Notes: And I'm back with another chapter! Finally lol :D There is more angst in this one, buuuuut there's also cuteness! A certain character whose name starts with K may show up more in the second half of this one! Oh and another familiar face is introduced :D.
Again if you think you might be triggered by anything:
Content Warning: Gaslighting/emotional manipulation. There'll probably still be more of this in later chapters. Some of the interactions with King George are/will be inspired by Mother Gothel from Tangled if that gives you a little more insight.
—OUAT—OUAT—OUAT—OUAT—
Chapter 3:
The seasons changed, and time kept on ticking. Emma grew more and more neglectful of her lessons. Whenever possible, she'd sneak out, either taking her pony for a ride through the fields or strolling down the docks.
The people were less scared of King George, and, by proxy, herself, when their livelihood ensured they could always jump on a ship and sail away. And none of the merchants were too wary of a young, seven-year-old girl wandering the docks unless they looked closer and realized who she was. Sailors and merchants haggled over prices, the smell of fish permeated everything, and white sails filled the skies in every direction. Emma loved it. She especially loved hearing stories of faraway places. She imagined her parents living in these places, waiting for the day when they could come and get her.
She'd often come to a sailor named Smee when he was in port. He was less imposing than many of the other sailors she encountered, and he asked only for a tankard of rum or beer in return for her many questions. She wanted to know what it was like to set sail and travel the world. What was it like to float on the ocean, far away from any land or ruler?
Smee told her to imagine standing in a field of long grass at night, once the daytime birds had gone to bed and ceased their twittering. Then he said to imagine the grass spreading to the horizon, and the wind rustling through the blades of grass. Then she should imagine falling onto the grass but still being held in the air as the grass rippled beneath her. Even that couldn't describe it. There was nothing like the open sea with an empty, moonlit horizon, according to Smee.
She told him he was quite eloquent. She'd learned that word in her lessons that morning. He assured her that his only eloquence came from rum. Emma laughed and bought him another tankard of his "juice." The pubs probably shouldn't have let a seven-year-old child buy alcohol, even for another person, but she was the princess.
She'd also taken to looking out for Tommy and Pete, Lizzie's younger twin brothers, when she was down there. Lizzie's mother was sick, and her father was getting on in years. The family mostly relied on Lizzie for income, and the boys were usually left to their own devices.
Tommy and Pete were only a couple of years younger than Emma herself, but they kept her busy. They attracted trouble the way a lantern attracts moths. The scamps particularly liked to play tricks on the grumpy, old fishmonger by the most inland dock.
All things considered, she wasn't exactly lonely, but she still missed her parents with a fierce ache that wouldn't quite seem to go away. She wasn't sure why her parents hadn't come yet, but she knew there had to be a reason. Something was keeping them from coming.
King George had mostly ignored her as she grew, but he was beginning to take more notice now. One reason for this was her tutor's reports of her absences from lessons and her reportedly "unladylike" behavior. George was determined that he would have his heir, and, further, he would have one that acted in accordance with her status. Only a princess-like princess would garner a wealthy match, specifically a match that would fill George's purse and make up for any inconvenience she caused him.
The other reason was that Emma was gaining popularity with the townsfolk. Emma had never learned how not to speak her mind; her personal dislike of the king was well-known. Her story, painting George as the villain, telling of her removal from her parents' love and care, had won her sympathy. She also often distributed treats from the royal kitchens in the village when times were hard.
George knew it wouldn't do for this to continue. Love for any connection in the royal family was all well and good. However, if the people's love for Emma increased their dislike of the king… well, he might one day have a coup on his hands! Something must be done.
He began having the princess more closely watched, and stationed a guard outside her door during lessons.
It became harder and harder for Emma to sneak out, and she grew more and more unhappy.
Then, the night before her eighth birthday, Emma had a sudden idea.
"If Mommy and Daddy can't come to me," she said to herself, "maybe they're waiting for me to find them!"
She sat up in bed, eyes wide. This could work! Her father had promised that they'd always find each other. Maybe that meant she had to find them!
She jumped out of bed and put on her only set of breeches. King George didn't consider breeches "princess-appropriate" attire.
She had to go now. She was sure King George wouldn't let her go look for her parents, and, well, better to ask forgiveness than permission. Not that she had any intention of returning.
