Emma was a princess, above anything else. Years of growing up in the Misthaven castle, with a daily dose of love stories from her parents and the tedious magic lessons on the weekends by the newly reformed "evil" queen, taught her many things about what that meant. For example, it taught her that being a princess meant making sacrifices for her people. It meant that when her parents went on diplomatic missions to foreign lands, she had to stay behind and lead the people, instead of going on their adventures with them. Being a princess also meant that 'acting with grace' was no longer a mere guideline- it was a personality trait. Always, 'don't stick your tongue out at the Duke of Westshore, Emma!", and 'How dare you use that language in the ballroom?" and frankly, the reprimands were getting a little too frequent for her liking. Emma often found herself wishing that, for once, she could be a 17 year old girl instead of "Lady Emma", or the ever-famed "Princess of The Enchanted Forest". Being a princess meant being bored, Emma had found, and she was quite sick of that.
As she usually did while waiting for her combat lessons to begin, Emma hummed softly, sitting upon the tall stone wall surrounding the castle's spires. The heavy sword lying in her sheath seemed to weigh her down, inching her to the courtyard below. The purple silk of her dress blew lightly in the wind, but it wasn't enough movement to get rid of Emma's nervous energy. Her birthday ball was in 24 hours, and she would have to present her sword-fighting skills to the entire kingdom by sparring with the head knight.
The pathway leading inside, a pristine work of brown bricks and pebbled stone in cement, blistered in the summer heat as her teacher, the aforementioned knight, made his way towards the young girl. He paused a few feet from her, lifting an eyebrow and extending his hand to help her down.
"Need some help, Princess?" He bit, with a flash of his teeth- but no ill-intent was truly present. As her father's best friend, she had come to know her pseudo uncle as one of the closest friends in the palace, and his lessons were slowly turning her into the best swordswoman in the land.
She swung her legs over the side of the wall, ignoring his hand, and pressed her heels back onto the pavement where her teacher stood. He rolled his eyes.
"Defiant as ever, I see."
"Really, Arthur, would you expect anything less?"
She pried her sword out of its sheath, leveling it towards him. He grinned, unflinching. He hadn't even bothered to pull his famed sword, excalibur, out of its leather cover which hung lowly on his armored hip.
"From you? Never." He ducked as she jabbed, twisting around her lunges with expert flexibility and ease. She didn't waste effort on a response, her moves mirroring his, attempting to draw all of her focus onto the cold metal hilt resting in her palms. She heard Arthur's encouragement, "It's in the wrist, m'lady. Steady yourself." She grunted and slashed at him again, but he quickly sidestepped and disarmed her with a knee to her stomach and a twist of her elbows. She panted, stepping back to reclaim her sword from the floor where it had landed. Never turning her back to him, she narrowed her eyes.
"Stop that."
Clang!
He disarmed her again, his forearm smacking her wrist as he knocked the sword to the floor.
"Princess, I wouldn't keep disarming you if you'd just listen to my advice."
She scoffed, picking up the sword again and swinging it in her grasp, getting a proper feel for its pressure on her hand.
"It's not that, you dimwit. You're giving me that obnoxious look again." He unsheathed his blade, extending his arm fully to lightly press the weight of the metal against her own weapon, a gift of good intent, and one he wouldn't give her the benefit of at the duel the next night.
"And what look is that?" He questioned, fully knowing her answer. He parried her lunge, clashing one sword against the other, filling the hot air around them with threats of a violent defeat sewn into her future.
"The same look you have when you see Neal, and he's two. It's patronizing. Pitying." She spat the last word, aggressively pushed back against him. The force she exerted on him caused him to take a few steps back.
Arthur's grin widened at her words, and let his guard down for only a minute, if just to retort.
"Adoring, Princess. And perhaps I wouldn't wear such a face if your skills with a sword didn't so closely resemble those of the young lad." Baiting her with playful insults had always been his way of goading her into fighting harder.
