Misthaven had many forests, as did the kingdom where the lady known as Marian of Morning was raised. Her homeland had never been as grand nor as magical as Misthaven, and since it did not even exist anymore, Marian did not like to dwell upon it, or compare. Although sometimes she did tire of the color green.

The Morning Forest was quite a nice place to live at any rate - much nicer than Nottingham had ever claimed to be. There was plenty of game to hunt, and timber to build shelter. The trees were thick and the skies were kind, granting them with sunshine for most of the year, save for the storm season in the fall, which was gentle and manageable. Her merry men were loyal and true, and her son grew stronger each day from the medicines the dryads gifted her in exchange for her gang's protection of the forest. It was a good life, a simple life. A life with purpose, and clarity of focus. Marian liked focus. She had straightforward goals, and dedicated herself to fulfilling them.

She did not seek adventure, but she did not withdraw from it when it found her. She wanted to teach her son to be brave, but not reckless, to stand against injustice when he saw it, but not court unnecessary danger, either. For Marian had once been reckless herself, with her heart and with her life, and she'd barely survived what became of them both. There was nothing she wanted more than to protect her Roland from that sort of pain, although she knew she could only do so much. The world outside the forest was seductive, and she could already see him being tempted by it - and she knew that one day he would leave, just like his father. She could only hope that Roland's departure would not be as final as Robin's - she didn't think that was too much to ask for.

He was a sickly boy, her Roland. A plague had swept through Misthaven when Marian was pregnant, and for weeks after his birth, they did not know if the child would survive. But survive he did - with the help of the dryads, along with some other magical assistance - and Marian had hope that he would someday overcome his sickness completely. But for the time that we are concerned with, when he was still young, Marian savored her chance to smother him with her love and protection. She had learned to take the blessings of each day slowly, and to make them last as long as she could.

It is why she liked to linger in the mornings - which was often the only time of day that she had Roland all to herself. Her tent was as secluded and private as it could be, in a crowded camp such as theirs, and Marian liked to start the day slowly, make breakfast herself and allow her son the luxury of awakening naturally.

It was on a morning such as this that Marian and Roland were interrupted by Little John - the first to interrupt their solitude that morning, as he very often was. He had served as her husband's lieutenant, and now he was hers - a duty that he took very seriously. It was often the only thing he took seriously, in fact.

"A visitor arrives," he announced, popping his head through Marian's tent. His bearded face was split with a jolly smile, and Marian lifted her head from the morning's porridge to smile back. "Oh, Fierce Roland! I did not see you there. I had thought you would be with the morning's raiding party, off to intercept the royal stagecoach."

Roland laughed in delight. "I haven't even had breakfast yet!"

"Ah, understandable. Can't go thieving without breakfast." Little John pushed the rest of his bulk into the tent, letting the canvas fall shut behind his shoulder. "Best feed him quick, milady, before he loses his patience and leaves without us. He's a busy man."

Marian rolled her eyes, handing Roland his bowl. "Busy, indeed, which is why he has been far too distracted to change into day clothes."

"Mu-um," Roland said, balancing the bowl carefully on his knees. He scrunched up his face in another giggle as Little John ruffled his hair, unsuccessfully trying to duck his head out of the way.

"Eat quick, for you'll be interested in this one, lad," Little John said. "'Twas Much and Arthur's discovery, on their patrols last night. They thought it was a dead body at first, on the bank of the river, but thankfully their first impression was wrong."

"Thankfully," Marian said, sitting down next to Roland to help him balance the porridge bowl. The boy ate every meal like it was his first after a long fast, she thought fondly, watching him shovel the grain into his mouth. "Is the poor girl alright?"

"It is a man, milady," Little John said. Marian and Roland both looked up in surprise - most of the visitors who risked the journey this deep into the forest were young women, fleeing a cruel husband or father. Men, usually, had better options than running away to join a band of thieves in the most dangerous wood in Misthaven. "A sailor - a pirate, most likely, judging by his dress and manner. He slept through the night, but awoke this morning with his wits intact. He is uninjured, but appears weak from hunger."

"Feed him then," Marian said impatiently.

"We did! But he took only a little, and says he must speak with you. He's bloody persistent, too."

Roland perked up at her side, his little eyes growing wide with curiosity. Marian smoothed his hair back fondly. "He asks for me? By name?"

"Well," Little John said, his deep voice rich with humor, "not exactly. Robin Hood is who he seeks."

Marian laughed. "Then we must not disappoint him," she said, plucking Roland's empty porridge bowl out of his hands. "Come, Roland, my love. Would you like to meet a pirate?"

"Yes," Roland said eagerly, practically falling over himself in his haste to rise up out of his bedding. "A real pirate?"

"As real as the ground beneath our feet, my boy," Little John said, stomping one of his great feet upon it for good measure. Roland's smile widened into a grin. "We divested him of his sword and daggers, of course, but left him otherwise untouched. You should see the coat he wears, Fierce Roland! As thick as one of our tent canvases, and adorned with useless finery! His boots are utterly ridiculous as well - it's no wonder the forest defeated him so easily."

"He did not threaten anyone?" Marian asked, unable to help herself. Little John would not have spoken of the stranger in front of Roland if he did not think the man harmless, but Marian was a mother, and mothers are, traditionally, a bit paranoid. "And he has shown us kindness and gratitude?"

