She Looks Good On Paper
A/N: Written for the gifset/prompt thing on Tumblr which can be found here - post/74435368511/emma-grew-up-with-her-parents-au-charming-and
Also, I haven't written anything in ages so apologies if I'm a little rusty.
Disclaimer: OUAT is not mine but I wish it was because it's awesome.
Chapter One
To Emma Swan, there was nothing worse than soggy feet. She muttered darkly to herself as she crossed the castle's courtyard, shoes squelching through mud and horse muck as the sky grumbled threateningly. The sudden deluge had caught her off guard. The weather that morning had been full of promise and, ever the optimist, she hadn't expected it to turn sour so quickly. She didn't bother to hurry as there was no way she could get any wetter, and entered the castle through the servants stairwell. This was one of many habits that her mother didn't approve of, not that she would ever comment on it. Emma just noticed that the skin around her mouth tightened in an effort to keep her opinions behind her lips. It was actually quite funny to watch the mild-mannered Snow White attempt to be authoritarian. Emma hadn't exactly been badly behaved growing up but she sure as hell hadn't given her parents an easy ride. Truth be told she'd always been a daddy's girl - it was hard to give a flying fuck about etiquette when there were swords to swing and dangerous beasties to track. Part of her had always hoped that her parents would have another child, a girl who would actually listen to Snow's lessons and enjoy all the prissy things that Emma did not. Perhaps then she would've been able to skip her afternoon teas with the snotty daughters of visiting royalty. Alas, that was not the case and Emma had one of those afternoon teas scheduled for the next day. At least there would be cake.
The marvellous thing about the servants stairwell was that it branched off all over the castle, running hidden passageways to and from almost every room. "Out of sight, out of mind," that's what someone had said once, she forgot who. By the time she reached the west tower her shoes had stopped squelching (her footprints had faded somewhere on the second floor) and a chill had sunk into her skin. Emma rubbed a hand over her shirt sleeve, feeling the gooseflesh beneath the wet cotton and quickly stepped out from the passage way, which was concealed behind a tapestry of a very fat King Leopold - her grandfather. He had died before she had been born, poisoned by a genie who had fallen for the King's wife. Not her grandmother (who she knew a big fat nothing about), someone else. Emma found it all a bit strange; to think that there was so much drama in her parents pasts. Her father had been a shepherd before he pretended to be a prince and slayed a dragon. There was also something in there about a lake monster and a betrothal. Her parents didn't like to mention it. Something they did like to mention was their victory over the Evil Queen, in fact, they had told the story so often that Emma was certain they could recite it in their sleep if they wished. Though she tried not to think about it too much, Emma couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that all of this had happened before she was born. The Enchanted Forest was extremely peaceful now, barely any chance for adventure and at twenty-seven, Emma feared that her time to see some excitement was dwindling. She could hardly believe that she'd managed to keep up her shenanigans for so long. She was sure that her mother would marry her off one day and she'd only find out when she'd been stuffed into a white dress and frogmarched down the aisle. Snow and Charming meant well but as the silver had started to creep into their hair, they had begun to fear for their only daughter's welfare. Time was not kind, it didn't take notice of status and it didn't always play by the rules. As Emma's birthday approached time seemed to quicken, rushing through the last days of her freedom, for she was sure that this year she wouldn't be able to dodge the inevitable.
By the time she reached her chambers her mood was as black as the storm clouds outside. She slammed her door shut, satisfied when the thud reverberated through the heavy oak and slid the deadbolt home. She did not want visitors. Emma huffed, kicking her ruined shoes into a corner and beginning to unlace her breeches. Her numb fingers fumbled and she resorted to yanking them off, somehow managing to shimmy them over her hips and flailing wildly as they caught around one foot. Emma whipped her foot around until the offending garment came loose and landed with a wet slap near her shoes. Her cloak, blouse and underclothes followed quickly and Emma dried herself off before slipping into a dry shirt. She didn't bother with trousers. Feeling slightly better now her feet (and the rest of her) were no longer soggy Emma decided to practice her archery. Much to her mother's dismay she had lugged a target up from the practice yard, hung it on the wall where a useless mirror had been and had set up a little makeshift range in her quarters. She had picked the largest bedchamber in the castle when her parents had decided that she'd finally outgrown the nursery and they had let her have it, though her mother had pulled a face. Snow had also ordered the balcony to be sealed off, fearing that little Emma would almost certainly fall off it and go splat on the courtyard below. That had been a very wise decision as Emma would probably have done just that. It was only when she turned sixteen that she managed to convince her parents to unblock it.
Emma slung a quiver of arrows over her shoulder and picked up her bow before striding across the room to the edge of the rug near her fireplace. The distance was a good forty paces. She notched her arrow and took aim, trying to remember to breathe correctly. Archery was not her strong point, nor was it her father's. Charming had once told her that Snow had been a formidable archer, skilled enough to hit an ogre dead in the eye at seventy paces but her mother had only laughed when she'd asked and returned to her reading. Emma liked to think that it was true though, she just wished her mother would loosen up to give her a few pointers as her arrow struck the wall to the left of the target. Her fingers fumbled for another and she altered her stance, aiming and missing once again. Two more arrows failed to meet the target and she growled in annoyance, releasing a last. She hadn't even bothered to aim and it rocketed into the ornate stonework six feet above the target before ricocheting and lodging itself in the wooden support beam in the corner of the room. She cringed as the stone crenulations chipped. Sighing, she hung her bow and quiver up before dragging an armchair into the corner and hopping up on it to retrieve the last arrow. It was then that she noticed the corner of a book jammed in the space between two of the ceilings support beams.