have wanted to find out any other way.”

Emma could feel the blush rising on her face. “It was nothing,” she demurred, “I promised Mom.”

A few moments passed in silence before finally, Killian spoke. “Tell me about your sisters,” he encouraged. “Is Elsa still the quiet one?”

Emma laughed heartily. “As opposed to Anna? Yes! Absolutely!”

Killian chuckled. “I’ll never forget watching Anna learn to walk. She only walked for about a week and then she ran.” He chuckled again, shaking his head. “And never stopped.”

Emma laughed again. “That is still true. Anna is a bundle of energy. She surely needs it now...”

“Tell me about Elsa and Anna,” he repeated. “How are they?” Emma lightly shook her head, trying to focus on his question about her sisters instead of the obvious confusion surrounding his memory of her twenty-six year old sister.

“Elsa came home,” Emma began, “after Mom was first diagnosed. She took a job with the St. Paul Chamber of Commerce and has made such a difference in the business community since then, that she’s running for Mayor, and doing very well in the polls. She’s also dating a guy she met at some shindig last year.” She laughed as Killian’s face fell into a tight frown. He certainly had the disapproving Dad look nailed.

“Well, tell me about him,” he very nearly growled. Emma couldn’t hold back her grin. “His name is Jack Frost, owns his own, very popular, restaurant, he’s 30, and treats her like a queen.”

Killian relaxed. “As long as he treats her right, I have no objection,” he huffed. Emma couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her. Killian’s face broke into a sheepish grin as his face and ears turned red and he scratched behind his ear again. Doubtless he realized just how ridiculous he sounded. His slight bashfulness was adorable as well as the protective instincts he just displayed. “And what about Anna?”

“Anna and Kristoff welcomed their first child, Aggie, last summer. They named him after Anna’s father.” A soft smile broke over her face. “Here’s a picture of Ingrid holding him,” she continued, pulling out her phone. “He was born about a month before she died.”

His smile matched hers. “I’m glad she was able to see and hold him.”

The bittersweet moment ended when Emma put her phone back away. Killian looked back up at her. “He’s obviously taking after Anna,” she added. “He has two speeds. On and off. He just started walking.” She couldn’t stop her smile from widening as she thought about her nephew. She looked back over at Killian who sported an almost awed joy on his face. How had she been drawn in so quickly and easily to this man? A man she had grown up not even knowing of his existence, and had only finally met such a short time ago. She couldn’t believe how easy he was to talk to, to share intimate details of the lives of her family with.

“And now, what about yourself, lass? You said you attended Harvard?” he asked.

“Yes,” she smiled, proudly. “I studied Sociology with a concentration in Family and Adoption.” She could feel her cheeks heating up. “I’m thinking about going to law school so that I could specialize in adoptions.” She shrugged and looked away from him. “Given our family history…” she trailed away.

She looked back up at him to see his face split in the widest grin she had ever seen. “I don’t think I could be more proud of you,” he murmured. “That’s wonderful, Emma.”

She could feel the blush spreading again but she maintained eye contact with him, basking in his praise. Why was she so receptive to him? So willing to accept his admiration. She barely knew him!

She fixed him with a hard, confused stare. “Okay, now it’s my turn.” Killian scratched behind his ear in what she recognized as a nervous tic. Something wasn’t right here and physical attraction aside, she was determined to get to the bottom of it. “How exactly did you know my mom? She said that you were her best friend. You tell me stories of my twenty-six year old sister as a toddler. But you don’t look any older than I am.”

Killian chuckled and his ears turned red again as he took a sip of his drink. “I’m much older than I look, lass,” he admitted.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Descendant of Numenor, blessed with long life,” she sassed.

He chuckled again. “Not quite.”

“So how old are you?”

“I’m a lot older than I look.” He fixed her with just as hard a stare as she’d leveled at him. “Let’s just leave it at that. But believe me when I tell you, that not only was I Ingrid’s closest friend, she was also mine.”

His cerulean gaze spoke to the deepest part of her. She knew that he was telling her the truth. Emma prided herself on being able to tell when someone was lying. A sixth sense, so to speak, that was unfailingly accurate if someone was trying to feed her a load of bull. That sixth sense was eerily silent at his statements.

She nodded. “Okay.” She had no idea why she was backing down. Yes, he was telling her the truth, but he wasn’t telling her all of it. How could he be when he didn’t look as old as Anna was now, much less old enough to be such an intimate friend of her mother? She didn’t want to let him off the hook quite so easily, but the quickening of her heartbeat and the tug she felt toward him ever since seeing him for the first time only confirmed what everything else about this encounter pointed toward. The reception she had received, both from him and his butler, and his obvious love for her mother and knowledge of her sisters, all combined to tell her one thing. She was exactly where she belonged. She was home. She knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that she could trust this man in front of her. Knowing that was one thing, acting on it however, was quite another.

“Please,” she begged. “I do trust you. I just want to know your connection with my family.” She knew that she was treading on thin ice, pushing him on this, but she couldn’t help the natural curiosity and desire to put together the puzzle that had been presented her in this man.

“Perhaps that would be a better topic of conversation at a more… neutral location.” Her brow furrowed at his words. “I will answer all your questions. You have my word. I have a lunch appointment that I must depart for soon in order to make, but may I escort you to dinner this evening?”

Emma’s eyebrows jumped nearly to her hairline. “Are you asking me on a date? You just met me!” she exclaimed.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” He chuckled. “Then yes, I guess I am.” His face turned serious, his eyes burning into hers, sending her heart rate into a gallop. “Would you go out with me, Swan?”

“What did you say?” She felt the blood drain from her face. “Why did you call me that?”

Killian also paled. “It’s your middle name. Anna thought you should have it because of your birthmark.” Her hand rose to her neck where her birthmark was. “Ingrid told me on the day you were born.” He rose from the table and kneeled before her, holding out his hand. “Please, Emma,” he begged, “I know it seems crazy.”

“Yes, it does,” she exclaimed, standing to her feet, her heart galloping in her chest. “Much older than you look? Telling me about the day I was born and when Anna learned to walk? Do you know what you sound like?”

Killian looked down at the floor. “Like a madman, I’m sure.” He looked back up at her, his azure eyes pleading. “And if your face is telling me anything, you’re ready to run out my door and never come back.”

“How can you know that?” she whispered.

His eyes grew soft as they gazed into her own. “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, but you’re something of an open book.” He cocked his head to the side as he looked at her awaiting her answer. “Please give me a chance.”

She continued to stare at him, the two opposing voices in her head vying for dominance. The one telling her that it was too much, it was too soon, the mystery of the man in front of her didn’t matter. This, he, was dangerous and she would be well served to run as fast and as far away as she could. But the second voice spoke from her heart and told her what she already knew. She could trust him. She could look in his eyes and see how much he cared for her, how much he loved her. She didn’t understand how it was possible, but she knew that everything he had told her today was the truth. That piece of her heart, that she never knew she had until today, responded back to his. She placed her hand in his outstretched one.

Killian’s face rivaled the sun at noon as his fingers curled around her own. He rose to his feet before her. “Thank you, Swan.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed her knuckles with his lips, never taking his eyes off of hers. A gasp escaped her as her heart rate sped up even further with a flood of arousal coming over her. He turned her hand over in his own and closed his eyes as he seemed to inhale deeply, drawing his nose along the inside of her wrist. He held his breath for several seconds before slowly letting it out, his warm breath brushing along her skin and raising goosebumps in his wake. His eyes opened and met hers again. “Where may I pick you up this evening?”

Emma swallowed heavily, trying to will her heart rate to slow down. “I’m at The Harborside Inn.”

“I know exactly where it is,” he declared. “I’ll see you at 8.”

~*~*~

Emma opened the door after his knock rang through the cozy, comfortably furnished room. Her eyes widened in appreciation as her eyes landed on him standing on her threshold. He appeared to be equally speechless.

“You look stunning, Swan,” he breathed.

“I, uh…” He looked to be dressed all in black. From the dark silk shirt and waistcoat, showing just a peek of dark chest hair to the black jeans and boots on his feet. A black leather jacket completed the ensemble. The same tingling under her skin she felt earlier intensified into the full body chills and heart tug yet again as her eyes raked hungrily over him. “Thank you.”

His appearance made her doubly grateful that she had done some shopping that afternoon after leaving his estate. She had found a small boutique near her hotel and was helped by a perky blonde saleslady who helped her find the perfect dress and accessories for her date tonight. She wore a pink flowing number with cap sleeves and a v neckline paired with nude pumps while pulling her hair back into a high ponytail. If his widened eyes and shortness of breath were any indication, she did good.

He shook himself out of his apparent daze and held out his arm to her. “Shall we, milady?”

“We shall,” she replied, smiling and slipping her arm through his.

He led her downstairs and out the back toward the pier. Her eyes widened in surprise as they landed on a full sized ship that looked straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean. Killian preened beside her at her reaction. “Is that yours?” she asked, flabbergasted.

“She is, indeed,” he replied, proudly. “Behold, the Jolly Roger!”

She couldn’t wipe the shock off her face if she tried. She turned to him, mouth hanging open. “The Jolly Roger? Like from Peter Pan? Are you serious?”

