Once Upon a Time - CH96 Opening Scenes for Edit

Lorien: so I'm struggling with this chapter, and I'm wondering if it's because my first couple scenes don't work. So here they are, about 4500 words, set about 30 min after Dylan gets the new kitten from last chapter. The Balor scene (and its aftermath) is the ones I'm unsure of. Thoughts?

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Dylan leaned against Nuada's shoulder while Bat and the new kitten curled up together on her lap. The mortal still hadn't settled on a name for the little thing, but she'd only had her for an hour; there was still time. In the meantime, she would simply enjoy cuddling with her prince and listening to the friendly conversation between her siblings, Nuala, the king, and Ledi Polunochnaya. Nuada wasn't saying much, but he'd relaxed his guard enough that he'd slipped an arm around Dylan's shoulders and laid his cheek against her hair. His feral, wildwood scent made her smile; it was so comfortable and comforting. It made her feel so safe.

"So where's the queen?" Francesca asked abruptly, and the comfortable feeling was gone. Beside Dylan, Nuada tensed so tightly, Dylan thought he might snap in half. The smiles faded from Nuala, John, and Naya's faces. The king suddenly looked very, very old. Francesca, sensing she might have asked the wrong thing, shrank just a fraction in her seat and shot a panicked look at her younger sister.

Courageous as always, Nuada braved the silence and answered her. "My mother was murdered when Nuala and I were children," he said tonelessly.

Francesca blanched. "Oh. I'm so sorry."

Before anyone could say anything else, King Balor rose creakily to his feet. With a muttered, "Excuse me," he quitted the room. Nuala and Nuada watched him go, then Nuala fixed her golden gaze on her twin brother. Dylan glanced at her prince, who gazed back at his sister impassively. Nuala raised both eyebrows and twisted her mouth up in an odd expression. Nuada sighed. Disentangling himself from Dylan, the prince got to his feet.

"I'll return shortly," Nuada said to Dylan, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. Her skin seemed to glow where he touched her. She smiled at him, trying to put understanding in her eyes, and nodded. Nuada followed after the king.

"I'm sorry," Francesca mumbled miserably, hunching her shoulders. "I didn't mean to offend anyone or anything."

Nuala smiled gently at the waitress and laid a hand on her arm. "No offense was taken. My father…loved my mother very much. But we know you meant no offense. You simply didn't know. The court does not speak of it, either, so it is understandable that you wouldn't have heard the story."

"What is the story…if you don't mind my asking?" Francesca asked diffidently.
After a long moment, Nuala said, "Humans killed her," in such a tone that everyone knew not to ask anything more about it.
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Nuada found his father leaning heavily against the desk in his private study, breathing hard. A shudder ran through the king. Nuada knew what Balor was thinking of—Cethlenn, her smile and her laugh, the sound of her voice, the fragrance of her perfume…the way she'd looked when Wink had brought her body back from the spot of horror where she'd been butchered. Nuada hadn't been conscious when the troll warrior had carried queen, prince, and princess back to Renvyle, but he'd picked up the memory during a brief, accidental mind-touch with his father sometime later.

"Áthair?" Nuada ventured cautiously, uncertain whether the king would spurn him or not. That had been Balor's habit the entirety of Nuada's recollection, ever since the queen's death…but Nuala had asked him through their link to go to their father, to make sure he was all right. And even now, he could deny his twin sister nothing.

Balor straightened abruptly. Passing a hand over his face, he turned to his son and offered a wan smile. "My son, you should be celebrating the holiday with your lady, not worrying about an old man."

"Nuala was concerned," the prince murmured. "Are you well?"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course," he replied. "I was simply…thinking, that's all."

Wondering if it was a mistake, Nuada hazarded, "About Máthair?" After an excruciating moment, Balor nodded. "I do not think Lady Francesca meant to cause you pain, Father."

"I know," the king murmured, still with that sad smile. "It is simply…very difficult to think of your mother. She would have been proud of you," he added, startling the prince. "For abandoning your vengeance. For adhering to the treaty, choosing honor over selfishness. She would have been so proud of you."

Conflicting slices of pain slashed across Nuada's heart at his father's words. It hurt that his father still believed he'd wanted the war for revenge, not out of necessity. How could Balor believe that of him? And it hurt to think that his mother would have been just as horrified and sickened by his hatred for and disgust with the children of Adam as his father was. It was one of the things that haunted him late in the night—would his mother have been ashamed of him, of the man he'd become? Now that he'd forsworn honor to be with Dylan, his father claimed Cethlenn would have been proud. What if he'd had the courage to defend the Fair Folk as they needed to be defended? Would she still have been proud? Would his mother have understood why he felt he needed to go to war?