"Oh, yes, yes," Little John replied, smiling at her fondly. "He's been nothing but gentlemanly. A bit melodramatic, maybe. But the man says he's in love, so that's bound to happen."

Marian and Roland rolled their eyes in unison, sitting side by side on the bedding, lacing up their boots.

Little John laughed. "That's exactly what Mulan said."

The man had been given his own tent, and it was the lack of guard around it that truly put Marian at ease. A few of the younger girls were even crowded by the campfire closest to it, trying to sneak looks through the flap - although they scattered like bluebirds the second they caught Marian's eye.

"He's a handsome bugger," Little John murmured, his voice tight from holding back a laugh. His voice often sounded like that. "Jones! - Oh, pardon me milady, I'd forgotten to give you his name. Well, he'll introduce himself, I'm sure - Jones! I've brought you Robin Hood!" Little John slapped his palm twice against the canvas flap, and Marian bit back on a laugh of her own. Roland, at her side, was vibrating with excitement, his fists tangled in her cloak. "Jones! Come on man, don't tell me you've fallen asleep already, you lazy sod!"

A rustling came from within, and then the flap was withdrawn, and a man appeared in its opening. He wore no coat, but she could see right away why Little John assumed he was a pirate - his face was unshaven, and there were scars upon his hands and wrists, one of which was obviously one of those barbaric hatch marks they carved into men's knuckles for stealing (Little John had several of those, himself). His eyes were sunken with exhaustion, but his shoulders were straight and proud, and he held himself with dignity. His expression was wry when he turned it on Little John, but not truly angry, and the last bit of Marian's hesitation melted away. "Ease off, would you, mate? Bloody hell." The stranger shot Little John a friendly scowl, then seemed to startle when he caught sight of Marian. "Oh - milady. I apologize, I didn't see you there." His face creased in confusion, and he graced Little John with another frown, this one tinged with irritation.

"No need to apologize to us," Marian said, stepping aside slightly so the man could see Roland, still halfway hidden behind the drape of her long cloak. Jones' eyes widened, and he straightened his back, as if he were standing to attention. Sailors, Marian thought, with another bitten back laugh. "If a few dirty words were all it took to scandalize us, we'd never get anything done, would we, Fierce Roland?"

Roland, shy as ever around strangers, blushed and buried his face in Marian's cloak. Little John laughed and patted his head fondly.

"A promise is a promise, Jones," Little John said, bending down and offering his hand to Roland, gently coaxing him out into the open. "The infamous Robin Hood, at your service. Monsieur Robin Hood, may I introduce Captain Killian Jones of the Jolly Roger."

Jones' eyes widened a bit more, and Roland lifted his chin and said, in his clearest voice, "my merry men welcome you, Captain Jones." Then he blinked, and said, "can I play with your sword?"

"No," Marian said, before anyone else got any funny ideas. Roland's mouth turned down into a slight pout.

"You, lad," Jones said faintly, "are the thief known as Robin Hood?" Roland nodded guilelessly. Marian and Little John watched Jones warily for a reaction, but all he did was run a hand through his already messy hair, disheveling it even further. "Well. That is...unexpected."

Roland just shrugged, well used to this sort of reception from the strangers who came to their camp. "Can I play with your daggers, then?"

"No," Jones said, in unison with Marian. Little John snorted loudly.

Roland huffed, looking slightly betrayed. "Are you even a real pirate?"

"I…" Jones looked at Marian, who tried her hardest to contain her smile, so as to look appropriately stern. "...am, yes," Jones finished with a wince. "Occasionally."

Roland looked skeptical. "You don't look like the pirates in my storybooks."

"And you don't look like the infamous thief that lived in mine," Jones said, with surprising humor. "So I suppose they've got both of us wrong, haven't they?"

Roland opened his mouth and then shut it again abruptly, considering this. Then he smiled. "I'm in storybooks?"

"A very special one I possess, and at least a few others, I'm sure," said Jones.

"Wicked," Roland said. Little John laughed, and Marian finally broke as well, letting her smile free.

"Ah, we've tortured him enough, I think," she said. "It's time for sums anyway, my love. Little John can take you to the Friar's today."

"Aw," Roland said, scrunching up his face in displeasure. But he allowed her to kiss his cheek, and raised his arms happily for Little John to swoop him up into the air, laughing in delight at the playful shake Little John gave at the end. "Nice to meet you, Captain Jones."

Jones, to his credit, did not laugh. "The honor was mine," he said, giving a little bow. "I thank you for your hospitality."

"S'nothing," Roland said, and shrugged. Jones' mouth twitched.

"We're off, milady," Little John said. "I'll return the runt in one piece, I swear."

"See that you do," Marian replied, smiling and returning the wave Roland gave her, over Little John's shoulder. When she turned to Jones, he was watching her curiously, his face a mask of genteel patience. "I apologize for the performance, Captain. But my son does so enjoy it."

"Your son," Jones said thoughtfully. "He's a handsome boy, indeed. Not quite what I'd been expecting, granted."

"There is much in this forest that you did not expect, I wager," Marian said, eyeing the infamous boots that Little John had had much to say about. Jones caught her looking, and gave a long-suffering sigh. Marian could not help but laugh. "Walk with me, Captain. It seems that we have much to discuss."

