Chapter Text
The Enchanted Forest, Fifteen Years Before the First Curse
The peasants and noblemen who lived in this corner of the realm had a saying.
It was said that Lord Byron had smiled twice in all forty years he had been on this earth.
Once when his father Lord Mason had passed on, leaving all of his lands and titles to his only son, and the other was when he found out he had been left all the gold as well.
'Warm' was not a word anyone with sense would describe Byron as. His ocean blue eyes remained hard and stoic and over the years his dark hair had receded into a sharp widows peak, giving him an even more stern and severe look.
He was often times compared to iron; he was hard, cold, unyielding, and above all else, unforgiving.
"Please, M'lord Byron! Please, I know it's been a slow harvest, wot with the frost and all, but you have to give us more time!"
Byron glanced down at the desperate farmer from atop his horse, his brown rough spun clothes caked in earth and manure so unlike the lords rich green fabrics, the primary color of their most noble House.
"First off all, it's 'My lord', not 'M'lord'. Speak properly or don't speak at all. Secondly, this is the third notice I have given you and your family."
His voice was as cold as the rest of him. Proper and befitting a Lord, a voice that belonged to a man who knew his place and his duty in the world and knew how one's rank in life determined how one ought to be treated.
It was a voice that had never once uttered a laugh.
"If you haven't been able to raise your taxes by now-."
"Our son!" the farmer's wife cried desperately. "He just started work as the stable boy for Prince Henry and Princess Cora last week! He promised to send us all of his pay at the end of the month!"
"The end of the month is two weeks away," Byron informed them. "Your taxes are due in three days time. I have been far more fair and generous than you have deserved. You owe me $15,000 gold in the next three days or else I repossess your farm and you face eviction. You agreed to pay a certain amount of taxes every month to my family and I, you haven't paid your taxes in three months so, ergo, you are being evicted. That was the deal we made when you choose to live on my land, that is the deal we will keep."
The boy, all of sixteen years old, who sat on his own horse next to Byron, lifted his head up when the farmer's wife let out a sob, begging the unyielding older man to spare their farm. The boy spared a glance at the Farmers, his blue eyes full of apologetic sorrow for the couple.
It made no sense to the boy. These peasants lived on their land after all, wasn't it their responsibility to look after them, to protect them? How was taxing them to the point they could barely afford to survive looking after them? How was making them homeless after a hard winter that greatly disrupted the growing season not just for this individual family but all the farmers of The Enchanted Forest protecting them?
Where was the honor in this?
"Father," the boy spoke for the first time since they arrived, earning the lords attention. "Perhaps we could wait until the end of the month. If their son is sending them the gold, what's the harm in waiting?"
Byron looked at the boy sitting beside him, a storm brewing in his eyes that told his companion everything that he wanted to scream at him.
"Three days," Byron repeated without taking his eyes from the teenager who turned his sight towards the green of the land beneath his horses feet, a red blush creeping up on his face. "Either have the gold or be gone from my land."
Having nothing more of importance left to say, Byron rarely wasted precious words when they weren't needed, the lord kicked his stallion into a gallop and rode off down the dirt road back towards the manor far off in the distance.
The boy wanted to offer comfort to the terrified farmer and his sobbing wife but his nerves failed him. He had used up all of his courage to speak out against his father in front of the peasants.
He wished he could do more for them. He wished he could save them, he wished he could help them but he couldn't.
The boy was powerless to help anybody…
"My lord," the boy said with an awkward inclination of his head. "My lady."
Without waiting for a response the blue eyed son clicked his tongue and gently nudged the horse off in the direction his father had gone.
The boy easily caught up to his sullen father but instead of riding by his side he fell back some, as was his proper place.
The boy wasn't a Lord yet. He was Byron's only son and heir but for now his place was behind his father.
He watched as his father stared dead ahead and the worry in his heart grew. Every time his father took him out of the manor to assist him in the ins and outs of ruling over their land the ride back would be filled with the lessons that the boy was supposed to be learning about taxes, estates, business, land deeds and the like and he would take it all in, or try to at least.