They needed to get off this subject; thinking of Cethlenn fogged Nuada's mind with regret, with grief, with rage and sick horror that churned in his belly like poison. He'd never spoken of what had actually happened that day with his father. They'd danced around it, skirting it like a pool of acid in the middle of their conversations, but the king didn't want to hear a first-hand account of his wife's murder. Nuada couldn't blame him. He would have given nearly anything to forget the sight of his mother screaming and struggling beneath the weight of a rutting human beast.

"Father," Nuada managed to say, somehow keeping his voice steady despite the nausea suddenly twisting in his gut. "I need to speak to you about something."

Balor raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"It is about Nuala. She cannot be allowed to marry Bres."

Aged amber eyes widened and the king's brows rose nearly to his hairline. "I see. Have you spoken to your sister about your concerns?"

Nuada shook his head. "Dylan wished me to speak to you first. I thought it a wise course."

Now those pale brows furrowed in confusion. "Dylan? What has your lady to do with it?"

How to explain Dylan's sixth sense to his father without giving away one of the advantages they had over the old king? He would have to couch his words carefully. Speaking with caution, Nuada said, "Dylan possesses almost preternatural instincts for danger. For evil. She recognizes evil when it draws near. She has sensed this in Bres…the same sort of evil as the men who murdered Máthair."

Balor leaned against his desk and folded his arms across his chest, eyeing his son sternly. "That is a grave accusation, my son. Take care you do not speak with undue haste."

"Father, I'm not a child," Nuada said sharply. "I am not a fool, either. If I was not certain, I would not speak to you about it. Bres is evil. He cannot be allowed even a foothold in this kingdom. He cannot be allowed to have Nuala. Bres cannot be trusted with the well-being of either our people or their princess."

"What proof do you have, other than your lady's 'instinct for evil?'"

Remembering the terrible cold that had clamped down around Nuada when he'd read Dylan's memory of her confrontation with the prince of Cíocal, the prince replied, "I need nothing more than that."

There was a measured pause, then the king said softly, "Forgive my cynicism, Crown Prince, but you claim your lady possesses an innate sense for evil when it comes before her, that she can recognize evil when confronted by it…yet she has given her heart completely and utterly to you, even before you gave up your quest for the Crown piece."

Nuada felt his eyes widen as the word evil echoed in his skull. His father still thought that of him? Still? After all the concessions he'd made, after all the ways he'd compromised his honor and integrity by capitulating to the king's wishes, Balor thought him evil?

"You still condemn me," Nuada said softly, surprised his voice didn't shake. He didn't bother to mask the hurt underlying his words. "Why?"

"You sought the slaughter of countless innocents," Balor said gently.

Nuada shook his head. "I gave up my quest."

"But you still desired that outcome in the first place, abandoned or not," the king replied. What made it all worse, Nuada thought, was that the king's expression was gentle, almost understanding, like a parent telling their child a hard truth they were sorry for. "How can I trust your lady's instincts when they seem so skewed?"

What was he supposed to say, when he'd wondered the same thing? Why didn't the Spirit warn Dylan of the darkness in Nuada's heart? Or had it, and she'd simply ignored it out of love for him?

"You would have to ask Dylan about her perception of me, Majesty," Nuada said eventually. "I cannot speak for her in all things. But my king, I implore you…for the sake of this kingdom and my sister, Nuala cannot be allowed to marry Bres. You must break her engagement. It is not as if she is formally, publically betrothed; surely you can simply have a quiet word with Bres."

Balor quirked a brow at his son. "Why should I do this based on nothing more than your word?"

A brief pause, then Nuada asked softly, "Do you not trust my judgment in this, Father?"

"No," Balor replied, not unkindly. "When it comes to your sister, your judgment can rarely be trusted, my son. And I know your lady has her own prejudices against Bres for what happened at her dance lesson with Cíaran—"

"That has nothing to do with this," Nuada protested. "Dylan has no prejudice against Bres; she's afraid of him. He threatened her. Why shouldn't she fear him?"

Balor shook his head. "She misunderstood," the king said. Nuada's jaw went slack and his brows rose. "Crown Prince Bres spoke to me of his conversation with Lady Dylan already. He merely intended to warn her that her choice to wed you may not be looked upon favorably by all of our people. You have known this to be true for some time yourself, Nuada. She needed to be warned of the dangers that will arise once you are wed. I confess, I was surprised you hadn't appraised her of them before this."