She snuck through the corridors, which she now knew well, and packed a knapsack. Then she paused. Could she say goodbye to Lizzie? Even at the verge of turning eight years old, instinct told her she shouldn't involve Lizzie. But Emma couldn't leave without saying goodbye.
She ran back to her bedroom and found a piece of parchment and a quill. In her best penmanship she wrote,
—beginnote—
"Lizzy,
Gone to find them. Thank you for everything.
Much love, Emma."
—endnote—
The note couldn't begin to cover everything she wanted to tell Lizzie, but Emma wanted to get going before dawn. It would have to do.
Emma saddled her pony and led him through a side gate, keeping herself and the horse as quiet as possible. Old Guard Jeffrey was supposed to be guarding this gate, but he was a tired, older man, who always slept soundly through his shifts. As thanks for his years of service, the captain allowed him easy posts (such as small side gates that only opened from inside the castle.)
Before long Emma was riding her pony through the fields, and dawn was shining crimson and gold through the leaves of nearby trees. Adrenaline thrummed in her veins and she closed her eyes, just for a second. The grasses whispered in the wind, and she remembered how Smee had described the sea. This, she imagined, must be what it's like to set sail. Freedom.
But even an adrenaline-fueled eight-year-old will grow tired after a full day's ride. So, she found a copse between two small hills, ate the last of the food in her knapsack, and fell fast asleep. Her pony, tired out, slept for several hours, but awoke before her, missing his stable and trough of royal palace horse feed.
So, he trotted back for it.
However, the pony hadn't gone far before an entire platoon of George's soldiers overcame him. The princess had left a rather obvious trail, but they had lost her path once more in the grass. Heading in the direction the princess' pony had come from, the guards quickly managed to find the princess herself.
Princess Emma woke to a kink in her neck and the captain of the guard glaring down at her.
No protests, pleas, or tears would sway him. Emma soon found herself on the captain of the guard's horse, being brought back to King George's castle. Before long, she was directed into the throne room for a meeting with His Majesty himself.
—OUAT—OUAT—OUAT—OUAT—
King George looked down on her from his throne, golden lined robes, golden scepter, and a stern frown lit by the late afternoon sun streaming through the colored windows. Emma shifted on the purple rug, suddenly very aware of the dirt on her face and the twigs in her hair. Still, never one to back down from a challenge, Emma met his gaze with her chin up.
King George's frown deepened. The surrounding guards and servants were so silent, they might as well have been part of the pillars and tapestries. Everyone was waiting to see what King George would do.
In a quiet, stern voice, King George asked, "What have you got to say for yourself?"
Emma held her tongue and chose to stare at the gold chandelier, rather than King George. She tried to look contrite. It was not convincing.
King George's words came out fast and loud, like the crack of a whip, "What did you think you were doing?"
Emma took a breath, then said calmly, "Looking for my parents."
King George shattered the silence with a loud clang, slamming the scepter into the tile by his throne, standing up in a rage, "You insolent child! How many time do I—"
"I have to find them!" Emma cried "There has to be something keeping them from coming. Maybe you're right and they left me with you, but they can't have meant to leave me forever! I need to find my parents! It's what Daddy said our family does! I want my family back and you can't stop me!"
George stood still and raised his eyebrows, a condescending smirk beginning to form, "Oh, I can't stop you, can I? And what exactly would you say my guards just did, after this pathetic attempt?"
Emma opened her mouth, "But—"
"If you ever try this again, my guards would find you and bring you back, just as they did today. Is that clear?"
Emma clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms, but nodded, mutinously.
George continued, ignoring her, "And what exactly was your plan? Travel the entire world in the hope that someone knows where they are? That is if they even want you in the first place, after leaving you behind."
Emma kept her fists clenched, trying not to let his words get to her, "I'd keep looking! Someone's sure to—"
George shook his head with disdain, "What would you do when it snows? You brought nothing for shelter. And your food ran out by the time we found you! You can't hunt, and you don't know a poisonous berry from an edible one!"
Emma bit her lip. Her decision had been so sudden, and she hadn't thought that far ahead. Then again, she'd always been used to gifts and aid wherever she went. People were always willing to help a princess.
George's tone sharpened, "You're an ignorant little girl, who hasn't yet learned to use her brain and who runs away from her only source of food and shelter. Get it into your head, princess. Your parents left you with me. I was kind enough to take you in. Your parents didn't love you."