"Clearly," Jones said dryly. "Shall I leave the boots behind?"

"Bad boots are better than none," Marian told him wryly, turning her back to him to leave. "But do try to keep up."

Jones was quiet as Marian led him through the camp, deferring to her guidance without so much as a pained grimace. This was unusual for a man, especially a sailor with a designation such as "Captain," and Marian's estimation of him rose a little bit higher.

"You've met quite a few of us already," she said, breaking the silence as they passed Mulan's grotto. The sounds of her sword could be heard through the draping vines of the trees - hard at work with the students as usual. Mulan never rested, even when she wanted to, Marian thought fondly. "Little John seems fond of you already, and you've only been with us for - what, half a day?"

"I believe he finds me to be an easy target," Jones said wryly. He glanced over at the grotto, his eyebrow raising in interest, but did not mention it. "It was foolish of me to risk the trek on my own, and so unprepared, at that. I know better."

"You were in a rush," Marian surmised. Jones nodded.

"I did alright at first. But I am made for the sea, not the trees."

"Did you swoon?" Marian asked dryly.

"Quite dramatically," Jones replied, and she laughed. "I did not want to risk poisoning myself, so I ate only what I brought. And I severely underestimated how much rations I would need, I'm afraid. So I was not at my best during my battle with the river, and - well."

"You will eat your fill at the evening meal, then," Marian said. "Little John said you refused to take enough when you awoke this morning."

"You have done enough for me already, milady," Jones said. "I would not impose on your hospitality anymore than is necessary."

"Nonsense. No one goes hungry in this camp." Marian led him away from the grotto, deeper into the forest paths, where they would find solitude. "I suppose we both owe each other an explanation."

"This is your home, you need not explain it to anyone," Jones said. He followed her down the well worn path, the dappled sunlight casting shadows across his handsome, tired face. Marian walked for long enough so that they would not be overheard, and then paused to allow him rest. The look on his face was grateful. "I apologize for my intrusion. I was sent here by - well. Perhaps my information was mistaken."

"It is no intrusion. We welcome all but those who mean us harm, and those who mean to arrest us," Marian said. "I have a feeling you are neither."

"You would be correct in that feeling. And I thank you." He leaned heavily against a tree and closed his eyes briefly. Marian watched him thoughtfully - he looked, quite simply, terrible.

"If whoever sent you here meant to direct you to my former husband," Marian said, and watched as his shoulders tensed, his eyes flying open once more, "then you would be too late. The first Robin Hood was Roland's father, and he resides in the Queen Regina's palace. My son holds the title now, though for obvious reasons, I perform his duties." Marian paused to smile. "Except for welcoming new faces to our camp."

"He's very good at it," Jones said. He blinked at her. "Queen Regina - you don't mean her consort? Robin of Loxley?"

"I do." Marian refused to look away. "She came upon us six years ago, when Roland was but a twist in my belly. They are soulmates. Or - so they told me, before they left."

"Ah." To his credit, Jones didn't do anything silly like apologize, although his face twisted in silent sympathy. "The Evil Queen is known for her bewitchments. Though I assume you have already - "

"Yes." Marian waved a dismissive hand. "He is there of his own volition, trust me. It is of no matter - six years is not that long, but not so short, either. If your informant meant to send you to him, they must be gravely misinformed themselves, or otherwise up to something."

"I..." Jones trailed off helplessly, speaking more to himself than to her. "No. No, she mustn't have meant him, then. Surely she would've known, and Regina is an enemy of Misthaven, she would not have directed me there."

"Then she meant us," Marian said. She frowned curiously. "A woman you love?"

"Yes." Jones grimaced. "She's - my God, I knew her only as 'Swan.' I only suspect her true identity, and if I'm right…" He looked up at Marian helplessly, his face creased in dismay. "You must think me a fool twice over, now."

"It is a wise man who makes himself a fool for the right reasons," Marian said, smiling softly. "My father used to say that."

"How quaint." Jones sighed. "She is a woman I met in the Southern Isles, in a port town my ship used to frequent often. We were together for nearly a year, before news of the war reached us. I wanted her to leave with me, but she refused, and instead directed me here, with this - " he reached into his belt and pulled out a journal, aged and weathered with use. He opened it to a page marked with a string, and offered it to Marian. "A map to your camp, milady. It's what I was following when I collapsed."

"No wonder you got as far as you did," Marian said, examining it closely. She had a suspicion about this man, this sad, tired sea captain, and it was growing stronger with every word. "This woman - she told you to ask for Robin Hood?"

"Aye." Jones ran a hand across his face, as if trying to wipe the exhaustion away. "She said her loved ones were here. It's what I had wanted in the first place - to escape the Southern Isles, and to retrieve her family from Misthaven before the war broke out. She said it wasn't that simple." He scoffed. "Little did I know."

"What does she look like?" Marian asked slowly, closing the journal with trembling fingers. The front cover was embossed with a handcrafter's stamp that had been scratched out, but it was clearly an expensive book, bound in real leather.

"She is radiant," Jones said, almost perfunctorily. His expression was carefully blank. "Golden hair, blue eyes. Only a bit shorter than I, slim, but solidly built, with strong legs and arms. She had dirt on her face constantly, but it did not do much to disguise her beauty, if that was her intention."