He slashed and she sidestepped. He scowled and tried again. Another sidestep caused him to reluctantly renounce his previous statement, "I stand corrected. Perhaps you are a little better than your brother." She had hardly heard him, though, as she had instead taken the opportunity to slash at his arm. She barely nicked him, as he pulled away last second with reflexes quick as a sand viper. Still, he hissed and feigned pain. "Princess! If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to hurt me."
Clang!
The swords clashed again, and she quickly drew a semicircle with her heels, moving around him for a better angle.
"I'm not a child, Arthur- I have no qualms about hurting you. And anyways, that's kind of the point, isn't it?"
He traced her steps in reverse, furrowing his brow in concentration.
"I'd argue, rather, that the goal is to prepare for a real fight without killing the only knight brave enough to teach such an unpredictable lass."
"You're not brave, Arthur. Just stupid." She quipped, striking him with the butt of her sword, then swinging back around to prepare for her next move.
His eyes darkened with adrenaline as she swept at his feet. Jumping and bringing his sword down above her head, where hers reached to block, his grunts are the only addition to the sound of metal screeching against metal. That is, until, she kicked him square in the chest, and he landed on his back with no sword in his grip. A solid thud marked her victory, and the metal clash of excalibur on stone a few feet away only signalled the end of their brief practice.
He smiled winningly, despite his loss.
"I do believe you're ready, m'lady." Her tough exterior quickly melted into an excited grin, as she cockily tilted her head and extended her hand.
"Need some help, Princess?" She mocked him, and he barked out a laugh, taking her hand happily. As he stood, she flicked her fingers and his sword was back in his sheath.
He quirked an eyebrow.
"You're also getting quite good with magic, I see. Regina is teaching you well."
Emma hummed in agreement as the two turned and began their walk back inside.
If she was being honest, magic scared her. A lot. Growing up, Regina and her magic had been things to fear. It wasn't until Emma was nearly 8 that "The Evil Queen" had renounced her malevolent ways. The evil had been ripped from the queen by her own hand, and crushed as proof of her dedication to a new future. Now she was part of Emma's family, and her warnings of darkness' beckon did not fall upon deaf ears. No, ever since her lessons with her step-grandmother (who was really more like another mother at this point) began, she made quite the effort to pay attention to her power and its effects. Apparently, though, she wasn't the best at paying attention to her surroundings. She had walked right into Arthur's back, so lost in her train of thought that she hadn't noticed his pause. Their descent down the stairwell of the tower was a long and tedious one, and the main hall that they would empty into was going to be filled to the brim with people chattering about preparations for the ball.
"Are you even listening to me?" Arthur huffed, continuing his pace down the stairs. Emma rolled her eyes as he continued, "I have no doubt that your parents have more questions about your wishes for tomorrow night. I thought you'd appreciate a little warning."
An idea sparked at the back of her mind, and bubbled up to her mouth.
"Is that all my coming-of-age is worth to you? A warning?"
He chuckled, deep in his throat and looked back at her.
"What do you want, Emma?"
She smiled, crossing her arms.
"It would be such a shame if there was to be a distraction once we get there… one that would disallow my parents the chance to speak to me about the party," She flashed her eyes darkly, descending a few more steps. "Such a shame indeed, if I were to slip off during the commotion, and retire to my chamber."
Arthur huffed.
"Yes, it would be a shame. They're doing this for you, princess. You'd be wise to at least give them the benefit of your desires. And can't you just 'magic' your way up to your room on your own?"
Now it was Emma's turn to scowl.
"Aunt Regina and I haven't really covered teleportation yet, and I never asked for a party. I want to get out of here; I want to explore! I've never even been outside of Misthaven." Arthur shook his head and sighed.
"Fine, fine, I'll distract them. But, if you're caught trying to escape the conversation, it's on you. I'm not saving your arse, especially not from something as benevolent as the care of your parents." Emma fiddled with a strand of her hair- a nervous tic- and allowed herself a victorious smile.