This ride though his father's tongue was still, and the prospect of what that meant frightened him. While Lord Byron wasn't much of a talker, if he was without words entirely, that surely meant that whoever his anger was being directed at would have a hard time picking themselves up off the floor.
Ninety nine times out of a hundred the person who needed assistance to pick themselves up waa his wife Ada or their son.
Ada and Byron had a strange relationship. There wasn't even hatred between them, at least that would have made sense, but there was a chill in the air whenever he walked into a room she was already in.
The manor staff loved to gossip and spread the rumor that they had sex only one time in their seventeen year marriage on their wedding night. She had gotten pregnant, made him an heir on the first try, and that had been the last time they touched.
The boy despised rumors, especially ones involving his parents sex life, but the more he thought of it, the more he realized he truly had never seen them share a quick kiss or a warm embrace or even a simple handhold.
Ada sat beside him at the dinner table, the two of them not talking, after all how could Lord Byron discuss matters of state with a woman, but he was as cold and unfeeling with his wife as he was with the peasants.
It had been an arranged marriage. She was a beautiful but humble dark blonde woman from an equal standing, Lord Byron had refused any woman who was of lesser standing than he was who had met on the day of the wedding. When one of the guests asked him how he liked his new bride, Byron had simply said; "she'll do."
When they arrived back at their manner the boy followed his father into the stables where both of them dismounted their horses.
"Father," the boy said, his thickly accented voice trembling as he watched his father approach him. "I'm sorry, I-."
But what he was sorry about the world would never find out because at that moment Byron hit his son in his face as hard as he could.
"You DARE embarrass me in front of them?!" Another hit to the face. The boy winced but he would not cry out. If he made noise it meant his mother would hear and would come running out to save her son from the abuse which in turn meant she would receive the beating earmarked for the boy.
"How dare you, boy, how dare you!" Byron roared, hitting him again, this time hard enough that he fell to the hay covered wooden floor, a steady stream of blood running down the gash in his lip.
Always 'boy.' Never his name, not unless he was being introduced at formal events but even then only the name of his house was emphasized.
"Father, please," the boy begged, not for himself but for the peasants they had just left. "They said they were getting the money, if you could just wait two more weeks…"
The boy winced as his father grabbed the front of his doublet and hauled him off the ground.
"You do not tell me how to manage my lands, boy!" he shouted as he slammed him into one of the stables so hard it nearly took his breath away and hitting him so hard in the ear that he heard a ringing.
The boy could have fought back, could have broken his father's grasp, he was certainly strong enough and far younger than the Lord, but he would not fight back, he would not strike his father.
The boy would not dishonor himself.
Byron seemed to realize what he was doing and backed away from his son, straightening out his expertly tailored clothes.
His outbursts never lasted long. After a few beatings he returned to his hard stoic self in case any of the staff were lurking. Byron was a great many things but an emotional man he was not.
"Besides," Byron said, as if he hadn't just thrown his own son around like a rag doll. "Anyone dumb enough to choose to send their child off to work for that wench and her weak minded prince deserves to be without shelter."
It was no secret that Byron hated that particular branch of the royal family tree. It had started the day that Prince Henry had decided to marry a commoner, the daughter of a miller, all because she did some trick that turned straw into gold.
But it soon became clear that Cora was the one with all the power, even with her low birth. Henry was weak minded, far too kind to those he ruled over, far too lenient with the peasants.
Cora had been the one who merciless evicted those who couldn't pay their taxes, Cora was the one who invoked fear merely by a rumor that she would be appearing in a village, Cora was the one who walked down the street as if she owned the very cobblestones that were under her feet.
Byron believed that a woman should not be in that position. Her job should have been to make a male heir, she couldn't even do that properly, and to be silent and obedient when it came to everything else.
Instead she was the one who walked ahead of her husband while he lingered to speak and visit to those beneath him, promising to make their lives better.
There was also rumors that she used dark magic to keep the peasants in line. While Byron did appreciate the sentiment, he had always distrusted magic and those who practiced it.
But what had made him truly hate the Mills family was that a month ago Byron had tried to arrange the marriage between his son and Cora's daughter.
Though the two children had never met, Byron had his heart set on the young princess joining his family, giving them a wider stake of land and more allies.