Marian's heart pounded in her chest as she gave the captain back his book. "I know of whom you speak." She held the journal out halfway between them and waited for him to reach out for it, forcing her face not to twitch. When his arm extended, she did not hesitate, grabbing him by the wrist and shoving up his sleeve to expose his skin.

He did not react with violence, only surprise, when he tore out of her grip. But a moment was all she needed - the tattoo was brightly colored, even in the dim sunlight: a flowering vine, rooted at the base of his palm and curling up into the depths of his elbow. Its mark was unmistakable.

Marian cursed softly underneath her breath, and Jones frowned at her. "She is alive. Fates bless her, I knew it!"

"It's true, then," Jones said. He held his arm aloft, frozen for a long moment. Then he slowly lowered the limb, letting his sleeve fall once more. "'Twas the princess of this land that I met, and loved."

"Yes," Marian said, and watched his shoulders stiffen. "The Princess Emma, of Misthaven. I knew her well."

"You are family to her?" Jones asked, squinting at her. "Sister, or cousin? I was told she ran away from her birthright."

"I am no royal," Marian told him, "we share no blood. But I love her just as much, all the same." Jones turned on his heel to hide his face, his shoulders still stiff as stone. Marian watched with no small amount of sympathy - and curiosity. "Don't fret, Captain. That vine upon your skin tells us that she lives."

"You've heard of her death, even out here, then."

"Rumors of her death," Marian dismissed. "There is much to explain. Come." She brushed out her skirts. "We'll need the General."

"General?" Jones asked, finally turning back. His eyes were sunken in his face, but there was a spark within them that made Marian smile.

"Her name is Mulan," Marian explained. "Come. She tells it much better than I."

"A pirate?" Mulan wondered. "How fitting."

Jones bowed deeply, and Marian bit back a laugh. "It is an honor to meet you, General."

Mulan nodded stiffly, her face impassive, but Marian could tell she was grudgingly impressed by the formality. "We'll need refreshment," she said after a moment, looking quickly over at Marian, who raised an eyebrow at her in question. "Lucille, if you don't mind?"

Little Lucille, standing guard at the mouth of the grotto, jumped to attention. "Yes, General," she chirped, and scampered off. The rest of the students tittered quietly from the trees, hidden among the branches. Mulan looked sternly toward the thickest part of the wood, and the tittering stopped.

"Emma's alive, then," Mulan said, falling gracefully to her knees, next to the wooden stump that served as a makeshift table. Jones followed, after a moment of indecision, and Marian flopped unceremoniously between them both. "I'd hoped that was the case."

"The vine," Jones said, staring intently at Mulan, "it is a location spell."

"Yes," Marian said. "Sort of."

"Not really," Mulan said.

Jones looked between the two of them. "Alright," he said flatly.

"Perhaps we should start at the beginning," Marian said delicately.

"Very well." Mulan inclined her head. "Emma spent her summers here as a child, Captain, and that is how she and I met. Her parents are soulmates, as you probably know. She has the gift of magic."

"Well, yes, I knew that," Jones said dryly. "But - true love, is what you speak of…?"

"The Bear and her Shepherd," Marian interjected, with a small laugh. "Yes. Her powers are very strong."

Jones nodded, absorbing this.

"She learnt the ways of her magic from the dryads," Mulan continued. Her voice was as clear and even as a bell, and it warmed Marian's heart to listen to it, as always. "It was her mother's decision, I believe. She did not want the princess to fall prey to those who might seek to take advantage, or even to turn her to the darkness. The dryads were the best option, as wild as they are. I was her companion - her bodyguard, of sorts, during the summers that she spent here."

"I don't know much of dryads," Jones said, "but if they are anything like the nymphs of the seas, they don't do anything for free."

"You'd be correct, in that," Mulan said wryly. She paused, as little Lucille came running back into the grotto, dangling a teapot from one hand. All three of the adults watched indulgently as she barrelled through their little circle and set the lot down on the wooden stump. "Cups, Lucille?"

"Oh!" Lucille said, and closed her eyes. A faint wind ruffled the child's hair, and three mugs melted into existence next to the teapot. Jones exhaled sharply, then rolled his eyes pointedly at Marian, who only smirked.

"Thank you," Mulan said, "that will be all."

Lucille bowed, then darted off towards the nearest tree. She was up and within its leaves in no more than a few moments.

"Dryads," Jones said, after a moment.

Mulan nodded sagely, pouring the tea. "Small ones," she said. "The price we pay."

"A challenging one, perhaps, but the challenge of children is a pleasant one," Marian interjected. She smiled at Jones. "My men and I only joined this endeavor recently, Captain. After my husband's...departure. But Emma and I have known each other for longer - we met when she came with her parents to the kingdom where I was born. My mother was the wife of a governor, and they stayed with us for a few months."

"You teach them...what, to fight? Is that not something they can learn on their own?"

"You'd be surprised," Mulan said evenly. She paused to sip her tea, handing Marian's over to her as well. Jones didn't even glance at his. "Not to fight, anyway. It is more than fighting...it is hard to explain."

Jones made a dismissive sound. "I don't need to know everything," he said impatiently. "Tell me of...Emma." He said the name with a certain unfamiliarity, but with a gentleness, as well.

Mulan looked over at Marian briefly, then regarded him with a calm gaze. "You spoke of the vine, before. It is a location spell, of a sort, but that was not its original intention."