How was it that his father could treat him this way, make him feel like a little boy in need of chastisement? Struggling to maintain his dignity and refusing to let Balor put him on the defensive, the Elven warrior replied, "I have. She knows the danger. She is neither foolish nor blind; she knows that the path we have chosen is a difficult one, but that has nothing to do with what Bres said to—"

"I shall not break your sister's betrothal," Balor interrupted. Nuada's mouth snapped closed with an audible click of teeth. "The match is a good one politically, uniting our kingdom with Cíocal upon my death and the death of King Elatha. Nuala is happy with the match. She and Bres are fond of each other. There is no reason to disrupt your sister's happiness."

"Father," Nuada protested. He wondered if this sharp edge of frustration had afflicted Dylan the night before when she'd tried to explain to her prince just why she was so afraid of the Fomorian crown prince. "Father, Bres is evil!"

"Yet he is your friend," Balor said softly.

Nuada shook his head. "My friend no longer, Sire. He is my enemy, and knows it."

"Your enmity should have no bearing on your joy for your sister's upcoming nuptials," the king said sharply. "She is happy. Bres is happy. I and Elatha are both pleased with the match. You and your lady are the only ones distressed by these events. You claim Bres is your enemy, that he is an evil man, yet until only a few days ago, he was one of your dearest friends. Is your loyalty such a flimsy thing, then?"

Stung, the prince drew himself up and forced himself to meet the king's golden eyes. In a voice devoid of any emotion, Nuada said, "My loyalty is first and foremost to my king and my country, then to my family, and then—and only then—to my friends and comrades."

"If you are loyal first to your king, then we have nothing more to discuss, do we? I have said Nuala and Bres shall marry. That should be all you require." When Nuada opened his mouth to protest again, Balor added, "Of course we both know your first loyalty is not to me, don't we?"

The stinging words bit even deeper now. Baffled by his father's hostility, Nuada shook his head in confusion. "Why do you say these things? I am only trying to do what is best for Nuala. For our kingdom. I am trying to protect her."

With a sigh, the king moved around his desk to sink into the plush chair. "Protect Nuala? Just as your desire to protect the Fae led you to go against my orders, abandon your kingdom to your foolish exile, and seek out the means to slaughter an entire race? Your wish to protect what you profess to love led you to seek the deaths of countless innocents? And when you acted to protect your lady, you broke the treaty that honor holds us to, murdered humans after I expressly forbade such an act, and expect your supposed intentions to excuse you?"

Nuada stared at his father, who gazed impassively back. "You're…still angry about the human assassins?"

"Yes, I'm angry," the king flared. "Your pride and temper have put me in bad positions many times in the past, and still you have yet to learn to control yourself. That same pride and temper have brought you into my study now."

"Father, this has nothing to do with pride—"

"Oh, no?" Balor demanded. "Bres upsets your lady, the woman bound to you, and then you come to me and say your sister cannot wed him because his heart is tainted with evil, when mere days ago you told me that Bres was a good man? And I am to believe that your pride has nothing to do with it?"

Raking a hand through his hair, the prince growled, "You cannot possibly be serious."

The king settled back in his chair. Nuada noted with distant unease when Balor rubbed his left shoulder as if it pained him. "I am serious. I'll not allow you to interfere with your sister's happiness. I have heard the rumors, Nuada."

Cold fury washed through the prince. Gossip again. He loathed gossip. "What rumors?" He demanded icily, though he already knew. Rumors of unnatural desire of various sorts had followed him throughout his life, his enemies' way of discrediting him. And didn't his betrothal to Dylan only confirm such things? Many Fair Folk considered a fae consorting with a human to be worse than rutting with farm animals.

Balor's gaze didn't waver as he met Nuada's infuriated copper gaze. "You know what rumors."

"They're not true," Nuada said immediately. "I love Dylan. This gossip has nothing to do with my objections to Nuala's betrothal. Bres is not our ally. Nuala cannot be happy with such a man."

"I have already made my position clear, Crown Prince."

"With all due respect, Majesty," the prince replied in a voice carved from jagged ice, "it is your duty as Nuala's father and king to protect her—from any threat, including—"
"How dare you speak to me of duty!" Balor suddenly shouted, surging to his feet. Nuada was so startled he actually took a step back from the desk. Slapping both hands onto the desk's surface—the wooden hand making a hard thwok against the hawthorn—Balor raged, "Do not speak to me of my duty to protect your sister! My daughter! I know my duty in that regard, Crown Prince! I have not forgotten it!"

Cautiously, well aware that somehow the ground beneath his feet had shifted seismically so that every step in the conversation could well be his last, Nuada said, "I did not mean to imply that you—"

"I need no reminding from you!" Balor snarled, eyes flashing molten bronze.