As the floorboards below her feet creaked under her weight, she braced herself for the chatter amongst the main hall. The entire room, as she had expected, was bustling with life. The servants and her parents were tirelessly preparing for her birthday ball, and she was struggling to find some interest of her own. It was just a dance, anyways. She'd have to get all dressed up, act polite and pretend that she had no opinions to share, except for those of the crown. She knew the drill, and hundreds of these balls had prepared her for yet another snooze fest. The only difference between this year's ball and last year's was the fight with Arthur. Emma had become quite confident for the duel, having bested Arthur countless time over their 10 years of training together. That, however, didn't mean she'd have a proper defense against the numerous suitors that were sure to be at the party, asking for her hand in marriage. Emma was stubborn in her stance, as she had told her parents snarkily, 'even listening to Arthur's chastising would be preferable to such a cruel fate'.
The devil himself forged ahead of her, his tall frame commanding eyes upon him. Without even sparing a glance in her direction, he shouted to Emma's father.
"My King! I seem to have misplaced that gauntlet set for the girl's celebration. Have you anyone who can help me look for it?"
A few excited helpers volunteered, not intending to miss out on their time with the famed hero. The talking and overwhelm was enough to mask Emma's low eyes and scurried steps across the ball room. She had no intention of being noticed.
And that she wasn't, as one of the handmaidens walked in, carrying Prince Neal, and the whole room turned to fawn over the young boy. Emma had never been more thankful for the her brother's dribbling and cooing. She couldn't bear the thought of conversing about dress colors or the streamer material, let alone the boring music.
As she retired to her quarters, Emma let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She pulled her blonde tresses into a tight ponytail, taking what little control over her appearance she could. Looking out her window, she felt the cool evening air fill her room and calm down the little anxieties fluttering around in her stomach. Beyond the palace walls, she could see the village lights flickering in flecks of orange and yellow, and the cheers of townspeople stained her mind. She longed to be a part of them, to forget the obligations of the royal chair, to dress in normal towns' clothes and drink in a local tavern. She imagined the enticing smell of liquor wafting into her chamber, and the excitement of her first drink with a friendly bar patron.
And maybe she could have that, right? Maybe it would be okay for her to have one night of fun- real fun- before she was married off to some sorry bastard in a chair of gold for the 'good of the kingdom'. Turning 18 meant more than just being officially announced as the kingdom's heir. Yes, it was more than a 10 minute showcase of her ability to protect the kingdom- and certainly more than a presentation of her talent for sword fighting in a gown. It was not just her last birthday as a child, she had sadly realized: It was her last free one.
Nerves shaking and bumbling around under her fingertips, she turned to her mirror. Afterall, she certainly couldn't voyage into town with a crown on her head- not if she hoped to experience a normal villager's night. She snapped her fingers, and the swirl of smoke she beckoned for engulfed her. It was mere passage of seconds, but the thick air became heavy in her lungs, and right before her eyes glazed over, she got a flash of dizziness. When the magic cloud had cleared, she was much more satisfied with her dress. She now wore a brown and red corset, laced with dark string over a white cotton blouse, and her skirts were so profoundly normal that she thought she'd squeal. With a dark cloak of wool pulled loosely around her small frame, she fled to her balcony doors.
Her chambers were a mere 10 yards from the ground of the palace, and closest to the edge of the woods. The vines growing on the stone castle walls were taught enough to support her weight, and she hooked arm and leg around each green rope. With a skillful swing from the low vines of the wall onto the roof of the stable, then to the barrels of newly imported wine, Emma was off with only the anticipation of adventure on her tongue.
The tavern was crowded, much more than she had expected. She had made it past the castle boundaries and through the town with no problem, but her mind was far from eased. If she was caught, her night would surely be one lacking fun, and Emma was not about to let that happen. Her eyes glued to the cobblestone of the pub floor, she avoided any looks from townspeople and made her way to a corner table. Shouts of men and the smell of dragon's breath liquor were all she could process as she slid her legs over the bench.
Giving two silver coins to a bar maiden walking by, she requested a tankard of ale. Might as well start bold, she thought to herself.