A lot could be said about the commoner turned princess but she did manage to give birth to a breathtakingly gorgeous daughter, who was humble and obedient for the most part, but Cora had refused his offer with a scoff and a laugh.
As wealthy and as noble as Byron and his family was, they were not royalty. His son would always be a Lord, never a King, not unless Leopold was willing to marry his precious princess off to someone twice her age, which he was going to go try to arrange in these upcoming weeks.
So when Cora had told him that she was not about to send her daughter off to be some random Lords wife, Byron had stormed out of the manner, his eye catching the raven haired beauty in the stables sitting far too close to their newly hired stable boy who, the Lord just found out, was apparently the son of his tenants William and Rebecca Colter.
"You will never embarrass me like that in front of anyone ever again. Do you understand me, Boy?"
"Yes father."
Byron gave a curt nod as a sign he accepted the apology for his insolence.
Besides they had far too much to do to today to linger on his disrespect.
"Now come, Boy," Byron told his son. "It's time for your archery lessons."
...
The Underworld, Present Day
Robin Hood made sure to tell his son every day how much he loved him. He made sure to always use his son's name, an honorable proud name, whenever he spoke to the curly haired five year old, and he always made sure to hug him or pick him up or hold his hand at least once a day, just some physical touch to let the small child know just how much Robin cared for him.
He made sure he did the same with Henry. He clapped the boy on the back or put a hand on his shoulder. He was always 'Henry', never 'boy' or even 'Lad' like Killian likes to refer to him as. While Robin knew it was a sign of affection, a child's name was special. It meant something, it was supposed to give them pride and purpose.
That was why he hadn't named his daughter yet. It wasn't something that couldn't be thought of at the last moment but it had to reflect who she was as a person. It was a whole three months before Robin decided on the name 'Roland' for his son and it appeared that the second time around was no exception.
If Regina found the custom odd she didn't mention it nor did she seem to mind referring to the nameless child as 'your daughter'.
Robin missed his children. More than he had ever missed anything else in this world. But, he reminded himself as he poured himself and Regina a cup of tea from the steaming kettle in their underworld apartment, he had to help rescue Hook. He had to set an example of heroics and honor, of never backing out of a job no matter how hard it became.
"Think it's going okay?" asked Regina as Robin added in just the right amount of milk and sugar for her tastes. "They've been gone a while."
"Well I'm sure sneaking into the very bowels of the Underworld is quite a feat," he told her as he walked over to the couch and handed her the cup of tea. "They'll be back soon."
Without even thinking about it he reached over and took her hand as they sat there and drank their tea. As with his children, he always made sure to be affectionate with his Queen. An arm around her waist, a hand on the small of her back, a quick kiss whenever he left her…
He would be damned if she thought that he didn't care enough about her to even hold her hand.
Robin went to take another sip of tea when there were three sharp knocks on the front door.
"Who the hell is that?" Regina asked as she got up off the couch.
"Seems we have a visitor in our Underworld apartment," Robin said as he followed her to the front door and stood beside her. She looked into the peephole, her confusion growing as she opened the door to the unfamiliar man.
"Can I help you?"
The moment Robin saw him, a thousand and one emotions flooded the thief. Overwhelming anger, uncontrollable grief, and, very fleeting, a sliver of love that try as he may, he had never been able to completely get rid of.
"Your majesty," Byron greeted the woman with a low bow. "I've heard tales that you had arrived..."
As he picked his head up from the bow and saw the archer, Byron's jaw clenched, his blue eyes narrowed in distrust and dislike and even hatred.
"Hood," Byron spat as if it were bitter on his tongue "What are you doing here?"
Regina looked between her outlaw and the well dressed man at Snow's front door, her confusion mounting with every tension rising moment passing. "Do you two know each other?"
"Unfortunately very well," Robin told her, not taking his blue eyes off the man who tried so desperately hard to ruin his life.
"Well does someone wanna fill me in?"
Robin took a deep breath, motioning to the man in a brilliant black suit with a small golden lion pin pinned to his lapel.
"Regina… Meet my father. Lord Byron of Locksley."