The words sliced away the rest of what Nuada meant to say, leaving him in stunned silence. No reminding from him. No reminding of a man's duty to protect his family…as he, Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance, had failed to do that long ago day when his mother had been murdered and Nuala so badly hurt. Was that what his father meant?

Nuada took an involuntary step back. He swallowed. It felt as if his heart were hammering in his throat. He tasted blood and wondered vaguely if he'd bitten the inside of his cheek or his tongue somehow. In the back of his mind, he heard his mother screaming.

"From me?" Nuada echoed.

Balor's narrow-eyed glare was like an iron dirk in Nuada's belly. "I will not, tonight of all nights, sit here and listen to you tell me how I should protect Nuala from a man's predations. I will not. Not when I have had to listen to you speak of my wife and how she was butchered by human animals as if no one was at fault, when we both know that you—"

"Don't," Nuada whispered, the word sharp and cold in his mouth. "How dare you? The fault was—"

"We both know who is to blame for your mother's death," Balor said savagely. "There is nothing either of us can do about it."

There were no words Nuada could find to shove away what his father was saying. It was one thing to know that Balor blamed him for Cethlenn's murder, but something else entirely for the king to actually say so. Something sick and vicious rose up in the prince's throat, and he found he couldn't swallow it back. His eyes stung, a thousand needle-pricks, and moisture gathered in his eyes, as if the wind were blowing into his face. He hastily blinked the wetness away. Nodded once, because he still couldn't find any words. Without even bowing, he turned and strode quickly out of his father's private study, unable to stop his trembling.

Nuada didn't stop when he went through the informal sitting room where his sister, Naya, Dylan and her family sat. He didn't speak. He walked right past them, ignoring Nuala and Naya calling after him, barely noticing that Dylan didn't speak at all. Without a backward glance, he walked out of the room, out of the royal suite, and went where he could be alone. He would not fall apart in front of his sister, in front of strangers. He could not.

He could not.
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"What was that about?" John mumbled when the door swung shut behind the prince. No one said anything until Dylan shoved her lapful of cats into John's lap. "Hey!"

"Hold that," she said briskly. "I'll be back in a bit."

As Dylan got to her feet, Nuala ventured, "Dylan…if something has upset my brother, perhaps you should simply let him be for a time."

"With all due respect, Your Highness," Dylan said, keeping her voice gentle so the words didn't sting her future sister-in-law, "that's what you would do, which is why Nuada opens up to and trusts me." With that, she followed after her prince, picking up her guards on the way out of the king's suite.

The going was slow because it was late, she'd been on her feet all day, she hadn't had any Vicodin, and her leg hurt, but it wasn't the violent throbbing she would've had if she hadn't been to see Táebfada earlier that day. She didn't manage to catch up with Nuada, but Dylan knew instinctively where he was going, so that didn't bother her. After Uaithne and Ailbho checked her suite to ensure it was clear—everything but her bedroom, which Dylan had, on instinct, asked to be done last by Eimh and Sétanta—she walked in. Her hounds nosed the bedroom door open just enough to squeeze into the room. They came out quickly.

*Master is in there,* Eimh whined softly. *Something is wrong.*

The Butchers started toward the door, but Sétanta whuffed at them and they halted. *He is unhappy, Mistress,* the black puppy said. *Maybe we should get our squeaky balls.* The dog glanced at his white-furred sister. *If we play with him, maybe he will be happier.*

"Let me speak to him first," Dylan replied. "Go ahead and get your balls, but wait out here, okay?" The hounds brushed their bodies against Dylan's skirts, a silent vow of obedience and unconditional love, and the mortal woman slipped into the bedroom.

Nuada stood in front of the window, head bowed so that the moonlight turned his hair to luminous silver. He'd thrown his tunic on the floor and stood in his shirtsleeves. His shoulders shook silently. Being careful to make the usual amount of noise, Dylan approached and laid her hand on the sharp ridge of Nuada's shoulder blade. She felt him quiver like a wild horse. He made no sound, and he didn't turn to her or lift his head. He simply stood in the moonlight with his back to the mortal he loved, one hand pressed to the glass.

"Nuada?" Dylan asked softly, gently. Nuada's fingers curled and his hand against the window convulsed into a fist. He thumped it against the glass. "Hey. It's okay."

He shook his head. "No."

"Yes," Dylan whispered, stroking down the length of his back in an attempt to soothe him. A sigh shuddered through him. "It's okay, mo airgeadach. Whatever happened, it's okay. Will you look at me?" When he said nothing, she added, "Please?"

