[ more and more, this place begins to ache of the same hollow hopelessness of Neverland. all the aimless souls, trapped and confused and lost. ripped from what they loved and wanted and offered no answers as to why. it's too early for most to fall in to the resignation that they might never leave. many hold onto the ferocity that they will make it out, ferocity he refuses to let go of himself. it's the only way to survive a place like this, to determinedly remember what waits for you outside of it. in Neverland, he held onto hatred and revenge, it poisoned him from head to toe but it did keep him fighting.
now he holds onto the promise of going back to Storybrooke. bringing a mother back to her son, a chance at home, happiness. if he fought centuries for revenge, he'd fight far longer for that.
the problem is, and he knows it ... being in this place? trapped, after already suffering centuries of the same song to different notes? well, he's not handling it as effortlessly as one might think. he should be used to it only he isn't, he finally had freedom and hope and it's been stolen away. he's anxious and desperate, sharp when he should be patient, unraveling at the seams as he searches for answers that aren't at all apparent. between that, the reappearance of Baelfire, the uncertain ground of where he stands with Emma, his hand weighing on his thoughts, he's not made too many friends. he generally doesn't bother himself with such foolishness, except for one.
he still remembers walking in on the strange woman with red hair his very first day. she reminded him of the Enchanted Forest, and nobody else in the hotel does. not even its former residents. it's the world he understands, compared to the oddness of a modern one. and he knows that however accidentally, he offended her. if it'd been intentional, it'd be different. hell, most times he wouldn't even bother, but the look in her eyes? the sadness, the lost aching, the sorrow that harbors in the heart and takes you prisoner, that he understands. he's felt it too many times before. and he relates to it, and feels badly that he grieved her further when she is surely already grieving enough.
he has thought on how to try and make amends and come up quite limited at first. an apology would be uncomfortable, but a gesture of good will might help. it is only when the cold strikes that he thinks of something. he tried to give the blanket to Emma first, because the chill only reminds him of how terrified he'd been at the prospect of losing her. he still remembers how she was cold as death, or nearly — how she held onto him and for just a few hours, he was allowed to dote on her as he quite desperately wanted to. unsurprisingly, she'd turned him away, and it didn't much surprise him. she didn't take help easily if she didn't need it, and she might have been right in her assessment that he needed it himself. instead, though, he hoped to use it to mend a fence. or at least try to.
Tauriel might despise him yet but he'd feel better.
he brought it to her door, intending to leave it on her bed to cancel out the possibility of her refusing the charity. he didn't hear the low murmur of her song until it was too late and the door was already open. she was clearly present and she was even more clearly in the middle of something. he didn't understand the haunting words but the melody leaves little to the interpretation. that hits him first and the fact she is cutting her hair with the most impossibly small device hits him second.
so much for making amends, he has to guess that he has only succeeded in making it worse.
he looks downright ashamed as he looks down, aware of how intrusive he inadvertently was. ] My apologies, I was trying to... [ he trails off. it's not important what he was trying to do. he looks back at her, expression heavy with remorse, and yes, understanding. ]
I am sorry for your loss. [ he's not talking about her hair, he's talking about whatever name in her heart she is mourning. perhaps he's not supposed to know, but he does and he can't avoid saying it this time. ]
no subject
now he holds onto the promise of going back to Storybrooke. bringing a mother back to her son, a chance at home, happiness. if he fought centuries for revenge, he'd fight far longer for that.
the problem is, and he knows it ... being in this place? trapped, after already suffering centuries of the same song to different notes? well, he's not handling it as effortlessly as one might think. he should be used to it only he isn't, he finally had freedom and hope and it's been stolen away. he's anxious and desperate, sharp when he should be patient, unraveling at the seams as he searches for answers that aren't at all apparent. between that, the reappearance of Baelfire, the uncertain ground of where he stands with Emma, his hand weighing on his thoughts, he's not made too many friends. he generally doesn't bother himself with such foolishness, except for one.
he still remembers walking in on the strange woman with red hair his very first day. she reminded him of the Enchanted Forest, and nobody else in the hotel does. not even its former residents. it's the world he understands, compared to the oddness of a modern one. and he knows that however accidentally, he offended her. if it'd been intentional, it'd be different. hell, most times he wouldn't even bother, but the look in her eyes? the sadness, the lost aching, the sorrow that harbors in the heart and takes you prisoner, that he understands. he's felt it too many times before. and he relates to it, and feels badly that he grieved her further when she is surely already grieving enough.
he has thought on how to try and make amends and come up quite limited at first. an apology would be uncomfortable, but a gesture of good will might help. it is only when the cold strikes that he thinks of something. he tried to give the blanket to Emma first, because the chill only reminds him of how terrified he'd been at the prospect of losing her. he still remembers how she was cold as death, or nearly — how she held onto him and for just a few hours, he was allowed to dote on her as he quite desperately wanted to. unsurprisingly, she'd turned him away, and it didn't much surprise him. she didn't take help easily if she didn't need it, and she might have been right in her assessment that he needed it himself. instead, though, he hoped to use it to mend a fence. or at least try to.
Tauriel might despise him yet but he'd feel better.
he brought it to her door, intending to leave it on her bed to cancel out the possibility of her refusing the charity. he didn't hear the low murmur of her song until it was too late and the door was already open. she was clearly present and she was even more clearly in the middle of something. he didn't understand the haunting words but the melody leaves little to the interpretation. that hits him first and the fact she is cutting her hair with the most impossibly small device hits him second.
so much for making amends, he has to guess that he has only succeeded in making it worse.
he looks downright ashamed as he looks down, aware of how intrusive he inadvertently was. ] My apologies, I was trying to... [ he trails off. it's not important what he was trying to do. he looks back at her, expression heavy with remorse, and yes, understanding. ]
I am sorry for your loss. [ he's not talking about her hair, he's talking about whatever name in her heart she is mourning. perhaps he's not supposed to know, but he does and he can't avoid saying it this time. ]