Disclaimer: I do not own 'Once upon a Time'.

Author's Note: Well this story took me by surprise. Honestly I was planning on foregoing anymore fics until I actually finished something. But I never saw this one coming. Because like 'Hachin' it did not come from my mind.

Not long ago my brother called me wanting to talk about an idea he had for a story. Having watched the first season of 'Once upon a Time' he was inspired for something he had never attempted seriously, a fanfiction.

So he came to me with the idea to see what I thought. What I thought, was that it was a good idea. Since he doesn't have an account here, and he does have a life we decided to collaborate on the story, with it being posted on my account.

I could go on, but you came here for a story not lengthy Author's Notes, so E . W. & C. M. Kassel present to you:

Knight's Tale

Father McCarthy paced the empty sanctuary of Saint Thomas', taking another pull from his pewter flask. He wore the black robes and collar despite being alone, but then he was always alone. Today though he felt it acutely, the shame burning bright like someone had kicked a wound.

The priest was a tall man, of lanky build. His hair was red and had begun to recede, his face showing the first signs of age truly setting in. As he paced the aisle flask in hand a weight seemed to be pressing down on him.

The Mayor's boy, Henry, was dying, probably dead by now. They had called him as usual, and as always he had passed the matter over to a nun. She would perform the last rites better, and he doubted either of the mothers wanted a disgraced priest intruding on their grief.

Poor Henry, he hadn't known the boy, his masses were empty things, exercises in futility. If the people wanted spiritual guidance they would go to the nuns, or the Pastor. Dr. Hopper had more custom than him. But even a recluse like him had known of the drama between the new sheriff and the mayor. Sad for the boy to be caught up in something like that.

Father McCarthy had hoped this polite exile at the least would give him a chance to start over. But Storybrooke was a small town. And if you didn't guard your secrets carefully the gossip spread like wildfire in a small town. The only challenge to his pariah status had been the schoolteacher, when everyone thought she had killed the blonde.

Things had been exciting in town of late it occurred to him. Not that it mattered to him, they were all stories he wasn't even part of.

He raised the flask to his lips, when it hit him.

It was like a strong wind, warm enough to be uncomfortable but not hot. And instead of pushing him, it went right through him. He remembered.

He remembered everything.

The flask fell from his hand to the floor, whiskey spilling onto the red carpet. He ignored it marching up the aisle to the altar. With each step his posture straightened, coming before the altar he stood tall. For a moment he bowed his head to the crucifix.

The moment passed, he grabbed the altar and began kicking the varnished wood panels. The kicks were powerful and precise, in a minute the wood was bucking and with another blow the wood was knocked in. A gaping hole revealed the altar to be hollow.

Kneeling he reached into the darkness, probing it with a slight frown. The frown vanished replaced with stoicism. He pulled his hand back, revealing a long broad sword in its leather sheath, with a wide black guard.

Placing the sword on the floor tenderly he pulled off his priestly robes, revealing jeans a black shirt still displaying his collar, a plain black belt with a steel buckle, and black boots that had seen better days. Tossing the robes unto the nearest pew he picked up the sword and marched out of the chapel swiftly.

X X X

That mist had brought magic with it. It had been obvious to him even if it had only created a greater confusion in several of the townsfolk. The return of the familiar warmth in the sword had been enough to tell him that; for so many others though it had been another layer of confusion as a new/old life was laid bare before him.

He knew what he needed to do when he reached the rally point that had sprung up. The sheriff's station, of course. In times of uncertainty people were drawn to places they associated power with. City Hall was too associated with the queen, so it was to the place of the Savior they came to plan, and to arm.

The heros were milling about like a lynch mob. Fairly well armed too, some had only shovels but a few more confident men, and Granny, had guns, no doubt courtesy of the sheriff. He didn't see them out here, so they must be inside.

The crowd parted before him. They were confused trying to place him from the world of their birth, and failing. Like them he had clearly awakened, the priest they had known was already a fading memory before the confident man carrying a sword that had surely followed them from the land of their birth.