He led her up the gangplank and down onto the deck of the ship. A chuckle escaped his lips and a delighted grin adorned his features as his eyes danced. “Peter Pan is my favorite book of all time. Although I’m definitely partial to Captain Hook. So, of course, I had to name her the Jolly Roger.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at him as he led her to the helm. “So, where are we going that it takes a ship to get there?”

Killian’s grin grew even more, if possible. “I got in touch with an old friend of mine this afternoon. He owns a restaurant on the other side of the island. Very upscale, very popular, reservation only. It’s booked solid for the next three years. Most of the menu changes daily according to what the fishermen bring in, but his lobster dishes are the best to be found in all of New England. He was very pleased to arrange an extra seating for us this evening.” Killian drew her into his side as he steered the ship away from the pier and out to the open water. “The Nautilus is right on the water and we can pull in right there and enjoy our meal.” His eyes sparkled in the moonlight as he looked down at her. She couldn’t suppress the shiver his gaze engendered as she returned his scrutiny. There it was again. The bone deep certainty that she was home. That at his side was where she was supposed to be. Her gaze drifted to his lips as his tongue peeked out between them. He cleared his throat, drawing her eyes back up to his. The hunger she saw there nearly took her breath away.

He looked back out over the water as the lights of Edgartown faded behind them. But she would have none of it. Throwing caution to the wind, she reached up and cupped his face in her hands and turned his face toward her again before drawing him into a kiss.

Killian groaned into her mouth as she opened in invitation. He gathered her to him even more tightly, her body lining up perfectly to his. Her earlier thought about how his muscles would feel under her hands came back to mind as her own hands wrapped around his biceps as their tongues tangled until she pulled away trying to catch her breath.

“That was…” Killian trailed away, his forehead resting on hers.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

~*~*~

“Killian!” an older bald man exclaimed striding towards them with his arm outstretched.

“Nemo!” Killian called out. Emma immediately mourned the loss of heat when Killian removed his hand from the small of her back to greet his friend. The men met halfway and clasped hands before pulling each other into an affectionate embrace. Emma couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie between them.

Killian led his friend back to where she stood. The genuine smile that lit up his features put her even more at ease at meeting someone who clearly meant a lot to him.

“Emma, I’d like you to meet Captain Nemo,” he introduced. Her face broke into a delighted grin to match his own. “Nemo, my old friend, this is Emma Fisher.” He shot her a bashful, almost apologetic look as Nemo took her hand in between his.

“It is so lovely to meet you, my dear,” he enthused, pumping her hand up and down. “When Killian called this afternoon, I was delighted to add one more seating to the evening.” He cut his eyes back toward Killian. “We’ve been friends a very long time, but it’s also been a very long time since I’ve seen him. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see this one again.”

“It’s very nice to meet you as well, Captain,” she replied. “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea is one of my favorite adventures from when I was a kid.”

Nemo beamed at her even more than he already was. “I’m so glad! It is also my favorite story. I very much identified with Captain Nemo for many, many years, before I met Killian in the course of my travels. It was his influence that turned me onto a better, nobler path.” Mirth and a bit of mischief could be seen in his eyes as he looked at Killian again.

Killian blushed and scratched behind his ear. The move was even more endearing now, in the presence of his friend, than it was earlier.

“But enough about that,” Nemo continued, “Let me show you to your table.” Killian’s hand returned to the small of her back as they followed Nemo through the large, but very intimate dining room. The low lights and ample space between tables, she could only see five, created an ambiance that sent a flutter of awareness down her spine as they followed their host into another, much smaller room. It contained a single table, set for two. Emma gasped at the loveliness of the setting. The small table was covered by a white tablecloth that fell to the floor. A tall, navy blue pillar candle in a hurricane lamp with a ring of yellow buttercups around the base adorned the center of the table. Killian came around her and held her chair out for her.

“So now you’re going to be a gentleman?” She smirked at him.

“I’m always a gentleman, Swan,” he cooed, his warm breath brushing the shell of her ear as she sat down. She sent him a small smile as he removed his jacket and seated himself across from her.

Their waiter approached to fill their water glasses. “What may I bring you to drink?” Nemo asked, stepping aside to give the waiter room.

“A bottle of the Premier Cru Les Vaillons 2015, if you please, sir,” Killian decided. He leaned over to her, whispering, “An excellent vintage for the lobster that’s being served tonight.” She nodded her acknowledgement before looking up at their host again.

“Excellent choice,” Nemo agreed. “I’ll get that right out to you and your meals will be out shortly.” Nemo and their waiter disappeared and she was finally able to direct her attention to her company for the evening. She could see the flickering yellow candlelight in his eyes that sparkled in the low lighting. His pupils dilated as he watched her, whether from the lighting or desire, she couldn’t tell.

His eyes grew dark when she lightly wet her lips. She returned his obvious admiration until Nemo returned with their wine. “Your Lobster Thermidor is being prepared as we speak,” he informed them as he poured their wine. “The lobster was harvested this very afternoon after I spoke with you, Killian. It will be served with a simple green salad topped with a light herb vinaigrette and couscous.” Nemo backed away and gave a slight bow to the couple. “It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Emma and I hope you both enjoy your evening here at the Nautilus.”

Killian smiled. “Thank you, my friend. I’m sure we will.” Nemo withdrew and left them alone.

Conversation was light as they waited for their meals. Ranging from favorite books and television shows to a quite vigorous debate on whether Peter Jackson’s Hobbit movies lived up to his Lord of the Rings saga. Casual and light touches did nothing to quell the simmering desire brought up by their earlier kiss. Aware of the desire in his eyes, and sending him a sultry smile back, she knew there was only one way she wanted the evening to end. Once their meals arrived, they both dug into the succulent dish accompanied, on her part, with moans of delight as she’d never tasted anything so delicious. Killian appeared spellbound as she swirled a piece of bread in the last of the creamy sauce left behind on her plate. She looked up at him and was gratified to see the desire in his eyes as she opened her mouth and laid the piece of bread on her tongue before closing her lips around her fingers and drawing them out of her mouth.

Normally, she wouldn’t be so bold as to play the blatant seductress, but the connection she had felt with him, even after she had left him earlier today, plus the effect of the wine was definitely playing a part in her attempts to flirt. He ran his tongue across his lips and a different kind of hunger colored his countenance before he seemed to shake himself out from under her spell. She couldn’t help the stab of disappointment she felt when he looked down at their table.

“Before this goes any further, Emma…” he looked up and his voice trailed away. The darkness of his eyes flashed blood red and a rage that she had only read about took over his visage.

Her sharp intake of breath and her face going pale snapped him out of whatever had overtaken him. He turned conciliatory and concerned eyes upon her. “Emma, are you all right?” He reached out and grabbed her hand with his own.

“Am I alright? What about you?” she asked. “What was that?” She turned to look behind her where the back of the restaurant was a glass wall looking out on the water. She could see nothing that might have incited the drastic change in her companion. “Your eyes went red and I’ve never seen anyone so angry as what I saw on your face just now.”

He shook his head. Not in denial, but in sorrow. “I’m sorry, Emma. I…” he looked back at her. “I promised to answer all your questions. I didn’t want to do it tonight, I was hoping to postpone that just for a little while. I just wanted us to have a fun evening, as a proper first date should be. A chance to get to know each other a little bit. Enjoy each other's company. But circumstances have changed enough that I see I’m going to have to answer all your questions tonight. And I can only hope that you’ll listen, believe, and not reject me. And what is between us.” He stared earnestly into her eyes, hope and trepidation mixing in his until she couldn’t discern which was stronger.

The connection she felt and the trust she had placed in him prompted her to nod her head at him to continue. But nothing could have prepared her for what came out of his mouth.

“You wanted to know what my connection was to your family.” She nodded. “You wanted to know how old I am.” She nodded again. He swallowed heavily. “I am a 450 year old vampire.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t make sense out of what she had just heard. “W-what?” she stammered.

“Please don’t make me say it out loud again.” He shut his eyes, his anguish etched across his face. “You heard exactly what I said.”

She shook her head. “Yes,” she agreed, “I heard what you said. But…”

“I told you that I was much older than I looked,” he interrupted, “and you said you believed me.” The pleading she saw in his eyes nearly undid her.

“Yes, I believed you. I have a thing about lies.” She shook her head again, trying to clear it, before dropping it into her propped up hands. “I can tell when someone is lying to me. And I know you weren’t.”

“Look at me, please, Emma,” he begged her. She lifted her head and looked into his earnest, forthright eyes. “Everything I will tell you is the truth. You have to trust me,” he pled.

“I trust you,” she whispered.

He nodded and took a deep breath, seemingly to gather himself. “In answer to your first question, my connection with your family is this. I met Ingrid when she was a child,” he began. Truth. “I saved her life when her parents were killed.” Truth. “I was a close friend and watched her grow up.” Truth. “I was there when she took custody of your sisters and when she adopted you.” Truth.

“I’m telling you all this now because the monster that made me what I am, is here. He’s here for you.” He looked at her again, pleading with her to believe him.

“Why me?”

“We are soulmates,” he asserted. “And we are prophesied to destroy him. Rumplestiltskin.”

She was speechless for a long moment.

“Rumplestiltskin?” she croaked, finally finding her voice. “As in Rumplestiltskin Rumplestiltskin? The fairy tale Rumplestiltskin?”