A little too bold, apparently- for after the tankard was delivered to her disguised, seated highness, a wobbling pirate (evident by the soot and scars freckling his skin, and his dangling necklaces that smelled of dirty moss) seemed to take an unfortunate interest in her. Emma rolled her eyes and huffed. After all, if she had wanted to be implied weak and subsequently called pretty in one fell swoop, all she had to do was stay home and wait for some arrogant prince or duke of a neighboring kingdom to catch her in conversation.
The man's labored breath drew her thoughts to the small dagger sitting along her hip line, in case of emergency. Though, if she found herself amongst enough commotion to require a weapon- she'd surely be aided by someone who recognized the crown princess even in all her commoner glory- and likely wouldn't have to so much as raise her voice. As she would insist, she could protect herself just fine, thank you very much, and much preferred it that way, too.
The whiskey on the drunk's breath was apparent from 5 feet away, and she scrunched her nose in displeasure.
"What do we have here? A little treasure like you shouldn't be all alone in these parts." He warned, licking his lips. Emma scoffed at him. Although she hadn't many experiences with pirates and their "conquests", she knew too many immature knights and countless chauvinistic consorts to feel out of her depth with the likes of him.
"Unless there's something you're looking for?" He slowly added, as if he had forgotten he was supposed to input some sort of a pickup at all.
Emma raised her eyebrows. Perhaps her life was more sheltered than she wished, but she had at least liked it better when she was not spoken to like a play thing to be used by a man thrice her age.
"Nothing you can offer." She bit, with a flash of her teeth for emphasis. He narrowed his eyes, curls of sweat-matted hair framing his face. Snarling, he leaned in, close- too close for Emma's liking,
"My asking was just me being polite. A wench should know her place." As Emma's hand instinctively went to her waist to rest on her dagger, the man's threat was rather aggressively dismissed.
"I believe she knows exactly where her place is, Carver. Fortunately, it isn't with you." A thick accent snarked from behind her, and Emma turned to look at the shaded figure. She could make out a head of dark hair and ginger stubble brimming his jaw and cheek, violent blue eyes and… a shining metal hook where his left hand should have been.
The man, Carver, looked warily at the one in front of him, and a knowing glimpse of fear flashed across his face. Backing away, and looking to the floor, he mumbled into submission.
"Didn't mean to cause trouble, Captain. No issue here. M' apologies."
The man she now knew as "The Captain" lowered himself to her level on the bench. He smelled of sea salt, rum, and gunpowder- a wealthy combination of fear (none his, of course) and intrigue (none hers, surely). Although, the iron-red of his vest is what had Emma shivering, really- not the outline of his pronounced pulse, slicked with sweat, above beaded chains that hung loosely around his neck.
"I could have handled it." She insisted quickly, before he had a chance to make introductions. Emma was never one to let a man think he had saved her- even if he had. She already had to knock them off their high horses to achieve an even conversation, she had no desire to build their egos further. Even if the pirate in front of her had quite a pronounced "ego", at that.
He let out a throaty chuckle, leaning back and taking another swig from his flask. She watched a stray drop of the alcohol leak down his chin, tracing his adam's apple and disappearing below his neckline. Wisps of dark chest hair crowded the opened buttons of his shirt, and his heavy leather coat was draped solemnly around his broad shoulders. A voice soft as velvet but intimidating as knives returned to her.
"A 'thank you' would suffice."
She scoffed. No matter the butterflies in her stomach, or the way her eyes kept training on the pink curve of the scar along his cheek, Emma would refuse to glorify an arrogant prick. That's what she had decided he was: an arrogant prick who had just happened to stumble upon her in an unfortunate situation. A handsome one, so be it, but still too cocky for her liking.
She rolled her eyes, brandishing her dagger. She was subtle about it, sure, but she made sure it got the point across: she didn't care if he was a captain. He'd have no business bothering her. And at that, he simply grinned. A wicked fate to befall any woman- bearing witness to the captain's sly grin. It was wolfish by nature, but there was something about it so endearing that Emma felt her knees start to shake ever so slightly. She didn't like feeling this vulnerable. Not one bit.