No one contested his entry, not even the frowning werewolves, and he heard the croed whispering about him as he left them. Unlike when he was under the curse he didn't really care about the whispers.

"Emma, don't hurt her if she gives up. Heroes don't do that," a boy spoke with certainty as he entered.

"Kid, she lost and then made the curse. Giving up isn't in her dictionary," he saw a bearded man reply.

"Grumpy's right Henry, she is too dangerous, at the very least she needs to be locked up," Prince Charming said from his side of the table. The royals and the bearded man sat around a table holding coffee, and a pick axe?

"Where did yo even get a pick axe?" Princess Snow asked smiling.

"From the miners exhibit," Grumpy answered shortly, he picked it up as if his hand was made to hold it.

"You stole it?" Swan asked.

"No, it was already mine. And what are we standing around for, I for one am not going to let the Queen run off to cause us more grief," the dwarf huffed.

"Well said dwarf, someone has given her back her most powerful weapon. The longer she has to prepare the harder it will be to catch her," he spoke up entering the room fully. That got their attention, the sight of the sword prompting Swan to move between him and her son.

The only ones not to regard him with suspicion, were the boy and the Little Princess, not so little anymore. The boy watched him with an almost eager curiosity, while the princess was surprised.

"Sir Thomas?" she asked, already knowing the answer. The knight walked up to them and drew his sword. The Prince drew his and Swan pulled out her gun. Before the dwarf could intervene he placed its point on the floor as he kneeled before the late king's daughter.

"Your majesty," he addressed her.

"Do we . . . know him," the Prince asked.

"This, this is the Black Knight. I thought you were gone," she said motioning him to rise. That got the attention of the two men, and made Swan frown, no doubt irritated about being out of the know.

"Many things that were gone seem to be coming back, Little Princess. But for now we have affairs to settle with your stepmother," the Black Knight told them resting his sword on his shoulder.

X X X

He had compared them to a lynch mob, now that they were moving out toward the Queen's residence the parallel was even more accurate. There was impatient anger sparking in the air threatening to ignite. The conned had woken to the con and now sought their restitution.

Despite claims of righteousness, blood was clearly the currency this mass was hoping to collect in. Swan, Princess Emma, had sent her son away with the fairies. Sir Thomas had not been close enough to hear whatever hollow assurances she had made to the boy. Hmm perhaps not so hollow, Swan was of this world and likely mob justice did not appeal to her.

The only order was the three royals leading the procession, five steps ahead of the others. The Little Princess, all grown up, was front and center, unarmed facing forward both light and determined in her step. The tales had not exaggerated, she was far from the royal girl he remembered. Her husband and out of time daughter flanked her gun and sword at their respective sides, all the weapons the true queen needed for the coming encounter.

Sir Thomas kept pace with Grumpy, the dwarf's newly found brothers, and the werewolves with their rifles. Behind them churned the mass, inpatient, angry, and frightened.

And from somewhere ahead, Dr. Hopper emerged, more put upon looking than usual.

"Snow, Princess," he greeted moving between Charming and his wife. Charming was clearly annoyed but stayed quiet.

"Archie . . . Jimminy, where have you been?" Swan asked uncomfortable with the new name.

"Oh busy, lots of people needing help. And I'm here just in time," Dr. Hopper wiped his brow.

"Yes, though you should have armed yourself, I doubt the Queen will surrender herself easily," Charming told him.

"Actually, I was hoping we might avoid that," Jimminy admitted. Snow White looked at him as if he was crazy.

"You're trying to stop us?" she asked more stunned than angry.

"This is a lynch mob your majesty. And I've never known a lynch mob to lead to good things. If anything this will make her more prone to react violently, attacking her like this," Jiminy insisted.