Emma forced back tears, "No! You're wrong! They loved me! I remember! And Lizzie said so!"
Emma gasped and covered her mouth, wishing she could take the words back.
George's eyebrows raised even higher, "Oh, Lizzie said so did she?
George pulled out a piece of parchment from his robes, continuing in a biting voice, "Speaking of dear Lizzie, it appears you wrote her a note, vague though it was, telling her what you were doing. However, she did not deliver this to me, as she should've done. A guard discovered it in her chambers, after she had read it, while we were searching the castle for you."
Emma stood still, frozen.
"It appears you've grown too close to your lady's maid. I think I'd better have the maids take turns fulfilling the duty of lady's maid from now on. It will stop mistaken loyalties from forming. And Lizzie will of course be dismissed and thrown in irons for her insults toward the Crown."
Emma's eyes went wide, "No! Please! She needs that money for her mother! I was the one who ran away. Please, please don't punish her!"
George looked Emma over, assessing her. Then he smirked again, sitting down calmly on his throne.
"Well, it seems now is a good time for a lesson, my dear."
Emma was so startled by his change in demeanor that she said nothing.
"Now, Emma," George continued, "I'm sure you've seen merchants and sailors negotiate over the price of goods, during your unsanctioned visits to the docks."
Emma nodded warily, unsure what that had to do with anything.
"A good monarch," George said, "can only succeed through wealth, military power, or negotiation. A great monarch knows how to negotiate for what they want."
George waited, as if for a response, but Emma said nothing.
George went on, "Here is the deal I'll offer you. I won't punish dear Lizzie; I'll even let her continue on as a scullery maid, and earn money for her dear mother. However, I will want something in return."
George paused again, and Emma held her breath.
"In return, you will stop spreading these lies of how I took you from your loving parents. You will address me as "Grandfather," thus making our familial connection clear to the people. You will accept that your parents did not love you, and that your home is here, in this castle, with me."
George spread his arms wide, "Your choice."
A moment's pause, and then Emma slowly nodded. What else could she do?
George crossed his arms, "I'm waiting."
Emma's fists clenched tighter, but she placed them behind her back "Yes, Grandfather."
—OUAT—OUAT—OUAT—OUAT—
After George dismissed her, Emma left and stayed in her room for the rest of the evening.
George sat in contemplation on his throne for quite a while after she left. It was taking longer than he expected, but she was coming closer to accepting his lies about her parents. He was sure of it. Emma was still young and softhearted. That opened her up to manipulation. He nodded, satisfied, and went off to the dining room for dinner.
That night, Emma cried into her pillow, desperately missing the knowledge that Lizzie was sleeping just down the hall. Lizzie would now live with her family in the village, coming in early every morning with the rest of the kitchen staff. Emma was sure they could still find ways to see each other, but it wouldn't be the same.
It was at this moment that Emma began to doubt. Her memories were of loving, doting parents. But her memories were growing fuzzier and less clear with each passing year. Maybe King George was right. If they loved her, wouldn't they have come for her by now? They could be dead, but Emma felt sure she would somehow know if they were dead. She'd know it in her heart. They weren't dead.
As the night grew colder and her pillow grew wet, one thought kept forcing its way into her brain, "If my parents loved me, they at least wouldn't have left me with a man like King George."
The possibility of her parents' lack of love was made worse by the other idea that entailed: King George could be telling the truth; he could be right about something.
Emma ground her teeth, but could only cry harder.
Suddenly, a sound like a hard hit against glass broke the silence. Emma sat up in bed, startled. But when she looked around, she saw only the furniture. Maybe a branch had hit the window?
Looking through the glass to the night sky, Emma saw a falling star shooting across the dark canvas of the night sky. But she was too sad and disillusioned to make a wish on a night such as this. What good was a wish? Her last wish hadn't brought her parents back. Maybe it could have, and they simply hadn't wanted to come back.
Emma sank down into the pillows, exhausted from her tears and her ordeal, and fell into a dark, dreamless sleep, a heavy weight of sadness cutting deep in her chest.
—OUAT—OUAT—OUAT—OUAT—
Killian saw the falling star too, from the deck of Captain Silver's ship, returning to King George's kingdom from a long trade run to Agrabah. He didn't bother to wish. Wishes did nothing for boys who'd been traded into slavery by their fathers.