“All the fairy tales that you know and love, were, at one time, real. They happened to real people. Their true stories have largely been lost, but some still survive in some form. The true story of Rumplestiltskin is much more sinister than the fairy tale you know. He was the first vampire. Created by Darkness from the dawn of time. The baby from the fairy tale was my older brother, Liam. When my mother defeated him, he swore vengeance upon our family. He took that vengeance thirty years later. He murdered Liam, in front of me, and then made me what I am. It was then that I swore vengeance upon him.”

Her heart flooded with compassion for him. The pain of that loss lay plainly upon his brow. She reached out and threaded her fingers through his. He looked up at her, surprised. “I’m so sorry. It may have been hundreds of years ago, but it obviously still pains you.”

He gave her a small smile before looking down at their joined hands. “It does.” He squeezed her hand and ran his thumb along her knuckles. “But this helps.”

“Liam’s murder and my turning happened on the Jolly. In the captain's cabin. I couldn’t return home to my family, so I renamed the ship and became a pirate. In 1650, I found a prophecy in my log book. A prophecy concerning the destruction of Rumplestiltskin. The Blue Fairy, she was the fairy godmother to our family, wrote it. I found it then, but promptly forgot about it until almost sixteen years later. When I met my soulmate for the first time,” his blue eyes bored into hers, “Emma Swan.”

Emma gasped. “Me?”

“You,” he confirmed.

Emma’s head was spinning. As much as she believed him, she did, trying to wrap her mind around everything he had already told her was proving difficult. He was her soulmate. Her soulmate! Did soulmates even exist? Apparently they did, given the connection that she’d felt since she met him. She looked over at him, knowing that the trepidation she was feeling had to be written all over her face. He looked at her so earnestly, so hopeful, with so much love. As nervous as he obviously was to begin his story, none of those nerves were in evidence now. He had laid it all out for her and was waiting for her response.

“I…” she stammered.

“There’s more,” he continued.

Emma withdrew her hand from his to drop her face into them. “How much more,” she moaned.

“I can tell you more about yourself,” he admitted, “and your past, I can tell you more about what my life has been like. But if you’d rather I not, you’ve got the most important information. We can save all that for another time, if you prefer.”

She raised her head and waved her hands around. “Yeah, I think I’d appreciate that. Don’t think I’m ready at the moment for any more.”

Killian took one of her hands in his own again. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that our first date took this turn, Emma.”

Captain Nemo approached their table. “How did you enjoy your meal, my friends?” he boomed.

Emma turned to him somewhat startled only to catch a look of significance pass between the two men. “It was w-wonderful,” she stammered. “What?” she questioned, looking back and forth between them. Killian looked back at her, somewhat abashed.

“It’s nothing, Swan,” he contended.

Emma felt the indignation rise underneath her breastbone. She rose from her chair and placed her hands on the table. “Don’t lie to me. I told you I could tell when someone was lying to me.”

Killian’s face immediately fell in shame. “You are absolutely correct, Emma. I apologize.” He motioned back to her chair. “Please sit back down?”

Emma took a deep breath before murmuring her acceptance of his apology and returning to her seat.

“Nemo was relaying what we already knew.” Killian looked back at his friend. “That Rumplestiltskin is outside.”

Emma’s head whipped back to their host so quickly, she heard and felt a pop in her neck. “How do you know?” she asked, astonished.

“I told you, Swan, that he was an old friend.”

Emma turned overwhelmed and incredulous eyes back upon Killian. “Just how old are we talking here?”

Killian’s focus on her face never wavered as he lay yet another truth before her. “Nemo and I have been friends since we met for the first time toward the end of the nineteenth century. Nemo is the Captain Nemo that Jules Verne made famous, in a supposed work of fiction, in the early 1860’s.”

Emma could feel the panic rising up within her, making it hard to breathe. She shook her head again and rose once more. “I don’t think I can handle any more of this.” She could barely look at Killian, not wanting to see the disappointment she was sure was in his eyes. “Captain, would you be so kind as to call me a cab?” She spoke to the table again. “Killian, I can’t… I just can’t right now. Please, just leave me alone.” Pushing her emotions deep down, Emma turned from the table and walked as calmly as she could toward the front of the restaurant.

~*~*~

Nemo approached Killian, still sitting utterly forlorn at the table. “You’re not just going to sit there, are you?” he asked.

Killian looked up incredulously at his friend and rose from the table. “Bloody hell, of course not! With Rumplestiltskin out there? What do you take me for?”

Nemo chuckled. “Just making sure, my friend,” he said, clapping him on the back. “Your cab will be here in moments.”

Grim determination adorned his features. “Thank you, Nemo. I’ll not let anything happen to her. Not this time.”

“I know you won’t,” he replied. “That’s why I asked for two cabs to be sent when I called. I knew you wouldn’t want to let her out of your sight.”

Killian rose from the table and placed his hand on Nemo’s shoulder. “You surmised correctly, my friend.”

“She is still in the lobby, waiting for hers. As soon as they arrive, I’ll get her on her way, and then you can come out. I don’t imagine that she’d want to see you waiting as well.”

“I’d imagine not,” Killian conceded.

Nemo left then toward the front of the restaurant. Killian turned toward the glass wall. “I know you’re there,” he growled, “and you’re not going to get her. Not if I have anything to say about it.” His eyes flashed red, and he stormed out of the room.

~*~*~

Emma stood at the door to her room when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She had understandably felt anxious from the moment she had left The Nautilus. As much as she hated to admit it, she felt exposed and out from under Killian’s protection. She’d had to fight with herself to not rub her arms trying to will away the fear that licked under her skin. But now that fear was intensified for no apparent reason. She opened the door and entered the darkened room, closing and locking the door behind her.

That only made the goosebumps already along her skin tighten even further. The panic from earlier was making a reappearance as she made her way to the bed to turn on the lamp at the bedside table. She drew in a stuttered breath as the lamp cast its soft glow around the room.

A sound she’d never heard the likes of in all her born days drew her attention to the corner of the room. It was a giggle. Of course, she had heard a giggle before, but this was altogether different. It was a sound that she could imagine coming from a homicidal maniac on the big screen or from a creature released from the pits of hell to do what it pleased with the inhabitants of the earth. It was full of a depraved glee that shot waves of terror down her spine.

She turned toward the sound and beheld something that she couldn’t have conceived of in her worst nightmares. Green skin shimmered in the low light, lank hair lay hopelessly tangled around its face, but it was the eyes that forced the scream out of her mouth. At the same instant, the creature waved its hand towards her and the scream was cut off as if with the sharpest knife. She was frozen in place, unable to move as the creature moved deliberately towards her.

She should never have left Killian. It was one thing to listen to what he had to say. It was another to believe and trust him. But it was altogether different to see the things he spoke of alive and in person. At the time, it was a bridge too far to stay with him. And she was going to pay the ultimate price for her folly. She was about to die at the hands of this terrifying monster. Her frozen state notwithstanding, the terror and panic were about to steal her consciousness away. Red eyes and fangs were going to be the last things she ever saw. A lone tear tracked down her cheek. I’m sorry, Killian.

~*~*~

Killian arrived at Emma’s door with the Blue Fairy only to find it locked. The fairy closed her eyes, apparently trying to ascertain if there was any danger nearby. He knocked on the door.

“Emma, it’s Killian, darling,” he said, as he rattled the door knob in his hand. “Please let me in. I don’t want to leave you alone with Rumplestiltskin still out there.”

The Blue Fairy’s eyes flew open. “He’s in there!” she cried, “He’s in the room with her.”

That was all Killian needed to hear. He backed up and kicked the door in with all his might. His beloved was standing near her bed, frozen. Just as he had been all those years ago. His sire stood several feet away from her yet, not having had enough time to execute his foul plans. Killian rushed to Emma and gathered her frozen form in his arms.

“I’ve got you, my darling,” he crooned in her ear. “I won’t let him hurt you. Blue will take care of him for the moment.” He turned to where the two magical beings were locked in a fierce struggle. Dark and light magic sparked and crackled between the adversaries as they met in the center of the room.

Killian lifted Emma in his arms and called to the Blue Fairy as he ran out of the room. An inhuman howl of rage followed them out as the fairy shrunk down to her normal size and led them out the fire exit into the night. Once they were outside the building, she waved her wand over Emma’s frozen form. The enchantment that held her dissolved and she collapsed into Killian’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “I’m so sorry! I never should have left you!” She cried into his shoulder as he held her tightly against him.

“Shhh,” he crooned, stroking her hair. “Shhhhhhh. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Turning to the fairy who hovered a short distance away, he asked, “Can you transport us to the Jolly? It’s still at The Nautilus.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” she agreed. A cloud of blue smoke enveloped them and the next thing they knew they stood at the helm of the Jolly Roger. They looked into the restaurant where they had enjoyed a marvelous dinner only a short time before and saw Nemo standing at the window. His face was suffused with joy as he raised a hand to them in farewell.

~*~*~

Once they were out to sea, Emma knew they had over half an hour before they’d arrive back at Killian’s estate. She leaned on the gunwale and stared out at the moon and stars shining down on the gentle waves. The chill that pulled her toward Killian was ever present when he was near, but now, she knew he stood just behind her.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked.

“Aye, beautiful,” he murmured.

She couldn’t hold back her smirk. “Why do I have the feeling that you aren’t talking about the same thing I am?”

He mirrored her position against the gunwale and looked down at her. “Perhaps I’m not,” he agreed.

