Chapter Text
It is like a fairy tale. Emma feels as if amid the pages of a children's book heavily dressed in baroque illustrations. She is almost certain that if she looked up at the ceiling or the sides of the ballroom, she would find rosy cherubs slowly approaching the ornate frames and pointing their chubby little fingers towards the dancers below.
Lights, music, massive tapestries embroidered in gold… Everything just like her mother had told her. Breathtakingly beautiful, obviously, so unimaginative, she thinks, looking around. It’s not just that it matches Snow’s description, it’s that the luxurious hall is almost a replica from that one where she attended in the past with Hook. The same choreographed steps, the same dances, the same fluted tunes... At least she can make the most of her memories and take advantage of the etiquette and dancing advises provided by the pirate so that she doesn’t make a fool of herself in front of King’s Arthur entire court, like a clumsy duck in a poor imitation of a swan.
She spins, spins… and spins again. Sometimes she ducks under Hook’s arched arm, sometimes she circles away, palm to palm. Then hook to palm. She doesn’t want to be rude or offensive to the hosts who have poured their purest hopes for this special night and dressed on their most sumptuous attires. But she doesn’t quite fit into the scenario. It’s probably her fault, for being an outsider in her own fairytale. Or because her prince charming is a pirate with a hook and she is the promised princess with all the evil in the universe nesting in her guts. Or perhaps because she hasn’t yet recovered from finding out that her whole family, and a significant representation of Storybrooke’s citizens, world-jumped to search for her, and embarked using Granny’s diner, Delorean-style. Most likely, it’s just the exasperating three-quarters rhythm, which slows her heart rate to a languid pace, urging her to yawn and retreat to her opulent chambers.
And yet, she feels a smile spreading shyly in her lips. She’s pretty sure Hook will take credit for that. He shouldn’t. She just experimented a brief moment of soporific peace, of numbing rest. A glorious break from that horrid Rumpelstiltskin who only she can see and hear. Whatever the purpose driving her hellish version of Jiminy Cricket, it might not contemplate an unhinged princess talking to herself in the presence of Camelot’s nobility. Or maybe the Imp is just as bored as her and has fled to take a nap in the deepest corner of her mind. She doesn’t really care. She couldn’t care less about the reasons when she can feel relief in those soothing waves, bringing her a fresh calm that rises over her discomfort.
Relief and discomfort, progressing in harmony over the polished dance floor. It’s starting to get old, boredom stretching the stillness of the evening to eternity. In between twists and turns, she devotes herself to unraveling every detail, element and guest in the room. Professional distortion, by a bored ex-bounty hunter.
Belle dances with Grumpy, sometimes playing the male when the dwarf's arms are not long enough to fulfill that role. Henry shares his iPod with a young girl who looks at him as if she has just discovered fire and whom he contemplates with budding teen infatuation. David and Snow, wisely, have fled the dance floor a while ago, and exchange hushed confidentialities while spying on their grandson. Finally, just a few feet away, Regina smiles against Hood's lips, forgetting the next step and laughing at it.
And she… She turns and turns and tries not to neglect Hook. But she finds it hard to chat while all those instruments echo in the ballroom, song after song, and she doesn’t feel like being carried away by kisses and cuddles either. So she continues dancing, she turns and grants him an occasional smile; then looks around, and returns to the starting point. Again. And again.
Suddenly, a slight variation alters the routine. A stranger breaks into Regina and Hood dancing. It’s a tiny detail, but it makes her smile. It’s a welcome distraction amidst that dance she'd swear she had already attended. A thousand times over.
Hook grabs her hands and, just like the room itself, pulls her away, first to her left and then to her right, blocking her view of Regina for a few seconds. In the following routine, she spots her again. She sees also the young gentleman who has taken Hood’s place. Regina smiles politely and lets herself be carried by the man’s firm steps. Emma thinks she has never seen him before.
It’s funny because, each time, with every move, the knight steps further to the left. A slight deviation, perhaps just an awkwardness, which takes them little by little further from their starting point, closer to the center of the room, where fewer couples move around it, leaving more room for the two of them alone. Emma quickly loses interest in their steps and their tendency to deviate, because Regina’s face darkens. There is no trace of the smile from moments ago. In its place, Emma sees that puckering of her lips that highlights her scar and eludes to her bad temper.