"I best be off." She quickly dismissed herself, and made a move to stand.
"What's the rush, lass? Have you had a drink yet?" He tugged her back down by her sleeve, and she furrowed her eyebrows. She should hit him for touching her without permission. She really should snap at him, harshly, too. She should wipe that grin off his face. But she hesitated, and so she didn't- because those blue eyes of his were so hazy and yet she felt as though he was seeing her more clearly than anyone else ever had.
And in that hesitation, Emma heard her own voice.
"Let me try whatever that is and I'll consider staying."
He quirked an eyebrow and she could swear she saw his eyes darken a shade.
"A captain doesn't share his rum with just anyone, love."
"I'm not just anyone,"
She challenged him, taking the flask from his hand, and swallowing the bitter liquid. She fought the urge to grimace at the dismal taste. Instead, she pushed it back to him, and held her chin high. She asked a question she already knew the answer to, hoping to hear it in his voice.
"Captain, huh? You don't look like a part of any Navy."
He nodded, perfecting the 'detached and unaffected' look, but Emma could see right through it.
"Aye, lass. That's because I'm not. I serve no king, only the open seas."
She had known he was a pirate by the smoldering beverage, the blacks and reds of a different kind of uniform- the kind that took no orders from anyone else- hell, she had known by the way the drunk (likely a member of his crew) had withered away at his dissent. The hook really proved it, though, a malicious curve of sharpened metal, sprouting from his coat sleeve. He traced her stare and shook his head slowly, daring her to say something. When she didn't, he did instead, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.
"See something you like?"
She rolled her eyes and straightened her posture.
"Hardly," Came her indignant response. He glanced at his shoes, and the tips of his ears tinted pink. Meeting her eyes, he brought the rum to his lips again and gulped down a swig more. Swallowing hard (Because of the rum, she thought, and for no other reason), he lifted his head to meet her eyes.
"Killian Jones, at your service. Though, most prefer to call me by my more colorful moniker," He leaned in, grabbing her hand, and pressed a searing kiss to her knuckles- and staring intently all the while. "Hook. Captain Hook." The instant he released her from his grasp, she felt like she was burning (or perhaps just her cheeks were).
His voice played again in her head, wrapped in his accent.
Killian Jones.
She realized his expecting glance, and stumbled to introduce herself.
"Me? Oh. Well, uh.. I'm-" She stopped herself just before her true name might have slipped out. The whole point was to be discrete, after all. He looked at her questioningly, and she fished for another name. What wouldn't be suspicious? She glanced towards the door, but her attention was quickly caught by the tall post next to the window. A small swan was carved into it, with dark, curved wings that looked oddly familiar. No time to think about why, though. She had a dark and menacing pirate captain to attend to. "Swan. Call me swan." He shrugged, taking another drink, and nodded, as if pleased with her answer.
"Swan it is, then. Fitting name, that." He shifted, and she did too, suddenly feeling a little too exposed. "So tell me, Swan, why is such a young girl spending her night in this lowly place?"
She defended herself without hesitation, her tone harsh and insistent. "I'm not a 'young girl'. I'm a fully grown woman."
He chuckled at her assertiveness.
"Easy there, love. Don't take my head off. I'm already down to one hand, I fear the loss of any other body part would do me in."
She held back a smile as he leaned in closer.
His voice was a whisper now, gritted and yet there was something about it so smooth that she felt a low ache in her throat build up in anticipation. "And do trust, my dear Swan, that while I am certainly well endowed with a lonesome hand, my other… extremities… would not fare well without the rest of me."
She gulped, refusing to give his words any thought. He certainly wasn't. Instead she raised an eyebrow and smarted,"Is that supposed to be funny?"
"Aye, quite. That doesn't answer my question, though. Whether you're a grown lady or not, you're still far too beautiful to be alone in a tavern." His compliments flew past her and she dodged, assuredly.