Killian turned back to his work. He needed to finish stitching the rip in this sail and then he could finally collapse in his hammock. Children wished on stars, trusted in lanterns to keep away the dark, and believed their fathers were good. Killian wasn't going to be a child anymore. He was nine years old, after all. Liam had enough to do. He shouldn't have to look after a child.
—OUAT—OUAT—OUAT—OUAT—
Winter passed, and spring came. Emma continued to escape from her lessons whenever possible, but she was always respectful of her grandfather. She didn't speak any criticism of him in public again, for fear someone would report it to him. And she didn't try to run from the kingdom again.
Emma continued to see Lizzie, and though they didn't have as much time together, their friendship continued. Lizzie didn't blame Emma for her demotion and really didn't seem to mind it at all.
"I'm awful glad not ta be with those hoity-toity lasses in the maid section," Lizzy told her one afternoon, "Always looking down on me 'cause mah pa's a lumberman. You'd think they were royalty themselves!"
Lizzy sometimes would try to bring up the subject of Emma's parents, but Emma refused to talk about it. Even without King George's warning, she just… didn't want to talk about it.
"Sometimes, I do worry 'bout ya Emma," Lizzy said to her once, shaking her head, but she didn't bring it up again.
Emma still enjoyed going for short rides, now on a horse instead of a pony. And she still would visit the docks, begging Smee for stories of the sea whenever possible. He seemed flattered by the attention. Observers could see his affection for the young princess was growing, and he now tended to talk more and drink less during their pub visits.
One beautiful summer morning, Emma had finished her writing exercises early and begged her tutor to end lessons earlier than usual. He agreed, and she soon snuck out of one of the side gates. (She was very familiar with all the ways in and out of the castle by now.)
Walking along the docks, Emma felt her heart lighten in a way it hadn't all winter. Who could be sad on a day as beautiful as today? She saw Lizzie's brothers Tommy and Pete hanging around the fishmonger, and she rolled her eyes. She hurried toward them, determined to stop them before they carried out whatever prank they had in mind. Looking at the twins rather than where she was going, she walked full force into a boy about her age. The boy had been walking just as quickly in the opposite direction.
The boy was carrying a bag of flour, and the moment they collided white powder went everywhere! It was in her hair, on her face, and made a white stripe down the front of her dress.
"Bloody hell lass!" cried the boy, "Why didn't you look where you were going!"
Emma put her hands on her hips, "Hey, you walked into me too, you know!"
She couldn't be too annoyed, however. The boy had used neither a respectful tone nor the title "Your Royal Highness." Emma found this strangely refreshing.
The boy looked her up and down, shook himself, opened his mouth, and closed it again.
He stood straighter and Emma almost sighed. Here it comes…
Rather than speak, however, the boy looked over his shoulder, apparently ready to run away.
Emma didn't want that.
"Wait, don't go! It was my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going. Can we start over? I've never seen you around the docks before. What's your name?"
Despite her attempts to reassure him, the boy looked even more nervous and took a step back.
"Look, miss, you seem like a lady. It was an accident! I promise, and—and— I'm sorry about your nice dress. Please, don't throw me in the stocks. I'll be missed, and my brother'll be punished for it. I—I don't have any coin for compensation—"
Emma would've laughed if it weren't for the real fear on his face.
"We don't throw people in the stocks for bumping into other people! And don't worry, the flour'll come out, and if not, I've got other dresses."
She stopped talking, as a sudden realization hit her. The boy had addressed her as "miss." He didn't know who she was. Well, if he was nervous about her being "higher class," she certainly wasn't going to tell him she was the crown princess!
She stuck her hand out, "I'm Emma."
The boy shook her hand, hesitantly, but said nothing.
Emma raised an eyebrow at him, "Don't you have a name?"
The boy crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow at her right back, "Yes."
Emma crossed her arms, matching his stance, "Well, it's only polite to give someone your name when they give you theirs."
The boy rocked forward and then back on his heels, "Maybe I don't want to say."
Emma rolled her eyes and sighed, "Fine. Nice to meet you No-Name."
She suddenly remembered the twins and the fishmonger and looked around. They'd disappeared. She'd better go off and find them.