“I’m sorry for running,” she confessed, looking down at her clasped hands. “I just couldn’t…” she paused, searching for the right word, “deal… with everything you were telling me.”

“You’ve no need to apologize, Swan,” he demurred. “Laying all that on you at once, when our attachment was still so new… anyone would have reacted the same.”

“But I nearly lost you,” she began, “because of my foolishness. You almost lost me. If Rumplestiltskin had succeeded, I’d be dead right now and we wouldn’t be able to destroy him.”

Killian turned and gathered her into his arms. “Oh, my darling,” he whispered into her hair. “We are soulmates. Unbound by time. This is the fourth time you’ve lived, and if that monster had taken you again, you’d eventually be reborn again and we’d destroy him next time.” He continued to stroke her back and she could feel the last of the fear and anxiety at what had happened tonight leave her body. With a deep breath, she melted further into his embrace. He pulled back slightly until he could look into her eyes. “I’ve waited centuries for you, my love.” He pulled her back to him. ��And I would wait centuries more. I’d go to the end of the world for you. Or time.”

“What if you made me a vampire?” she speculated. She looked back up at him. He was already shaking his head. “Is that possible? Do you know how to do it?” She was starting to get excited. She plowed ahead, even in the face of his reluctance. “Then he couldn’t kill me. I’d be able to stay with you, but we could take our time and formulate a foolproof plan to destroy him, and when we were ready, we could bring the battle to him, instead of always being on the defensive.” She was rambling now, she knew it, but she had to convince him that her idea had merit.

“Emma, I could never inflict on you what was forced on me,” he began.

“But you wouldn’t be inflicting it on me,” she interrupted. “I’m willingly asking for it. Think about it. Please, think about it. Promise me that you will. This will work. If you agree.”

The pleading desperation in her eyes was his undoing. Killian sighed. “I don’t need to think about it,” he acknowledged. “You’re right. Making you a vampire, like me, would give us the greatest weapon available to us, time. And protection for you that in 350 years, I’ve been unable to provide. The night you and your family left Massachusetts, he was waiting for me in my kitchen when I arrived home, holding Starkey captive. I was able to subdue him that night because actions I had taken years beforehand had finally given me the advantage in our strange, centuries long relationship. When that was over, Blue gave me a vision of how to destroy him. But that doesn’t mean that it will be easy, nor that we’d be ready to try it in the near future.” He breathed deeply and released a long, slow exhale. “When we get home, I’ll show you to your room and I want you to really think about this. To really deal with everything you’ve learned tonight. You needn’t fear him breaching our sanctuary. That night, before she left, Blue placed magical barriers around the estate and the Jolly that prevents him from entering.”

Emma rested her head back on his chest, her soul enveloped in peace. Peace only he could give. The peace that came from finding her soulmate. The one she was destined to be with. The one that she would remain with. Forever.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing!

#cssns20 #of darkness vampires and soulmates #krystal writes #art by spartanguard #ch6

52 notes · View notes

unpeumacabre · 6 years ago

Text

better an ugly face than an ugly mind

"What an absurdly ugly little creature, Thorin thought, when first he laid eyes on Master Bilbo Baggins."

ie the one where thorin thinks bilbo is ugly, bilbo thinks thorin is quite possibly the handsomest thing he's ever seen, but by dwarven standards, thorin is positively hideous (and he knows it too). but they both know looks aren't everything, so they fall in love. happy ending ensues.

Rating: Teen And Up

Relationships: Bilbo/Thorin, Bofur/Nori hinted at

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr messes up the formatting)

Count: 6k

What an absurdly ugly little creature, Thorin thought, when first he laid eyes on Master Bilbo Baggins.

Although Ered Luin was in close proximity to the Shire, Thorin himself had had little to do with its curious inhabitants. Trade with the halflings had been a matter handled mostly by Balin and the other advisors of Thorin’s Halls. Furthermore, the complete lack of interest on the halflings’ part regarding weapons and gemstones - the chief export of the Ered Luin settlement - meant that the dwarrows’ interactions with the halflings were few and far between.

This meant that it was the first time he’d had the chance of scrutinising a halfling up close - and, in his opinion, the halfling was sorely lacking in every way. Beardless, bootless, and with that horrendously-bright patchwork dressing gown, Master Baggins was truly a preposterously facetious sight. As Thorin stood in the doorway of the hobbit’s hole, hunching slightly to keep his head from brushing the top of the doorway, he cast his eyes over the halfling contemptuously. There was little indication of any muscle whatsoever on his portly body, and his clothes stretched casually over a plump and obviously well-loved stomach.

While dwarrows themselves did value a broad, thick waist, and scoffed at thinness - too like to the stretched out, twiggy bodies of those blasted tree-shaggers - the halfling’s plump body was clearly unsuited to the rigours that their journey would demand. Coupled with his bare, beardless face, and the outrageously-short curls cropped close to the lines of his face, Thorin considered the halfling rather ugly indeed.

But then again, Thorin knew that he himself was hardly the epitome of dwarven beauty either, so looks were of little matter to him. Especially since his was a quest to reclaim a mountain, and not to surround himself with specimens of beauty. Having the Ri brothers on the quest was enough - having further beauteous figures on the quest would likely draw too much unwelcome attention from unsavoury quarters.

Rather, over the course of the dinner, Thorin found himself focusing not on the halfling’s unusual ugliness, but on his complete lack of qualifiable skills and the fortitude needed to partake in an adventure. Clearly, he thought disdainfully, Tharkûn had erred in his estimation of the halfling, and they would have to make do with thirteen to carry out their expedition.

When they left the hobbit’s hole, Master Baggins having slipped into deep slumber sometime between the third and fourth stanza of The Song of Durin, Thorin’s sister-sons slipped easily into step beside him.

“What did you think of the hobbit?” Fíli asked, his eyes bright with mischief. “A curious creature, is he not?”

“What he lacks on his chin he more than makes up for on his feet!” crowed Kíli. “Did you see his feet? So disproportionately big and hairy as to be absolutely adorable!”

Tired of their inane words, and already heavily weighed down by the refusal of his kin to aid their quest, Thorin scowled and snapped, “An uncommonly unsightly creature is Master Baggins, I thought. And so clearly unsuited to our quest as to be absurd.” He punctuated the last few words with an glare at Tharkûn, who just puffed at his pipe with that disarming twinkle in his eye.

“He was odd-looking, that’s for sure,” agreed Kíli, “but adorable nonetheless. Did you notice how he wrinkled his nose when he was annoyed with us throwing the dishes around? He reminds me of that bunny Fee used to play with when he was supposed to be doing his lessons - oops!” Fíli tackled him and the two of them fell to the ground, tussling. Thorin sighed and bent over, gripping a ear in each hand in a practised motion. “Behave,” he said sternly, and that was the end of that.

It was an immense surprise to Thorin, and likely the rest of the company, when Master Baggins turned up the next morning, running as if his life depended on it, and brandishing the signed contract in one hand. Of course Thorin had done nothing as undignified as betting on the outcome of the halfling’s decision (but privately he thanked Mahal that he had abstained, because he would have lost quite a large sum of coin on the outcome).

It became a rather consistent pattern, Master Baggins surprising him. His bravery in the face of the mountain trolls, the orcs and wargs, and his unexpected escape from Goblintown without a scratch, had completely flummoxed Thorin. Could he truly have made such an error in his initial judgement of the halfling, that he had not seen the core of courage that existed in Master Baggins’ heart?

Things came to a head after the incidents that led to their rescue by the eagles. Upon waking - and being thoroughly disoriented by the utter closeness of Tharkûn’s wrinkly face to his - Thorin’s immediate thought had been for the hobbit. His last memory of the battle with Azog had been of an orc-axe lifting high in the air, coming down with deadly force, and then of that portly, miniscule body hurling itself wholeheartedly at the orc who would have been Thorin’s end. If the halfling had perished because of Thorin’s idiocy - if he had paid the price for Thorin’s pride - it shocked him how fierce the wave of anger and self-loathing that hit him upon that thought was. Clearly it was as he had earlier suspected: that he had severely underestimated the calibre of Master Bilbo Baggins.

“The halfling?” he asked, urgently.

Tharkûn smiled. “It’s alright,” he said, and his voice thrummed with relief. “Bilbo is here.”

Thorin struggled to his feet, impatiently pushing aside Fíli and Kíli’s hands as they tried to hold him down. There were spots at the edge of his vision, and he could feel the telltale agony in his chest that told him of more than one broken rib, but in his mind there was only one goal - to look upon the halfling with his own eyes, and assure himself that the wizard spoke true.

Master Baggins did indeed stand in front of him, looking little the worse for wear apart from a scuff on his cheek and the dirt staining the burgundy waistcoat. His smile was one of relief, and it dimly crossed Thorin’s mind that his bright eyes were of a lovely brown shade that Thorin had failed to notice in his previous disdain of the burglar.

But at the moment, Thorin could feel nothing but the swell of emotion in his chest. He was hardly aware of the words that spilled from his lips, hardly aware of how callous and angered the words sounded, the end of his tirade already clear in his mind, but as he uttered “I have never been so wrong in all my life”, he did the only thing he could do - he enveloped the burglar in his arms.