"Perhaps I'm just dangerous company." She suggested with a confidence that didn't match her nervous tells, like the fact that she was twisting a blonde strand of hair around her finger until it turned white.
"I always was one for danger," He bantered, leaning back as she sipped from his flask.
"I'm sure. Tell me, have you been on adventures? Dangerous ones?"
She was aching to hear something about what she'd been missing out on. After all, maybe this could quench some of the desire to explore. Perhaps this would allow her to return to her royal duties and give them her full attention- not caught up in some dream world of expedition.
But to no avail, because his careless, "Aye, lass," only raked her in further, and as she listened to tales of his quests, she could only imagine that a pirate's life was far more exciting than a queen's.
As she questioned and inhaled the smell of ash and the sea, he seemed to put her at ease, shifting the conversation like the tide, rolling and deep and open. Unfortunately, though, the very point of her asking soon became useless- as she had discovered that the world of expedition was no dream at all - it was a possibility, and a very open one at that.
"I've always wanted to see the world, to sail. I've yet to even set foot on a ship." She confessed, hoping for more than a few brief stories.
His eyes widened in surprise, as he moved animatedly. His voice, thick and heavy with an indent of fine rum and the musk of a tired captain, strung her along his words.
"Come with me, then, Swan. You say you're tired of this land, you speak of adventure. Come experience it firsthand. I'll show you my ship right now, if you'd like," He leaned in, slowly- torturously so- " I assure you, love. It's just as impressive as you'd imagine." He cocked an eyebrow and ran a thumb over his own stubble, a glint in his eye just past mischievous.
She grinned wide, far too excited to pay mind to his flirtations, and made a move to stand. This was exactly what she wanted, but-
she slowly slumped back down, disappointment strewn across her pale features. Her green eyes seemed deflated as she shook her head. Even her blonde curls bounced sadly, framing her face in the soft lighting of the tavern.
"I'm sorry, I can't. I have… responsibilities, a family. I can't just leave them."
He seemed slightly disappointed himself, but quickly gathered his intentions and hid them behind a forced and tight simper.
Calmly, he stood, and stepped back.
"A shame, that. Do get home safely- I'm sure your husband would despair if his picture of elegance were to be endangered on the dark village roads," he graced, and while it could have passed for a cocky pirate's threat, Emma knew it to be a genuine warning, and quipped her response,
"I haven't a husband. And I do recall telling you that I can handle myself."
"Aye, so you've mentioned." He lifted his finger to scratch behind his ear. Shifting his footing, he continued, "My crew and I will be docked for two days' time if you change your mind." He turned to go, but paused, looking back.
"And if you do decide to join me… bring that sharp tongue of yours. The crew of the Jolly Roger could use a good lashing to our egos. Pleasure, Swan." With that, he briskly turned and sauntered- that really was the only word for it- off into the noise and crowd.
Emma let out a deep sigh, and hung her head. Subtly, barely audibly, she groaned- because damn it all if she didn't want to drop everything and sail the world with the self-assured pirate, experiencing his tales for herself, and maybe- just maybe- a little bit of him.
But instead, she stood, bracing herself on the hilt of her dagger, brushed off her skirts, and walked out into the cold night air, because expedition would have to wait for her 18th birthday ball to pass- and perhaps a number of years still. Not the rocky pavement nor the stoned buildings- the straw, nor the dirt, nor the plants lining the walks- none were enough to draw comparison to Emma's statute of beauty, a fiery whirlwind of intent to be free.
Not even the cold Misthaven air was enough to rival her determined pace, as she marched herself north to the woods surrounding the castle. Instead, it only accentuated the pink of her cheeks and the green of her eyes, embracing her features- and soon delicate freckles became spotted spires and emblems of strength on her skin, and the golden strands of her hair became whip-like in nature, threatening to outshine and disgrace any poor fool who dared step in her way. Emma was resolute, indeed, because despite turning Hook down on his offer, Emma knew that she had a decision to make, and she damn well intended to make it.