Even weirder, they’ve stopped. They don’t follow the dance steps, they don’t move, they just look at each other. And Emma could swear they are measuring each other. Like opponents evaluating their chances.
She tightens like a bow. All her alarms go off and for each moment Regina remains rigid and motionless, Emma holds her breath, alert, on guard. Until she stops moving at all.
“What is it, love?” Hook’s voice interrupts her vigilance. If that wasn’t enough, he holds her chin, claiming her eyes. “Are you okay, Swan?” he insists once more, forcing her to answer. She opens her mouth, although she’s not quite sure what to say. Somehow, “Regina is not dancing, let me look at her.” doesn’t seem like the right option. But she doesn’t want to stop watching over her, even if it’s hard to clarify.
“I just…”
The noise of metal being drawn breaks through her words. The orchestra shuts down loudly, the crowd screams, steps away scared, and suddenly Emma has clear view of what’s happening. The knight has drawn his sword and its blade is clearly aimed at Regina’s body, even though he has not started to wield it. Regina backs off, but not far enough. She’s still dangerously close to that blade and the maniac who wields it.
Emma responds. It’s a knee jerk reaction she has no control over and is unable to avoid. She raises her hands, her magic gathering on them. She simply want to summon a protective shield. Nothing violent, nothing hurtful. She just visualizes Regina protected and safe. But she can’t move her hands, she doesn't get to summon it.
Hook is grabbing her hands and has thus stopped her. “No, Swan, you can’t use black magic.” Emma is not paying attention to him, she isn’t even aware he had spoken. She shakes her arm to get rid of him, but it’s too late. Hood pounces on the attacker and knocks him down. The sword that was aimed at Regina falls from its owner’s hands as the two men wrestle on the ground. It’s a dirty fight, with no clear winner; its’ difficult to even follow who hits who and who takes the hit. The noise of the fight doesn’t stop, she believes she hears metal clashes, and notices that Regina is trying to intervene, but surely her magic is too unstable not to fear that her spell will hit Hood instead of that knight. Now it’s too dangerous.
In the middle of the struggle, a hand escapes looking blindly for the hilt of a sword. And finds it. It is the knight, who with a quick movement manages to reduce Hood and tops him. Armed and with insane eyes, he raises his arm, but doesn’t descend against Hood with a final thrust.
His sword makes a pinwheel and flies towards his back, towards Regina, who remains close to them so focused in her chances to intervene that she doesn’t see it coming. The knight doesn't even turn around, just thrusts his sword and it cleanly finds Regina’s stomach. The sword falls to the ground, as if both it and the knight had nothing else to do in this life.
A second later Hood yells, retrieves his own sword and with a swift movement he pierces the knight until the blade disappears between his ribs. David runs up to them, just in time to hold Regina, who tumbles, taking a couple of steps back, holding her stomach.
Emma feels her eyes clouding, stained in red and tears. This can’t be happening. She looks around, out of place, trying to understand what has happened. Only when she lowers her hands, already useless in the face of a battle that has ended, does she realize that Hook has grabbed her again. Retaining her wrists, preventing her from using her magic. But now the pirate’s attention is focused on the scene that unfolds in the middle of the paralyzed room and he loosens his grip at last. Emma shares the feeling of horrid fascination, she too unable to take her eyes off.
Robin is screaming Regina’s name and his voice is getting hoarse. She tries to answer back, to react, but that takes more strength than she has left and she faints. A timid pool of blood peeks out from under the pearly white of her dress, enlarging as it soaks through her clothes. Emma opens her mouth, but finds no voice, no words, nothing to say. Fear paralyzes her. When she hears Hood cry, the sob goes through her painfully. She bites her lip, containing her own sadness.
“We need to get her out of here, now!” Emma shouts from her gut when she sees that no one moves. Her voice breaks the deathly silence and all those previously turned to statues come back to live. Following her own command, she runs headlong towards Regina, just like the rest of the Storybrooke gang. Watching all that blood and tears, she thinks that nothing looks like a fairy tale anymore.