Vaguely he noted the rest of his Company cheering in the background, but their voices sounded muted, as if passing through a thick veil. Thorin could concentrate only on the hobbit’s arms hesitantly lifting to wrap around his shoulders, could feel only his soft breaths on the side of Thorin’s neck. He was strangely soft, and the feeling of pressing him into Thorin’s chest was oddly comforting. In his hair Thorin could smell smoke and leaves, and the faint scent of flowers, likely from the last time they had bathed, in Rivendell. It was with great reluctance that finally he pulled himself away from the hobbit’s embrace, and it was only the nervous titters from the Company behind him that forced him to do so at last.

Gripping Master Baggins’ shoulders tightly in his arms, Thorin smiled at him, feeling the long-unused muscles of his face twinge. Never before had he seen such a radiant and beautiful sight, even if it was framed not by a thick beard, as Thorin was used to, or suffused with the ruddy colour that painted many a dwarrow’s cheeks. Indeed, the burglar fairly glowed, against the backdrop of the sunrise, with Erebor rising out of the horizon behind his back.

With the warmth of Master Baggins’ skin under his hands, and the Lonely Mountain - their home - in his sight, Thorin was in a very, very good mood indeed.

“Well, there’s always the Ri brothers…”

Thorin started as the sound of voices came around the corner, passing quite close to the rock beside which he had chosen to smoke his pipe. He could recognise the good-natured, reedy voice of Bofur speaking to a companion, and was about to make himself known so that he could leave the two alone to their conversation when abruptly he realised to whom Bofur was speaking. The sharp cadence of Master Baggins could hardly be mistaken for that of another, after all.

Later, when he thought back on this encounter, Thorin wouldn’t be able to explain why he hadn’t just revealed himself and left promptly, instead of intruding on what was clearly a private conference, but intrude he did, and quite without hesitation. Something about the burglar just called to him, and compelled him to remain hidden behind the rock that conveniently hid him from the two companions.

“What about the Ri brothers?” the burglar asked, with that quirk in his voice that indicated he was cocking his head with curiosity.

“They’re absolutely gorgeous, aren’t they?” Bofur said, his tone wistful. “Dori’s got that wonderful silver hair, and he braids it so beautifully too. Ori’s got his mother’s looks, and she was a right beauty, she was. And Nori… oh, Nori. I could go on about his hair and his lovely eyebrows for days. Rest of the Company’s a little shabbier-lookin’, if you take my meaning.”

Master Baggins coughed. “Ah… except for Thorin, right?” he asked, and Thorin started at the mention of his name.

There was a long pause, then Bofur’s voice came again, this time more hesitant and lacking its usual alacrity. “Thorin… I don’t rightly know what you mean by that, Bilbo,” he murmured, the words almost indistinct, and Thorin felt a brief surge of jealousy thrum through him as he realised that Bofur was clearly intimate enough with the burglar to address him by his first name.

“Well, Thorin’s quite good-looking too, isn’t he?” Master Baggins said, his voice thoughtful. “And his royal blood… I imagine he’s quite the catch among your people.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Bofur in reply, his voice hushed. “Good-looking? Thorin? Why, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him called that, I reckon. And his status as Durin’s blood doesn’t do him any good nowadays, what with the whole business with Smaug, and all. Being a crownless king doesn’t bring the dwarrows and dwarrowdams swarmin’ to him, you know.”

“Thorin, ugly?” the hobbit laughed, and he sounded genuinely confused. “I thought him rather a stately figure, myself - that is to say, not that I was looking - “ A flustered edge entered his voice, but Bofur’s voice was kind when he replied.

“Oh… I’d never considered how different a hobbit might see things. He’s got a royal bearing, you’ve got to give him that... and he could inspire any dwarf to follow him to the edge of the earth, aye. But his features are too sharp, y’see, with the Durin nose and all, more like a Man than a good, round-faced dwarf. He’s far too thin for many dams’ tastes, although Durin’s folk are all on the skinny side nowadays, what with the nomadic lifestyle and all. And that shorn beard doesn’t do him any favours. We dwarrows often judge a dwarf by the beauty and length of his beard, as you know.

‘When Thorin sheared it in honour of the dwarrows who fell when Erebor was taken… well, there were many who said it was the right thing to do, it’s true, but there were just as many idiots who said it was the only thing he could have done to render himself even more hideous.”

Thorin took a long pull of his pipe as he listened to Bofur’s monologue. The sentiments expressed were common ones, whispered behind pillars in the halls of Ered Luin by dwarrows unknowing of his proximity. He’d accepted long ago that he’d never be a great beauty like Frerin was - had been, he had to remind himself, and pretended that the thought didn’t still bring the sting of tears to his eyes - and Dís had done well enough for herself, hadn’t she, looking the way she did? Dwarrows should be judged on their character, and not their looks, he opined. He had done his best by his people, and that was all the legacy he wished to leave. Thoughts of romance had hardly crossed his mind, after all, even before Erebor had fallen, so he saw no reason to brood over his lack of attractiveness.

So Bofur’s words failed to surprise him, but Master Baggins’ response did.

“But… that’s absurd,” exclaimed Master Baggins in a louder voice, with unexpected anger. “He’s their king! They shouldn’t say such things about him. And after he saved his people, too.”

Bofur gave a wry chuckle, and there was a soft thud, as if he had lain back on the grass of their little hillock. “That’s true. Looks don’t matter to our Company, as well they shouldn’t, to any dwarrow worth his salt. I mean, look at me, looking the way I do. I can’t talk, can I?”

“I think you look very handsome!” the hobbit said indignantly. “Your moustache is a work of art. Why, I remember old cousin Took trying to grow a moustache just like yours, and even after twenty years he’s hardly come close to a moustache even half the calibre of yours!”

Bofur’s laugh had a melancholy edge to it, and Thorin heard the rhythmic scraping noises that indicated he had returned to the woodcarving that was a pastime of his, on their journey. “Be that as it may, I’m no great beauty among the dwarrows, and less so Bifur and Bombur and the rest of the dwarrows. Bombur’s just lucky he found his One in a dwarrowdam with her stomach larger than her eyes!”

Deciding he’d heard enough, Thorin stood and slipped away. The last he heard of the conversation was the hobbit’s stubborn voice, exclaiming heatedly: “Love is about more than just looks, anyway! And, by the way, I think Thorin looks very nice indeed…”

It was difficult getting used to living on the road again, after the luxuries afforded by their brief respite at Beorn’s home, but eventually they settled back into the rhythm of insufficient meals and hurried baths taken from their waterskins and bathing cloths. When they found the river running through the woods, slow-running and yet wide enough to afford multiple bathers, Thorin thanked Mahal for his blessing, and followed the rest of the Company into the river.

Fíli and Kíli were far less discreet, of course, and Thorin smiled indulgently at their youthful exuberance. Stripping off their garments and diving into the river with loud whoops of excitement, the rest of the Company were soon splashed sodding wet, if they hadn’t already taken off their clothes and followed suit into the river. The wizard was nowhere to be seen, having wandered off to take a smoke and do who knew what wizards did in their private moments.

Thorin pulled off his fur coat, armor and underthings, folding and placing them neatly on a stone shelf nearby. Despite his apparel having previously been stained by blood and other bodily fluids from their clashes with the orc-kind, the sheep of Beorn’s house had diligently washed out the stains from his beloved furs and underthings. A good thing seeing as how he had brought few clothes on this journey, and the furs had been dearly bought from men in Bree.

By the time he was finished and joined the rest of the dwarrows in the river, the Company were bathing and frolicking in earnest, with Kíli fighting to hold his brother’s head under the water and getting splashed violently for his efforts. Dori was studiously scrubbing through Ori’s hair to remove the flecks of dirt from their journey, Bofur singing a bawdy bar ditty as he scrubbed at his underarms, and Dwalin bathing himself with military speed and precision. The sounds of their antics filled Thorin with a raw, aching contentment. Seeing the members of his Company - who had grown greatly dear to him, over the course of their journey - so gay and spirited reminded him of the great love he bore his people, and the melancholy thought that it would take a great deal of luck for all members of the expedition to survive their mission to the mountain.

He undid his braids and soaked them in the river water, which ran clear and cold against his bare skin. Carefully, he removed the beads braided into his hair, and placed them on the grassy banks of the river. Conscious of time running swiftly past them, he did not take his usual luxuries, cursorily washing away the grime and sweat from his hair and skin, cleaning his unmentionables, and washing out the various scratches and abrasions from their travels.

Only when he heard Fíli and Kíli’s raised voices did he look up, and return his attention to his companions. He was startled when he realised that the burglar was as yet still clothed, and further, that his sister-sons had seized each of the hobbit’s arms, and were steadily dragging him into the water.

“Three months we have journeyed with you,” cried Kíli, “and yet we know nothing of hobbit biology!”

“Seeing as you’re our brother-in-arms, it’s a crying shame, Mister Boggins,” added Fíli, his voice quieter, yet no less mischievous.

“Show us your hobbit sword, eh, lad?” called Nori.

“Aye, and he’s not talking about your elvish letter opener either,” added Bofur, triggering a spate of sniggers from the rest of the Company.