"The rumor I heard was that her mother had it cast."

"That is also true," Mulan said slowly. She set her teacup down carefully. "When Emma was eighteen, her...tutor, I guess you could say, had a vision. She was one of the eldest dryads, and the one who had taken on the bulk of Emma's training. She was very sick, at the time, because of her age, and the prophecy she spoke was one of the last she gave before her death." Mulan nodded at Killian's wrist, the vine just barely visible beneath the hem of his sleeve. "That vine is an old protection spell, designed to keep Emma within the borders of this forest. Her mother convinced the dryad to perform it before she died, convinced as she was that it was her only option to keep Emma safe."

"Because of the vision she had," Jones said slowly.

"A vision of Emma's death, yes," Mulan said. Her voice turned dry. "I'm sure you can imagine Emma's reaction to all of this."

Jones snorted, and the trees tittered again, faintly.

"Emma found a way to modify it - obviously," Mulan said. "I helped her."

"We both did," Marian interjected. "This was right after my husband left me. Queen Regina...owed me one, you could say. She modified the spell - turned it from a containment, to a sort of...trace. It would still protect her, and track her movements, but nothing else."

"Right," Jones said, with sudden understanding.

"There was a plague sweeping the kingdom that summer," Mulan recalled. "Many people died. We took advantage of the King and Queen's distraction, and helped Emma escape. We were able to conceal her absence from them for almost two years, before they finally discovered the truth."

"But - why leave?" Jones asked. "Was it only because she was angry?"

"She wanted to prove a point," Marian said. "But she also knew she had to. She was trained by a seer, remember."

"She has visions, as well?" Jones asked.

"I don't know if they're quite as clear as visions, but she has...something," Marian replied. "Something that always guided her actions. Fate, perhaps. At any rate, she knew she had to go, and we were more than willing to help her."

"Safety in a cage is not true safety," Mulan said evenly, and a heavy silence descended upon the circle.

Jones rubbed at his beard. "Fine," he said, "but why do I wear it now?"

"The vine is tied to her lifeforce," Mulan said. "So while it exists, so does Emma. But it is upon your skin…" she gave Marian another glance. "That, I cannot answer. The dryads might, but - there aren't that many of the older ones left. And the younger ones are more...mortal, now."

"Of course," Jones murmured. "They're dying out. That is why you help them."

Mulan inclined her head. Marian was impressed, but not surprised - of course he'd be smart. Smart, and handsome, and gallant, and a bit of a rogue - Emma was still Emma, after all. She wouldn't choose anyone who couldn't keep her on her toes. The realization was something of a relief.

"She did something…" Jones said distantly, "when I last saw her. She kissed me goodbye, and it was…" he shook his head. "Strange. I fell unconscious, and my shadow…" he sighed. "I had a curse of my own, you see. It was gone when I woke up, and I have only this vine, now."

"It must've been something Emma did," Marian said. "She gave you her vine, and took your curse, maybe."

"What curse was this?" Mulan asked.

"A curse of Neverland," Jones said, and the trees fell suddenly, deathly silent. Jones' mouth tightened. "She has gone there, hasn't she."

Mulan didn't reply, but she glanced towards the trees. The branches were unnaturally still.

"We know she fought the eldest brother, of the seven Princes of the Southern Isles," Marian said, after a moment. "The report reached the crown three weeks ago. There was a duel, in the capital, and Prince Pieter fell to the Princess' blade." Marian paused. "The Queen keeps in contact with us, despite our betrayal, and keeps us informed. The dryads are...her backup plan, you see."

"That must have been what she did that day," Jones said to himself. "While I...how ignorant I was. I didn't even ask."

"A man in love," Mulan said. The words were derisive, but her voice held no censure. "They will still sail upon Misthaven. Their greed is tainted with bloodlust, now. She has, perhaps, made the situation worse."

"But she's divided their forces," Jones argued. "Without Pieter, the brothers will turn on each other. The youngest, Hans, is the greediest. He will not hesitate to consolidate his power against his brothers."

"And their feud will tear our kingdom apart," Mulan said darkly.

"Backup plan," Jones said suddenly, tone sharp. "That is - the Queen means to make these children fight?"

"As a last resort," Marian assured him, but his expression remained unmoved.

"They might be children, Captain, but immortal children are still far more capable than an army of regular men," Mulan reminded him. "Still. We hope to avoid that if we can."

"He brought a journal, Mulan," Marian said. Both Jones and Mulan looked at her sharply. "Emma gave it to him."

Mulan looked back at Jones, who pulled the leather book reluctantly from his pocket.

"It is blank," he said, handing it over with no small amount of conflict. "I've tried just about every trick of revealing I know, and it remains empty, aside from the map - "

His words melted away with the sudden wind that blew through the grotto, and the book in Mulan's hands glowed gently with a golden light. After a few precious seconds, the light faded, and when Mulan opened its cover, the pages were covered in Emma's cramped, messy handwriting.

Jones cleared his throat. "I stand corrected," he said hoarsely.

Mulan was peering at the first page. "It's her notes," she said. "A journal, of sorts. I - " she stopped suddenly, a small frown upon her face as she paged gently through the book. "She's been writing in this since the day she left."

Marian's heart ached. "She sent it back for us."

