A/N: Alright people, this is my first fic for OUAT. I absolutely love this show and I especially enjoy Regal Believer. I would love feedback, the good, bad and the ugly. I hope I do justice to this amazing relationship. Regal Believer all they way.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

. . .

Henry doesn't have dreams very often- at least, he doesn't remember dreaming a lot, or maybe he just doesn't remember them. Lately, though, he's been having dreams every night. He always forgets them the moment before he opens his eyes, in that instant between the dark, buoyant realm of sleep and the light of the morning, but even once he's fully awake, he can tell. He's been dreaming.

In these dreams he sees a woman. She has black hair, and big brown eyes the color of chocolate and coffee. She's pretty. She feels...familiar. Sometimes in his dreams she's sad, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, desperate not to fall. Other times she looks scared, sometimes she's angry, and both of those are terrifying, even in his sleep he can feel it. When she's scared, he feels petrified, feels his dream self tense, because he can tell she's strong, and if she's scared then everyone else should be running for the hills. When she's angry Henry is scared then, too, because her gaze looks like it could burn you to the ground.

Rarely, she smiles. Her smile is radiant, makes her even prettier, and when he sees it, Henry feels calm. Any remaining trickles of anxiety from a previous nightmare, any stress or fear that threatens to pull Henry from his dreamland is gone, and he feels his heart settle.

He dreams about other things, too. There's a man with a kind face holding an umbrella, and he's got a dog (a dalmatian, maybe?) trailing along beside him.

There's a big, leather bound book with loopy, gold letters on the cover. Henry will trail his fingertips over the words over and over again, but he can never read them.

He dreams of a prince and a princess fighting a gang of trolls, and of a rickety wooden castle on the beach.

Mostly, though, he dreams of the dark-haired woman.

He dreams about her standing in a kitchen, chopping up apples as he sits next to her. He pokes and prods at the great big pile of swirling red peels until his hands are sticky. Then she's handing him something, a pastry-he can't tell what-and she wipes his cheek when he smears it all over his face.

One night, he dreams that he's standing in a room filled with clothes. He finds every scarf he can get his hands on; he drapes them over his head and his shoulders, ties them around his waist and arms. He's flapping his arms, sliding socked feet across a wide wooden floor. The woman is grinning, laughing, and her eyes are lit up with joy. Then Henry trips, smacks his elbows and knees on the hard floor and he cries. She's there at his side in an instant, picking him up and holding him close until the pain is gone and he's cuddled in her lap in a heap of fabric.

There's a room that's all in black and white, the walls look like a forest in the winter, and she's sitting behind a great big desk. He holds up a piece of paper to her.

Look, Mommy! It's us!

She takes it from him and lifts him up until he's perched on her knee. She kisses his forehead.

It's beautiful, Henry.

There are times in these dreams when he's angry at her. He's angry and sad and hurt. He feels alone. He sees the woman, her face harsh, cold and pleading.

Henry, please. I'm your mother.

No, you aren't.

Henry dreams of a hundred different things all at once, all the moments swirling together. It feels real. Are these memories? It feels like they are, even when he dreams of bright streaks of purple, billowing clouds of violet and great flashes of white, even the parts that feel imaginary seem so real.

There's one dream he has almost every night. He dreams of the woman and she's crying. She has this look on her face-he can tell she's in pain. Her arms are around him and she's terrified, and he is, too. He doesn't want to leave, why does he have to leave? He sees green smoke, a towering wave of emerald spiraling behind her, creeping up on them like a tidal wave.

Right before he wakes up, there's a split second when he remembers, remembers everything, and all he can think is you're not a villain, you're my mom and we have to find them, we have to get them back, the curse-

And then it's all gone.

Henry opens his eyes, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. He hears the familiar symphony of traffic filtering in through his window and his mom moving around in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. He pushes back the covers and gets out of bed, tripping over his science textbook. He's got a test today, but it's finally Friday, so that means he gets to relax tonight. Maybe he'll try to beat Level 16 and finally become a knight. Henry shoves the book into his backpack and shuffles tiredly into the hallway. His mom is in her pajamas, her long blonde hair still tangled from sleep when she turns and smiles at him.

"Morning, Mom. What are we having?"