While Thorin recognised that his dwarrows meant no harm, and were merely teasing Master Baggins in their good-natured, ribald way, he did not miss how the hobbit’s face was flushed with embarrassment, and his brows descending thunderously down over his eyes. Thorin suddenly recalled that, each time they had bathed, the burglar had kept himself apart, preferring to conduct his ablutions with strict privacy. Furthermore, in contrast to the large communal baths of Erebor and Ered Luin, hobbits clearly did not share baths, as evidenced by the single bathtub Thorin had observed in Bag End. It was yet another cultural difference, and an example of the absurd customs the hobbits referred to as respectability, but Master Baggins was obviously uncomfortable with the notion of bathing in public even with his dwarrow friends - and if only the rest of the Company could only pull their heads out of their arses and notice that as well!

The decision to take action was an easy one. Master Baggins had a fearsome temper when roused. Additionally, Thorin had no wish for any of his Company to embarrass the hobbit in such a manner, not when he deserved respect from every single one of them. He heaved himself out of the water where he had been seated, and strode to the river bank where Fíli and Kíli had almost managed to drag the hobbit into the water.

“Enough,” Thorin rumbled, and that was sufficient to freeze the three of them, dwarrows and hobbit alike, where they stood.

Casting a fierce glare on his nephews, Thorin continued, “If you must insist on comporting yourself like insolent little beardlings, and not like the heirs of Durin that you are, you may continue to do so, but leave Master Baggins out of it. He does not want any part in your games.”

There was a shocked silence for a few moments. Thorin regarded Kíli, and especially Fíli, with a stern look in his eyes. Kíli he could excuse, for his youth, but Fíli, as the direct heir to the throne… He ought to know better, and he knew it, too.

Then the two released Master Baggins’ arms as if they had been scalded. Master Baggins wobbled a bit, as if put off balance by the sudden loss of support from the two arms pulling him towards the river, then he righted himself. When Thorin was sure he was steady on his feet, he turned to his sister-sons with one eyebrow raised.

After a few beats of further silence:

“Sorry Mister Boggins,” they chorused, their eyes kept low in shame.

Only then did Thorin dismiss them, clapping his hands on their shoulders as they returned to the river, to show he forgave them and granted them permission to return to their earlier exuberances. It was a significantly dourer pair of brothers who returned to the water and resumed their ablutions, and a significantly quieter Company of dwarrows who continued with their washing up.

Thorin returned his attention to the hobbit, stepping closer so that his words might not be heard by the others of the Company. The water lapped at his ankles as he approached the hobbit, and he ignored the cold breeze as it bit at his naked skin.

The burglar seemed to have some trouble meeting his eyes, and Thorin noted that there was a rather comely flush painting his cheeks and his neck. Why, without a beard in the way, it was easy to see how the hobbit’s blush extended all the way down to his chest! One advantage, Thorin supposed, of being beardless, and he had to admit, it was a rather attractive flush, after all.

“They meant no offence,” he rumbled, once he was close enough to the burglar for his words to pass unheard. Master Baggins took what seemed like an involuntary step back, but Thorin dismissed his discomfort. “All of them. They meant only to tease you.”

“I know that,” the hobbit muttered, ducking his head, rubbing nervously at the back of his head. Thorin suddenly noticed that the splashes from the other dwarrows had rendered his trousers sopping wet. The brown curls atop his large feet were matted from dirt and grime, and there were twigs in his hair.

“Come,” Thorin said gruffly. Master Baggins’ head whipped up, his eyes startled. Thorin beckoned to him, nodding towards a spot in the river conveniently shielded from the rest by a large rock formation rising out of the riverbed. “You may bathe in private there.”

“Oh. Thanks.” The hobbit shook his head vigorously and hurried off behind the rock to bathe. Thorin watched him until he was sure that there was no danger threatening the burglar, before he returned to his spot to bathe and observe the rest of his dwarrows, who had returned to their previous shenanigans. Fíli and Kíli had started a water battle with Nori and Bofur, and were attempting to drag Ori into their mischiefs.

Thorin settled back into his spot and resumed his washing up, glad that he had not permanently extinguished the high spirits of his nephews. While they were often excessively irrepressible, and often in a way that did not befit their status as heirs of Durin’s line, he could not begrudge them their youthful ebullience and mischief, not when they had had hard lives spent homeless and on the road. There would be time plenty enough for them to learn courtly manners and how to comport themselves in a royal setting, when… if… they reclaimed Erebor, in the end.

Now, as for Master Baggins… Thorin concealed a fond smile in his beard. It seemed like the hobbit had lost his buttons some time during their adventure. His lovely burgundy waistcoat had gaped open to reveal how his shirt had curved around the hobbit’s snug, rounded stomach, and Thorin could not help but wonder…

That night the Company ate well, for Beorn had provided them with sufficient bread and salted meats to last them at least till they reached the Mirkwood. In fact, the dwarrows were clearly in a good mood, with Bofur pulling out his clarinet to start the beginning chords of A Merry Inn. Dwalin whipped out his violin, Bombur his drums, and the rest quickly followed suit.

Thorin sat beside the fire, a little removed from the rest, smiling at their merry voices raised in song and the stamping of their feet. He idly sharpened Orcrist against his whetstone, his fingers running absently over the pommel of the sword.

“You’re not joining in?” said Master Baggins suddenly beside him, and Thorin startled. He coughed to cover his brief loss of composure, looking at the burglar from under furrowed brows as Master Baggins settled comfortably down next to him, sitting rather closer than Thorin would have expected.

The hobbit looked expectantly at him, then Thorin realised he’d been asked a question. He coughed again, and answered. “No,” he said, voice husky, “I was sharpening my sword.”

“That’s a shame,” Master Baggins said, smiling a rather sweet smile. “I did enjoy when you sang that lovely song in Bag End. If you’ll teach me how to clean your sword, I’ll do it while you join in the music.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Thorin bit his lip. He cast his eyes over the hobbit. Master Baggins had displayed the bravery sought as an attractive virtue by dwarrows, having saved Thorin’s life once already. And Thorin had to admit, his opinion of the hobbit’s looks had changed over the course of the journey. He did have rather a fetching mouth, plump lips and all. And his eyes were warm, and brown, and twinkling with a light of mischief. And that strangely-beardless face, rendering him a youthful face surpassing even that of a beardling of five years, had a curious appeal. Without the beard, indeed, it was easy to observe that the hobbit’s skin was soft and most comely…

But what was he thinking? It was hardly a good time to engage in a courtship, not when the end of their quest was marked with such danger! Indeed, Thorin marvelled the gall of the halfling, to suggest such a thing.

“You are most attractive, Master Baggins,” Thorin said stiffly in answer. “But I am afraid that there will be no courtship for me, not until Erebor is reclaimed at least. I beg your pardon.”

The hobbit gaped at him, not unattractively, Thorin thought to himself. Then he snapped his mouth shut, and started to laugh.

“Courtship? You ridiculous dwarf!” he said, grinning. “I suppose it’s some dwarven custom that I’ve overlooked, mm? I meant nothing of the sort. I simply wanted to hear your voice join in the singing, and thought to relieve you of your duty, that you might indulge a foolish old hobbit in his request.”

“Ah,” Thorin said eloquently. Then he flushed, thankful at least that his beard covered the blush that he knew unattractively mottled his skin.

Without waiting further, Master Baggins gestured at Orcrist, and wordlessly Thorin handed over his whetstone and the elven sword. He picked up the skill fairly quickly, and after a few minutes he was confidently sharpening the blade against the whetstone with slow, steady strokes.

“By the way,” the hobbit said, and his voice was suddenly soft, unsure. “You may call me Bilbo. That’s my name, after all. No need to stand on ceremony, not when we’ve saved each others’ lives a few times already.”

Thorin nodded, struck dumb. It seemed to him strange that Bilbo could, with so few words, so easily disarm him. While he had never been overly voluble a speaker, it was infrequent that he found himself at a loss for words, and he marvelled at how effortlessly the burglar could cause the words to be stuck in his throat.

“Bilbo,” he said, trying the word out on his tongue. The hobbit paused in his sharpening, and smiled at him. Thorin hesitated, then returned his smile. “You may call me Thorin as well, Master Burglar. You are right. It is foolish to care for the rules of propriety when we have been through so much together.”

If anything, his words made Bilbo’s smile grow even larger and more blinding. It fairly lit up his face, and again Thorin noted that the hobbit had a lovely mouth. He wondered what it would be like to feel…

Well. It was obvious Thorin no longer thought the hobbit as ugly as he had initially thought.

“I didn’t thank you earlier,” Bilbo continued babbling on. “It’s remarkably different, hobbit and dwarf culture, isn’t it? If only Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had come. Ha! I’d have liked to see the look on her face when she saw the thirteen of you bathing in the stream, stark naked as the day you were born. It’d have given her a right shock. Maybe she’d have keeled over straight and saved the rest of us much grief!”

Thorin grunted, unsure what to say in reply. He knew nothing of this Lobelia the hobbit spoke of. She sounded like a right harridan, indeed, if the look on Bilbo’s face as he spoke of her said anything.

“And Fíli! and Kíli! They’re good boys, but sometimes they enrage me,” Bilbo huffed. “I saw far too much of their dwarf long-swords this afternoon, if you take my meaning, and after I’d been trying my best to avoid an eyeful this whole time!”

The unexpected crudity from the hobbit startled a laugh out of Thorin, and he pressed his hand to his mouth to avoid the sound of his laughter attracted unwanted attention from the rest of the Company. Bilbo cast him a quick look, the edges of his mouth quirking upwards as if pleased at having stolen a laugh from Thorin. Then his mouth twisted in a pout, and he lifted a finger to waggle it reprovingly in Thorin’s direction.