Silence descended once more. The trees swayed gently, whispering their secrets into the wind.

"Here," Mulan said, at length. She'd turned to the very back of the book. "This is the last entry." She read furiously, tensely. Jones sat rigidly, clearly exerting most of his effort just to keep himself still. "She wants us to tell her parents what happened, and…" Mulan broke off. "There's a passage addressed to you, Captain."

Jones' shoulders stiffened even more, if that were at all possible.

"She says the Brothers plan to sail against Misthaven, which we already know, and...there's some information about their strategy. Things she discovered during the fight with Pieter." Mulan paused. "There's valuable intelligence here. She has given us a great advantage in the coming battle."

"We'll send word to the capital," Marian said quickly, rising to her feet. "If I send Little John now, he can make it to the edge of the Forest before nightfall."

"Do it," Mulan said tersely, and Marian wasted no more time. She strode quickly back in the direction of the central circle of the camp, leaving Jones and Mulan to sit together, the journal between them.

She could not help but glance back one last time before she got too far out of sight, something tender in her heart trembling at the vision of them leaning over the small book together, talking cautiously in the wooded grotto. A general and a pirate, she thought. What a strange place the world is, Marian wondered. Strange and terrifying and wonderful.

She took a breath, and strode quickly back to her camp. Little John was going to laugh his hat right off his head, she thought.

Marian did not see Jones or Mulan again that day, distracted as she was. Little John had in fact laughed his hat off, and then promptly picked it back up again and rode off on his horse, set for the forest's edge. He would be gone for at least a week.

Roland was fussy that night, and Mulan did not join them in their tent as she normally did, and the next few days were full of little crises - a shortage of clean blankets, and a sudden storm on the horizon to prepare for. Marian glimpsed Mulan quite a few times with her students, directing them in various tasks around the camp, and Jones only once - at the edge of a group led by Much, helping to secure the food stores for the coming storm. He looked exhausted, Marian noticed, but - he was not the only one.

Rain had a cleansing quality to it, even when it came accompanied by thunder and lightning, and as Roland slept, Marian stayed awake to listen to its fearsome sounds. The magic of the little dryad students kept the water away from the main center of the camp, but she could still hear it hitting the leaves of the trees all around them, as well as the strange, otherworldly noise of the wind that blew the drops away from the camp. It was a strange combination, but comforting, after all the years she'd slept beneath it.

Jones was outside, sitting with his back against the wall of one of the training poles. Marian saw him as she peeked outside to check the wind vane, and in a fit of impulsiveness, she stepped out to interrupt his solitude.

"Milady," he said, his eyes on the sky.

"Captain," she greeted, following his gaze. "Queer, isn't it?"

The dome of magic, created by the students, did in fact look very strange. Marian remembered the first time she'd seen them do this spell, and how she couldn't tear her eyes away.

"A bit," Jones said. He lowered his face. "I've seen something like it before."

Marian noticed he held Emma's journal loosely in one hand. "You've seen much, I'm sure, in your travels."

"Too much, some would say." Jones sighed. "Things never change, you know. Wars and kings, squabbling over land, money, women - the same story, over and over. I find myself sick of it." He made as if to toss the journal away, then arrested his motion at the last second and placed it carefully on the ground next to his knee. "Forgive me. I am too old and bitter to be good company tonight, perhaps."

"You've been through some pain, these past few weeks," Marian said, and settled herself down into a crouch a few feet away from his knee. "I know some of that myself."

"Aye, I imagine you do."

Marian watched him with blatant curiosity, this man that Emma loved. She'd resigned herself to the constant, dull pain that was the absence of her oldest friend, just as she'd resigned herself to the gaping wound her husband had left her with, a wound doomed never to heal completely. But things were changing now, she knew. A new man, in their camp, who wore Emma's vine, and carried her journal. A war, sailing toward their shores, and an uncertain future. Marian had ceased to fear the fates since her husband had left, for she knew that whatever they had in store for her, so long as her son was safe, she would not mind. But she was curious - maybe too much for her own good. That is what her mother used to say.

"Tell me of Emma," Marian asked softly. "The Emma you knew."

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the rain intensified for a quick moment, a strong gust of wind ruffling the trees. Still, the dome kept them dry, and the torches lit along the makeshift pathways revealed the sudden longing upon Jones' face.

"I called her Swan," he said, after a long moment. "She worked as a barmaid, in an inn that I frequented."

Marian tried to picture it: the elegant, spry princess she had known, washing dishes and serving ale. She...probably would have taken to that quite well, Marian thought wryly.

"She was witty, and endlessly skeptical," he said. "Always something to say, always an opinion. She never told me her name - I called her Swan, because she...said it was her favorite animal. I used to carve her these little wooden figurines, you see…" Jones trailed off. "I don't know what happened to them. I didn't even check her room, before I left. When I awoke...I just sailed away, straight to Misthaven."

Marian bit her lip.

"Her laugh was the sweetest I'd ever heard. I used to spend weeks, on my voyages, coming up with things to say to make her laugh. And she had such conviction, such heart…" Jones trailed off again, his voice lost to the sounds of the storm.

"She is not dead," Marian said, both for herself, and for him.

"I think I would know if she were," Jones said, gripping the wrist where the vine curled. "I think I...would be able to feel it."