Turning to say goodbye to the boy, she realized his bag of flour was now half empty.
"Oh, who's the flour for? Do you need to refill it?"
The boy's faced darkened, "It's for my ma— for my captain."
Emma felt excited, "You're a sailor! I didn't know you could be a sailor at your age!"
The boy only looked more uncomfortable. Emma wished she knew what she kept saying wrong.
"I'm—I'm not exactly…" he stuttered.
"But you have sailed before?" Emma asked.
He gave a cautious nod.
Emma couldn't hold in her questions. She did try.
"What's it like? I've always wanted to go to sea! I wish I could be a sailor! Don't you get sick of fish? Have you seen any other kingdoms? Is sleeping in a hammock weird? Do you know how to steer a ship? I guess they wouldn't let a boy steer, would they."
Ever so slightly, the boy seemed to relax a little at her line of questioning. He began to smile a little, amused by her enthusiasm.
He chose to answer her last question, puffing out his chest a little, "I've watched the captain steer. And I've read the charts and a book or two when cleaning his cabin, though I'm not supposed to. I'm sure I could steer if they'd let me."
Emma's reaction did not disappoint, "That's amazing! Can I see your ship?"
The boy chuckled, "It's the captain's ship, not mine, lass. And probably not a good idea, I'm afraid. The captain's unlikely to be pleased when I bring him this, and he's really not fit company for nobility in the best of moods."
He gestured to the bag of flour in his hand.
Emma frowned, "Well, I won't let you get into trouble because I bumped into you!"
The boy shrugged, scratching a spot behind his ear, "Ah, it's alright lass. I might take a whuppin' but I've had worse."
Emma's frown grew more pronounced, "Absolutely not. We'll get the merchant to refill your bag. Come on!"
"But lass," the boy protested, following, "I haven't any coin!"
"Neither have I," Emma tossed back over her shoulder, "but I'm sure we can come to an agreement."
The boy followed, shaking his head, but led her to the correct merchant at her insistence.
The merchant's eyes widened when he saw Emma, but she spoke before he could say anything, speaking in her best adult princess voice.
"Excuse me, Mr. Jacobs, but there was an accident down the way involving this nice young man and myself, and well, you can see what happened," Emma gestured down to her still flour-covered outfit, "I was wondering if you'd be willing to refill his order."
Mr. Jacobs took the bag of flour stared at her, eyes wide, "You—you know my name!"
Then he jumped as if someone had shocked him with static electricity. He approached a large sack of flour, filled the boy's bag, and came over to Emma, "Of course! Whatever you require! Me and my shop's at your disposal, Your—"
But before the merchant could continue and reveal her title as "Your Royal Highness," Emma interrupted, "Thank you so much! We're so obliged. Thank you!" and she quickly pushed the boy out of the shop.
The boy stared at her in amazement, "Are you magic or something?"
Emma chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Do I look like a fairy to you? No, I just… he knows my grandfather, and… he wants to be on his good side."
The boy looked as if he wanted to ask more questions, but Emma redirected his attention, though she spoke a little sadly.
"Anyway, I guess you have to go deliver that flour now, huh?"
The boy looked up at the sun, estimating the time, and groaned, "Aye, I really do."
But then he looked back at Emma, "You didn't have to do that, you know."
Emma shrugged, "I know, but what are friends for?"
The boy furrowed his eyebrows, puzzled, "But we just met. I'm not your friend."
Emma huffed, "Well, I may not be your friend, but you're mine. You're fun, and not too annoying," she teased.
The boy chuckled, though he went red and tugged on his ear again.
"Well, I suppose—that is, thank you then, lass."
Emma grinned, "You're welcome, No-Name."
Then she began to skip off. Summer was here, life went on, and the world didn't seem so bleak. She'd done a good deed and her mother—here she took a deep breath—her mother would have been proud.
"Killian!" the boy called after her before she was out of sight.
She stopped and yelled back over the clamor of the streets, "What?"
He yelled back too, louder, "Killian! My name's Killian!"
Then he grinned at her and disappeared into the crowd.
Emma smiled. She'd made a new friend, and now she knew his name. Maybe she'd be able to see him again and ask him about sailing when he was in port, the way she did Smee.
"Killian," she said to herself, "Nice to meet you, Killian."