“Now don’t you be going and thinking I’ve forgotten about what you promised!” he said, sternly. “You promised me a song if I sharpened your sword, didn’t you? Now get going. They’re expecting a good performance, you know.”

Thorin now became aware that the rest of the Company had finished their song, and were now looking expectantly at him and Bilbo, perched on their seats away from the fireside. At the hobbit’s words, Fíli and Kíli bobbed their heads vigorously, and the rest of the dwarrows began cheering.

It was difficult for Thorin to conceal his smile this time, but he rolled his eyes and stood up magnanimously. His harp was thrust into his hands by Dwalin, and he proceeded to give as a good a rendition of The Lay of Ginna as he had in him. While his voice did not best fit the bawdy drinking songs appropriate for fireside revels, it was good enough, and the rest of the dwarrows raised their voices in accompaniment to the jaunty tune. Even Tharkûn was persuaded to do a little jig in honour of the ditty’s titular dwarrowdam, and they laughed uproariously at Bofur’s attempts to do an incongruous waltz with Nori.

As Thorin glided his fingers across the strings of his harp, and basked in the heady contentment of his beloved dwarrows making merry around him, he looked up, and met the eyes of the burglar. Bilbo sat with Orcrist in his lap, his eyes fixed on Thorin, his fingers stilled from their task. As their gazes met, Bilbo started, and bent his attention to his duty once again.

Thorin could not say what kept his eyes trained on the hobbit and his work. It was something about the way the hobbit’s fingers curled, strong and sure, about the handle of the blade, how his bared toes twitched and curled as they sought the warmth of the fire, how the unruly curls of his hair - as undwarvish as undwarvish could get! - brushed against the skin of his neck and curled temptingly around the pointed tip of his ear. It made such a homely, comforting picture, that Thorin felt something warm uncurl in his chest.

Bilbo lifted his eyes and met his gaze again, and this time their eyes held. Then he grinned, one of those disarmingly-endearing smiles of his.

No, Thorin decided, Bilbo was very definitely not ugly at all.

“You know,” Thorin said, as he lay on his back huffing and puffing from their exertions, while Bilbo ran his fingers carelessly through the thick curls on Thorin’s chest, “I really considered you quite uncommonly ugly when first we met.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up, and his fingers stilled in their actions. Thorin had a brief split-second to regret his words - he’d never been known for his tact, after all, something Dís had taken great pleasure in tormenting him about - when Bilbo let out a very undignified snort.

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste, I suppose,” Bilbo sniffed. “I’ll have you know I’m considered rather an attractive catch in the Shire.”

Thorin propped himself back up on his elbows, suddenly feeling the need to bare his feelings to the hobbit.

“You see, you’re rather odd-looking by dwarven standards,” he explained. “You don’t have a beard, you don’t wear boots, and you have a ridiculously flamboyant dress style. And I hadn’t had much experience with hobbits before I met you. I really was quite startled when first I beheld you.”

Bilbo laughed. It was a pleasant feeling, rather because he wiggled when he laughed, and it was doing rather gratifying things to certain parts of Thorin’s anatomy. Resolutely Thorin pushed down his baser desires and continued. “But, as I’m sure you know, I’m not the pinnacle of dwarven attractiveness myself - rather the opposite, in fact - and so I cast your hideousness from my mind. And I found you had other qualities I admired. Loyalty, a brave heart, and a willingness to place your trust in me. Even when I lost my mind to the gold-sickness…” Here he hesitated. The thought of that dark time would ever conjure a morass of feelings in him, mostly self-loathing at his idiocy, but the feeling of Bilbo’s fingers stroking comfortingly against the back of his hand brought him out of his self-reproach.

“Even when I lost my mind to the gold-sickness, I never lost my heart. I loved you then, and I love you now still. And I suppose,” he sniffed mock-haughtily, “I’ve gotten used to your beardlessness and bootlessness and those horrendous things you call dressing gowns. In fact, I’d say I’ve grown rather fond of you. I think you rather comely, you know,” he added shyly, taking Bilbo’s hand in his and looking earnestly into his eyes, all teasing forgotten.

Bilbo blinked up at him, his eyes wide, then he shook his head, although he couldn’t quite hide the smile that teased at his lips. “You ridiculous dwarf,” he said fondly. “How many times do I have to say you’re the most attractive dwarf I’ve ever met, for you to get it through your thick head? When first I saw you it gave me a shock, you know. I’d never thought I’d think a dwarf attractive, especially after the rest of your Company raided my pantries and messed about with my glory boxes and wiped their noses on my doilies.

‘But then you banged on my door and came in with your furs and your braids and your lovely nose and your blue eyes and… well, I could go on and on and on, but you get my meaning. Of course your manners were atrocious, but after a while I realised it’s just because you’re emotionally constipated and a little thick in the head. I’ll tell you a secret,” he murmured, and gestured for Thorin to come closer, “I think you’re much much handsomer than any of the Ri brothers, I’ll tell you that.”

He scoffed. “Anyway, what do looks matter? You’re a good king, and a good husband, and that’s all I’ll ever hear from you on the matter. I tell you, I won’t accept any aspersions cast on the calibre of Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under The Mountain! He’s rather a good friend of mine, you know.” Bilbo pressed his face close and rubbed their noses together. In such close proximity, Thorin could see the vague flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “I think you’re handsome, and that’s that. End of the story,” he huffed.

A wave of tender, powerful love threatened to overwhelm Thorin’s heart, and in response, he lifted his hands to cradle Bilbo’s face. “You’re right,” he whispered. “I suppose we’ll just have to resign ourselves to the fact that I chose an uncommonly handsome hobbit, and you chose an uncommonly handsome dwarf. Although I’ll get a good laugh out of thinking how others might say we make an uncommonly ugly couple!”

Then Bilbo laughed. He threw his head back, and he laughed, and laughed, and laughed…

visit this on ao3 to see the author’s notes if you want, and to leave a comment or kudo (much appreciated) <3

#upm works #upm #thilbo #bagginshield #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #hobbit fanfiction #bagginshield fanfic #hobbit #lotr #bilbo #thorin

153 notes · View notes

kmomof4 · 4 years ago

Text

Going Home Ch2 of Somewhere Out There 3A Canon Divergence

I’ve wanted to continue this canon divergence for a while and I’m so thrilled to be sharing it with you all now! This fic wouldn’t have been possible without the INVALUABLE eyes, insight, questions, and cheering of @thisonesatellite. Thank you so much, my friend!!! I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think!

Ch Summary: After True Love’s Kiss works in bringing back Emma and Henry’s memories, CS and Henry return home to the Enchanted Forest.

Rating: For this chapter, G. For the entire fic, M (smut)

Words: 2500 of 5300 total

Tags: 3A Canon Divergence

Ch1 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag List: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @nikkiemms @xsajx @klynn-stormz

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

The Jolly Roger cut smoothly across the crystal clear water, swiftly approaching the castle of Snow White and Prince Charming. Emma felt a thrill of excitement skitter down her spine as she beheld the flawless edifice for the first time. Memories of her first trip to the Enchanted Forest paraded themselves across her mind’s eye, the ruins of the castle she was born in, as well as her mother’s tears when faced with its destruction.

But this morning, with the sun rising over the mountains that surrounded her parents castle, the exterior nearly blinded her. The rays reflected off the white stone and turrets she remembered her mother talking about after they returned home from their Enchanted Forest adventure until her vision was positively dazzled. Her family and the other inhabitants of the place of her birth had obviously worked hard to rebuild in the year that they’d been back here. Or maybe Regina had simply waved her hand to restore the castle to its former glory.

They had left New York forever the next day after spending that Saturday packing up what they wanted to take with them and taking care of all the loose ends that would have been left had they simply disappeared. They arrived two days later at the familiar rocky coast of what had once been Storybrooke to find nothing but unblemished forest and sea birds. Poor Henry looked like he was about to cry, and she had to admit that she was having trouble hiding her own tears as well. She’d been careful, she thought, about getting her hopes up, but seeing with her own eyes no trace of Storybrooke, she realized just how much she had come to think of the small town as home and just how disappointed she was that it wasn’t there. Killian helped dispel the melancholy that had enveloped them by taking them both in his arms and assuring them that he would get them home to their family. They changed course, back toward New York until they found and fell through the portal that would take them home.

A feeling of peace, of home settled over her for the first time in her life. All her life she’d been shuffled from place to place, group home to foster home and back again. And even as an adult, the longest she’d stayed anywhere was Tallahassee. But with her pirate and son behind her, she looked over her shoulder to see Killian leaving Henry at the helm and begin making his way toward her, and the rest of her family ahead of her, living in a fairy tale castle to boot, she had never felt so content.

Strong arms circled around her waist and clasped over her middle. She covered his hands with her own as he nuzzled into her neck, placing a tender kiss right behind her ear. “What are you thinking, Swan?” he murmured.

She turned in his arms and raised up onto her toes to kiss him. “Just how much this feels like home. Neal told me, years ago, that home was the place that when you left, you just missed it. Obviously I never missed the Enchanted Forest. I’d never lived here. And going back to where Storybrooke had been made me realize how very much I missed my family.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “Missed you. Even if I didn’t remember.”