Marian sighed, and looked up at the sky, past the trees. The rain was still falling outside of their windswept circle, and she knew that somewhere on the other side of that water, the moon shone bright and full.

"What will you do now?" she asked. "Will you look for her?"

"I can't." Marian looked back at him, and watched him rub his forehead wearily. "I've no idea where to look, for one, and if my suspicions are correct - "

"Neverland," Marian said softly. "I didn't think it really existed."

"Trust me, it does," Jones said. His tone left no room for argument.

Marian thought of Emma again, the Emma she'd known six years past. Marian had come to this forest pregnant and heartbroken, her husband's men trailing after her out of guilt and obligation, and Mulan and Emma had greeted her with open arms and wide smiles (well - Emma had smiled. Mulan was never a woman who smiled easily). Even when they were children Emma had been fierce, but as she grew older that stubborn tenacity had hardened into resolve, and determination, and the unyielding perseverance of a warrior. Marian remembered watching Emma's lessons in the grotto that the dryad children had inherited - even then, still just a girl of eighteen, her power had been impressive. What she'd grown into, after years abroad on her own, drifting from kingdom to kingdom on her adventures, Marian could only imagine.

"She's asked me to stay, at any rate." Jones held up the journal. "To help you. So that is what I will do, if you and the General will allow it."

"We would not turn you away, even if our dear friend did not love you," Marian told him. "Our forest is home to anyone who needs one."

Jones was silent, his face dappled in the shadows. From what Marian could see of it, it was troubled.

"And whatever dangers Emma faces now," Marian continued, "she will survive them, of that I have no doubt. She will return when she is finished with whatever she needs to do. We must have faith."

A long moment passed, and when Jones spoke again, his voice was much clearer than it had been before, the raggedness almost gone. "You should take this," he said, holding out the journal. Marian gaped at him in surprise. "I was selfish to keep it to myself. You loved her as well, you should read it."

"It's yours," Marian said slowly, "she left it for you, not me."

"No," Jones said, with a soft laugh, "no. Not just me."

Marian reached out and touched the cover, her heart pulsing painfully. Six years, she thought. Six years.

"She's never met my son," Marian heard herself say. "She used to call him her little brother. 'Little brother, come out and meet everyone,' that's what she'd say all the time. Speaking right to my stomach, as if he could hear her!"

Jones leaned forward, closing the distance between them and pressing the book into her hand. "Take it, milady," he urged gently. "Go on."

Marian closed her fingers around it, and brought it to her lap. Her eyes prickled.

"I know something of heartbreak," Jones said, leaning back against the pole. He looked away casually, as if the previous moment hadn't affected him at all, though Marian could see his hands shaking, just a bit. "Even before Emma, I knew it. I've lived a long time, milady, and I've seen and had much tragedy. If she never returns...I will survive it. I won't ever be the same man again, but I will live all the same." He cleared his throat. "They never speak about that in the songs, do they? How hard it is to be the one left alive. The ugly dreariness of it. How boring and mundane your pain becomes."

Marian swallowed thickly, and clutched the journal against her chest.

"This isn't my homeland. To be honest, I wouldn't care less about Misthaven's fate, if it weren't for Emma. But I can make myself care, for her." Jones rubbed the scruff of his beard, staring up at the rain. "Perhaps that's not the most flattering way to put it, but it's the truth. I'm an honorable man, but only when I care to be. It's not my natural state."

"Most people are not honorable at all," Marian said, wiping at her eyes. Jones kindly kept his face turned away, and did not seem to react much at all to her words. "You say that as if any honorable person, man or otherwise, doesn't struggle to keep it up in times of hardship."

"I've known those to whom it came naturally," Jones said quietly. "My brother was like that. Emma is too, as much as she would protest."

Marian laughed shakily. "Oh, you do know her well."

"I should hope so."

Marian took a deep breath, her fingers closed tightly around the book. "Whatever Emma's battle is," she said, "it is up to her to win it, and her alone. She made sure of that. Ours is still coming, and we mustn't let ourselves become distracted."

"Aye." Jones turned to look at her, expression grave. "My men are still at the dock, waiting for my return. I can send for them, if you want. My crew is small, but they will help. None of us are strangers to war."

"We could use any help we can find," Marian said softly.

Silence stretched between them for another long moment. Marian found herself wishing for Mulan, and her quiet, steady presence. Mulan always made her feel better.

"Thank you, Captain," Marian finally said, still clutching the journal. "I don't think I said that before - for bringing us this news. And for your help, of course."

"I'm not doing it for you," Jones reminded her, but his voice was kind. "And you should call me Killian."

"If that's what you wish," Marian said. "Killian." She paused, and smiled. "I don't suppose you'll call me 'Marian,' though."

"You are a very smart woman, no wonder they all look up to you so," Jones said.

"And you're a bit of a snake charmer," Marian said.

Jones - Killian - laughed. The sound was surprisingly loud, and boisterous in a way Marian didn't think he was capable of. "You know, Emma said the same thing about me."

"Well," Marian said wryly, "she's a smart woman, too."

Little John returned within the week with three new horses and a missive from the Bear Queen. Roland announced his presence to the camp, and promptly busied himself with the new additions to their herd, which relieved Marian of the burden of finding something to occupy him with while they discussed the things that she did not want him to overhear.