At last he turned to her, and her heart cracked more than a little at the sight of the diamond trails of tears coursing down his pale, scarred cheeks. Dylan's mouth fell open slightly at the sight of those silent tears. Raising her hands, she framed his face, letting her thumbs whisper caresses over the royal scar carved across his wet cheeks. Nuada closed his eyes at her touch.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," he rasped, covering her slender wrists with his hands. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

Dylan shook her head. "Yes, it does." Stepping closer to him, so that she could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt and her dress, she whispered oh so gently, "It matters." Dropping her hands, Dylan slid her arms around him and held him tightly. He stiffened for a fraction of an instant before melting into her embrace. His arms came up to wrap around her, holding her tight to him, and Nuada buried his face in the crook of her neck. She stroked his hair. "It's okay," she said. "It's okay."

His sigh shivered warm across her neck, ruffling her hair. His fingers tangled in her hair as he shifted and pressed his forehead hard against the side of her throat. Nuada's voice came muffled, "He blames me still. I had hoped…hoped that after all this time, he…but I was wrong."

"Blames you for what?"

The words were a whisper of heartbreak when Nuada replied, "My mother's murder."

Dylan forcibly swallowed the anger that erupted in the pit of her stomach like a fireball. What in the world had Balor said to Nuada to reduce him to this? Something about his mother, about how he blamed Nuada—which was just stupid, not to mention cruel—but what, exactly? Dylan was going to find out when she went to Balor and ripped him to pieces for doing this to her prince. Want to spend some part of the holiday with your son, my dainty little foot, she thought venomously. Oh, you are dead, you scumbag! Truce is over, I'm coming after you.

But now wasn't the time to lash the king with her rage. Now was the time to comfort her prince, who had loved his mother so much, and seen her so brutally murdered…and whose father apparently blamed him for it all. Like Nuada, she'd thought things were smoothing out between king and prince, but obviously they'd both been wrong.

She said none of this. She simply held him while he murmured, "I never wanted her to come to harm, Dylan, never. I would give nearly anything to get her back. How can he not know this?"

"Perhaps," the psychiatrist replied gently, "Francesca's question stirred up more negative feelings than the king was willing to deal with just then, or capable of dealing with. He may have said things he didn't mean. Family does that often, my love, you know that. We've done it to each other often enough, haven't we?"


Nuada nodded, but she could tell he wasn’t buying it. Neither was she. Even in all of the vicious arguments Dylan had had with her sisters, they'd never accused her of being at fault for things beyond her control. She'd had the option all those times of lying about the faeries, of pretending they weren't there, and she'd chosen not to; so in a way, the fallout was her fault, for doing what was right. And she'd known things would be difficult if she refused to back down. But Nuada hadn't known those monsters were waiting for him, Nuala, and Queen Cethlenn that day, and it hadn't been his decision to only bring a couple guards with them, or even venture out to the woods. Cethlenn had been the adult; it had been her choice.

A dull ache had begun to whisper through her bad knee; she'd rushed to the suite too quickly, and standing made her damaged joint twinge. When Dylan shifted, however, Nuada tightened his grip on her.

"Must we go back just now?" He murmured against her throat. He hadn't pulled his face away from the hollow between her neck and shoulder yet. A soft flutter tickled the inside of Dylan's stomach at the caress of his breath on her skin. "Can we not stay a bit longer? My sister presses me for answers I cannot give her."

"So just tell her to buzz off," Dylan replied with forced lightness. "If you don't want to talk, she shouldn't force you."

"She can feel my emotions," Nuada said. "She knows I am upset, knows it has something to do with our parents, and wants to make it right. I think she will abandon that desire once she finds out I attempted to break her engagement to Bres tonight."

Dylan winced. "I take it that didn't go very well." Nuada shook his head. "Wonderful. You know what? Don't worry about it." At that, the prince jerked back to stare down at her. Moonlight poured through the window, illuminating his baffled expression. "I'll take care of it," she added. "Things are tense between you and your dad right now and we don't need him getting madder at you just because…just because. So I'll talk to him tomorrow."

"Mo duinne, I would rather you left it to me—"

"I can handle it," she interrupted. "Besides, your dad has a soft spot for me, being human and all. Let me try in the morning. And you know, if you don't want to go back to the party or whatever tonight, we'll stay here. I don't mind just snuggling with you on the couch in front of the fireplace until dawn, though I might fall asleep before then. But it's tradition in my family that we stay up all night Christmas Eve to wait for dawn on Christmas Day. When we would visit my aunt and uncle in Pennsylvania, it was even better, because they had a small farm and livestock."