"And what would you suggest? We send someone to negotiate with her? After what she's done there is no trusting her. You may be our conscience, but we can't take any chances," Snow answered as they drew closer to the elegant white home the Queen had made for herself. Charming drew his sword lifting it into the air, bringing the crowd to a halt.

The cricket turned man backed up ahead of them.

"Well I volunteer to go. Not a negotiation, I understand we need to take her in, but to talk her down if need be. Show her we want justice, not her head on a spike," the bespectacled man insisted.

"Speak for yourself!" Granny called. The mass behind them cheered in agreement, Sir Thomas rolled his eyes.

Archie took another step back on the sidewalk, brushing against the queen's lawn. He must have felt something, because he lunged forward back onto the street, before flames roared to life rising high around the house. The wall of flame sent the mob back, only the foremost holding their ground against this display of power.

Swan stepped forward and offered the Doctor a hand up from where he lay looking at the flames that had nearly claimed him.

"Well rest at ease, we know she's not in a surrendering mood now," she said pulling him to his feet.

Sir Thomas stepped up to the flames, in his black attire and his sword drawn he looked every bit a figure out of some legend.

"The Queen is not the only one to regain powers lost," he announced. He swung out with his sword, striking the flames. Impossibly the flames were cut, and fell away like reeds before a scythe. The man in black stepped through the breach the others running up to join him. Charming was nearly at the gap before his wife seized his arm, as the flames sprung up anew.

"Now what?" Red asked looking at the flames.

"I don't suppose anyone can magic up some water?" Grumpy put in.

"Can your sword do that?" Emma asked Prince Charming.

"No," her father answered glaring at the wall of fire.

"Well how about 911?" Emma asked. They all looked at her.

"What? Magic fire is still fire right?" Emma shrugged.

X X X

Sir Thomas entered through the front door, it was unlocked. That was both expected and surprising. Closing the door behind him he sheathed his sword. The house was beautifully decorated with a black white color scheme, but it had cold feel to it. Empty, an uninviting beauty; there was no doubt this was her place.

He climbed the stairs with restrained haste, she would be upstairs; above those on the ground.

The floor was darkened the lights out, save for one spilling out into the hallway from an open door. Silent as a cat he approached it hand drifting toward the nearest wall as he drew closer.

There she was. Sitting in front of a vanity mirror fully light as she touched up her make-up delicately. Like her step daughter the shortened hair made her no less beautiful, the attire of this world suiting her as well as gowns ever had. If not the fairest of them all, it was only because unlike Snow White she seemed to draw in the warmth rather than radiating it out.

She seemed calm for someone whose schemes had just unraveled so spectacularly. The Queen seemed to just be fixing her make up to go out on the town.

She stopped applying some powder to her face, seeing him in the mirror. Sir Thomas stepped fully into the doorway as she turned on her stool to look at him. His face was set stoically, hers was unreadable.

"You?" she asked raising an eyebrow just slightly. He held out a hand to her.

"There's an army outside here to kill you. We have to get you out of here, now," he said. Her lips turned up slightly as she took his hand.

They reached the backdoor of the kitchen with a brisk pace, he opened it, finding it had also been left unlocked. Regina walked past him and stopped on the grass to look back, her dying tree behind her cast against the flames.

"Go," he commanded.

"Until next time then, bastard," she remarked. Finally she turned her back to him and started walking.

The Black Knight closed the door, and drew his sword. Returning to the parlor he heard glass break and marched into another room to see a singed Grumpy dusting himself off in front of a shattered window.

"She's not here," Sir Thomas said. The dwarf fixed him with a glare as the roar of the fires dimmed outside and water droplets flicked in.

"You let her get away?" the dwarf demanded hefting his pick axe.

"She was already gone. Someone warned the Queen, and by the way your shoulder's still on fire," Sir Thomas explained. The Dwarf fixed the knight with his best glare before stalking off, no doubt to see for himself.

Sir Thomas walked back to the front door, to await the arrival of the royal family. There was much to do and little time to fulfill his task.