"She's called us to court," Little John said, with no small amount of condescending irony. "Jones, especially. She wishes to speak with the man that has defiled her daughter."

"It doesn't really say that!" Marian exclaimed.

Killian rolled his eyes dramatically from his spot next to Mulan, both of them hunched over the official parchment. "No, it doesn't really say that," he said.

Little John laughed. "You have to read between the lines," he said, and Killian huffed.

"But she does want to see him," Mulan said. "All of us, actually. We mustn't go, of course. There's no way that will end well."

"She'd lock him in the dungeon," Little John said. "Or chop you up and throw you in the stew, Jones. Serve you to her peace council."

"Oh, stop," Marian said, biting back a laugh. Even Mulan's mouth was twitching. "This is serious."

"Serious! Oh, yes. A war, and all that." Little John tipped his cap. "Serious matters, for serious people. That probably leaves all of us out, exceptin' the General, of course."

"Feel free to show yourself out then," Mulan said dryly.

"She wants your dryads in the capital," Killian said, cutting through the mirth. "Ready to fight, if need be. Does she have so little faith in her own navy?"

"Yes," Mulan said bluntly. "But having us in the capital means she has the upper hand. We're not her most favorite people, remember."

"An honorable ruler," Killian grumbled, "trapping her daughter, sending children to war. A Bear of a Queen, indeed." Little John grunted in agreement. "Will she not send men after us, if we disobey this order?"

"She knows better than to try," Little John said with a scoff. "She's tried before, in fact. Lost her best huntsmen that way."

"The important thing is that she knows the truth now," Marian said. "We've done our part, and upheld our promise to Emma. If the fight reaches Misthaven's shores, we will be ready. But we won't hand ourselves over to the royals, either. We must form a plan."

"The Queen knows nothing of my students anyway," Mulan grumbled, pushing the royal missive aside. "She means to send them in like infantry - foolishness! That is not how they fight."

"Our numbers are not enough for that to be a viable plan, even if it were," Little John said. "No - we are outlaws. And the dryads are children of shadows. That is our strength. We shall play to it."

"My men can serve as spies," Killian said. "The Queen calls for volunteers in times such as these, correct? They can sign up as cadets, and send news back to us."

"Pirates in the Queen's army?" Little John asked skeptically.

"We weren't always pirates," Killian said evenly. "And a good pirate knows how to blend in, anyway."

"It'll be helpful even if it fails," Mulan said. "Do it." Killian nodded.

"But whatever the Queen's plan," Marian interjected, "we must supplement it, not override it. The navy will have Emma's intelligence - it is possible that they will defeat the Brothers at sea, and the battle will never even reach land."

"Then we will be prepared for any possibility," Mulan concluded. "Marian, you will stay here and ready the camp for refugees. We will provide a safe haven for those who cannot fight, should the battle reach the villages. My students and I will move to the edge of the Morning Forest, so that we can be ready should our assistance be needed." Mulan paused. "Captain, I have seen your skill with the sword. If you have no quarrel, I would...appreciate your assistance."

"You have it, General," Killian said, inclining his head.

"I'll stay with Marian," Little John said. "I'll send most of the Merry Men with you, General, but - you'll need fighters here too, in case the worst of the worst comes to pass."

"Then it seems that is our plan," Marian said gravely. "Hopefully it is an overly cautious one."

"Better to be cautious than dead, I say," Little John said, rising to his feet with a groan. "I'll go track down the Robin Hood. It's almost time for his lessons."

"Thank you, John," Marian said gratefully. He tipped his cap at her with a grin, and disappeared through the flap of the tent.

Mulan looked up as well. "I must see to my students. Captain - "

"I will accompany you." Killian stood up, leaving the royal decree abandoned on Marian's breakfast table. "Milady."

"Marian," Marian teased. Killian shrugged at her as he walked past, following Little John's path out of the tent and into the camp. Mulan raised an eyebrow at the display, and Marian copied the good captain's shrug. "Inside joke."

"Indeed," Mulan said dryly. She moved on the same path as well, but paused briefly at Marian's shoulder. "Milady."

"General." Marian leaned into Mulan's touch briefly, treasuring the sensation of calloused fingers upon her cheek. "You will not leave until tomorrow, correct? I expect you to join us tonight. Roland and I have missed you."

"Things have been busy." Mulan paused, eyes tracking the spot where Killian had just stood. "The Captain. He is…"

"Trustworthy," Marian said decisively, thinking of the journal. She'd been reading it backwards, and Emma had had plenty to say about the pirate she'd met at the inn in Plitsblasse. If Marian hadn't figured him out herself, Emma's words would have been plenty for her to answer the question anyway.

"Very well." Mulan nodded, and touched Marian's face again, this time on her brow. "I have missed you both as well, you know."

"I know." They basked in the moment for a while longer, looking at each other in the dim light of Marian's candles. There was never enough time, Marian knew. There were just so many things to say, and even after all the years of solitude, out here in the forest, they still could never, ever find enough of these moments to say them.

"I must go. I will see you tonight." Mulan smiled briefly, but warmly, and withdrew her hand. "There is much to do to prepare."

Marian took a shaky breath. "Yes," she said, and pulled the flap of her tent open, enough for both of them to pass through. "Alright, then. Let's get to work," she said, and they stepped out into the camp together, into the morning of a new day.

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