Killian smiled down at her. “Aye, Love. We missed you, too.” He gathered her in his arms and hugged her tightly for a few moments before he gave her a chaste kiss and released her, turning back toward the helm. She watched as he took over from Henry and her son started towards her.

“So, what do you think, Mom?” he queried as he leaned against the gunwale.

She smiled at him. “I think we’re home. And I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to see our family again.”

“Agreed,” he said, staring at the castle that was growing ever closer. Just a few minutes later, they were able to make out the dock at the back of the castle. Emma couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that there didn’t appear to be anyone to meet them. Wouldn’t someone have seen them coming from the towers of the palace?

Killian carefully brought the Jolly into berth as Henry secured the ship to the dock. Just as they were making their way down the gangplank, the Blue Fairy appeared before them. She gave a small bow before speaking.

“Thank you, Captain,” she began, “for bringing the Savior home.” Suddenly, the fairy pulled a small vial out of mid-air, uncorked it, and tossed its contents onto Emma.

Emma was frozen in place. Fear gripped her as she heard Killian and Henry shout, Killian drawing his sword in her defense, Henry’s face a mask of shock and dismay. Before Killian could reach the fairy, she waved her wand and a blue cloud of magic enveloped her and the magical being. Moments later, she found herself in a dark cave lit only by torch light. It took a few moments before she could see well enough to realize it was the same cave prison that Killian had left her in before she and her mother had made it back to Storybrooke. Only this time, it was the Blue Fairy on the other side of the bars, not her True Love and Cora. Emma lunged at the bars.

“What are you doing?” she shouted.

Emma stared at the fairy, stunned. She looked sad, apologetic almost, for her actions, at the state Emma found herself in. She rattled the bars in anger. “Answer me! What have you done? Where are my parents?”

“Your parents are fine, Your Highness.” Emma huffed at the fairy’s use of her title.

“Why are you calling me “Your Highness” if you’ve put me in this dungeon?” Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on her captor.

“Because you are still the Princess in this land, and I’m truly sorry to have to do this.” And with that enigmatic statement, the Blue Fairy disappeared. Emma shook the bars before her again and shouted as loudly as she could. There was no response. She turned and looked around, trying to think of anything that she could possibly do to get out. Trying to use magic was useless. She at least remembered that much from her previous imprisonment. The light from the torch just outside the cell reflected off of something lodged into a crevice in the rock wall. Walking over to it, she saw it was a small mirror. Pulling it out, the glass was suddenly filled with a purple smoke before a dark skinned, kindly, ageless face appeared.

“Hello, Savior,” he greeted her.

Emma couldn’t keep the shocked surprise out of her voice. “Who are you? How do you know who I am?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter, Savior, but yes, I know exactly who you are, Emma Swan,” he intoned. “And I also know what the Blue Fairy is doing.”

It took Emma a moment to absorb what he just said. “You do? Why?” she asked, “She is supposed to be one of my parents closest friends and advisors. Why would she do this?”

His bottomless brown eyes grew sad as he answered her. “I have watched the Blue Fairy for many years, since long before you were born. She has forsaken her duty of protecting your family. It is my responsibility to rein her in, to deprive her of the source of her power and now that she is back in a realm with magic, I am able to do so.”

“Are you taking her magic?” Emma queried.

The man smiled enigmatically. “When she realized that her magic was weakening, she sent Killian to bring you home.”

“She gave me the dream so that I would recognize Killian when he got there,” she breathed. “She repositioned Cygnus, both here and in my world, so that he could find me.”

He nodded slowly. “Indeed.”

Emma looked back at the bars. “Can you help me get out of here?”

“I cannot help you escape beyond what I’ve already done. You have the means at your disposal. Good luck, Savior.” Magic began to swirl in the mirror.

“Wait,” Emma cried, “Who are you?”

“I am Merlin. Don’t you know me?” he answered with a smile before he disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

Emma stared at the glass before her, not knowing what to do. She remembered what Rumplestiltskin had told her when they had all returned from New York after she found Neal. That magic was not an intellectual endeavor. She had to feel it. Squaring her shoulders, taking a deep breath, and shutting her eyes, she thought of Killian and Henry and how much she loved them and wanted to be with them again.

She opened her eyes again to see her two favorite people smiling at her. Her own face broke into a grin. “Swan,” Killian cried, “Are you alright? Where are you?”

“I’m below the castle in the dungeon. In Rumple’s cell,” she explained. “Where’s Mom and Dad? And Regina?”

“We’re here, Emma,” her mother called. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re alright,” she exclaimed, pushing her way into the mirror’s glass. Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe you’re really here! And that Blue would do this!”

“Merlin gave me this mirror so we could communicate. She’s trying to steal my magic because he’s been draining hers for her failure in upholding her duty to our family.”

Snow’s face was an “O” of shocked disbelief. Regina appeared in the mirror. “So what do we do?” she asked. “We obviously can’t trust the Blue Fairy anymore.”

“Merlin said that I have the tools at my disposal. I figured out what to do with the mirror. But maybe, my magic too? That’s a tool, isn’t it? Mom, Cora said that even Rumplestiltskin couldn’t escape this prison. Why? What’s so special about it?”

“We had it specially constructed and magically protected so that he could never escape. Only light and dark magic combined can weaken the enchantment.”

They turned their eyes upon Regina. “Two sides of the same coin,” Emma whispered. “Regina, you attack from outside the prison, I attack from inside. That would do it, right?”

Regina’s eyebrows rose. “It should. But what about Blue? Where is she? How do we neutralize her?”

“Regina!” Snow scolded.

Regina rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking about killing her. Just neutralizing her. Taking her magic, making her unable to fight us.”

“She disappeared. I have no idea where she is. But, if she’s wanting my magic, I would assume that she won’t be gone long.”

“Maybe she’s gone to collect some kind of vessel to contain your magic in, Love,” Killian speculated.

“In that case, we need to get Emma out of there.” Emma nearly burst into tears when she heard her father in the background.

Emma wiped at her eyes furiously as Regina, Killian, Henry, and her parents all appeared before her on the other side of the bars. Emma ran for the bars trying to reach and touch all of them at once.

“Okay, okay,” Charming shouted. “The reunion will have to wait until after Emma’s free. On the count of three. One, two, three!”

Emma stepped back and held up her hands sending a stream of magic at the bars that Regina matched on the other side. White and Dark magic met and sparks flew. Emma could see her family shielding their eyes against the clash of magic and, she’d be honest, if she wasn’t one of the magic wielders, she’d be doing the same. The heat and the power that coursed through her was like nothing that she’d ever known and she was suddenly aware of why the people around her had believed in her so much and for so long. Suddenly, Killian was there, at a hole in the bars big enough for her to climb through.

At that moment, Blue appeared. Quick as an adder strike, Regina shot the fairy with a blast of dark magic, knocking her back into the cell where she had imprisoned Emma. She appeared stunned as Regina shouted, “Seal the bars, Miss Swan!”

“Do it, Mom!”

Emma shot another blast of magic at the bars, making them whole again. Regina cast a binding spell both on Blue and the cell as realization dawned on their former friend and ally.

“No!” she cried.

Snow and Charming stepped forward. “Yes. You have betrayed us in the worst possible way, Blue,” Charming said, his face hard as stone. “For that, you deserve banishment and death. However, in gratitude for your part in bringing Emma home to us, your life will not end by our hand. Once your magic is gone, you will age like the rest of us. You will remain behind bars until death sets you free. This is your punishment for the crimes against our family.” He turned to his wife, who nodded in agreement with his sentence.

Blue looked from face to face, hoping to find some glimmer of regret, a sliver of affinity in anyone’s eyes, anything that she could try to manipulate to her advantage. There was none. She bowed her head as the family turned from her in her prison and walked away.

The jubilant group emerged into the sunshine. Henry was immediately gathered in Regina’s arms, where he was overjoyed to hug his adoptive mother just as tightly as she was hugging him. Emma found herself gathered in the arms of her parents, tears flowing freely as she felt her father’s hand on the back of her head. Pulling back, astonished, Emma looked down at her mother’s very pregnant belly. It hadn’t even registered in all the action of the last few minutes until Snow gathered her close in a hug that was a year in the making. More tears spilled as Emma expressed her joy at the impending birth of her brother or sister.

Finally pulling out of her parents embrace, Emma reached out for Killian. “Mom, Dad,” she began, smiling affectionately at her True Love, “Killian brought me, brought us, home.” He took her hand, a gentle smile on his face, as she turned back toward her parents.

“We know, sweetheart,” David told her. “When Killian and Henry appeared, he was just able to tell us what happened and how he got to you. Then you appeared in the mirror.”

“Did he tell you about True Love’s Kiss bringing back my and Henry’s memories?”

David’s grin split his face. “Yes, he did. And I, we, couldn’t be happier,” he said, looking at his wife.

“We will plan an engagement and welcome home ball at once,” she exclaimed, green eyes gleaming with excitement.

Emma turned resigned and amused eyes upon her pirate. “Welcome home, Love,” he said, before leaning down and capturing her lips with his own.

“Yep, I guess I am,” she agreed.

Looking around at the faces of the people who loved her, she knew that she was home. Exactly where she wanted to be.

The End

#cs ff #somewhere out there #ch2 #going home #krystal writes

27 notes · View notes