Inspired by a writer's prompt on Tumblr, shared by searchingwardrobes on Discord. Thanks to kmomof4 for being my most excellent beta.
Shadows danced across the walls of the room, the flame of her lantern flickering in the evening ocean breeze as Emma Swan began to pack the meager belongings of her life. It was the one thing she'd miss of this place, its proximity to the ocean, but even the rhythm and routine of the sea, offering solace from the harsh realities of her world while casting hope across its vastness to the realms that lay beyond these shores were not enough to entice her to stay. She'd had enough of being indentured to a life of service within the tavern, and while she wasn't overly fond of the alternative, marriage would offer her freedoms her current position did not.
Unlike many others in her life, Neal was willing to look past the fact she was a poor orphan. Offering to take her on as his wife with no dowry or the prospect of any other boon or benefit, she knew she ought to be grateful to him. The only way she could leave this place was by marriage or transfer of service, and she had never wished to cast her lot elsewhere on the off chance some other master might be kinder to her than her present one. As a wife, she would have certain rights, of course… she would also have certain duties, of which she did not wish to spend time considering and thus went back to her packing. She only had a few days left before Neal would arrive with the marriage clerk and take her back to his home, and she did not want to give the tavern's proprietor any reason to delay her departure, which he might do if her current room was not ready to his satisfaction to be lent out to customers.
Stepping up onto the small footstool, Emma swept her arm across the top of her wardrobe, ensuring nothing remained, when her hand hit something solid. She had to get up on her tiptoes in order to retrieve the item and a startled gasp fell from her lips when she beheld a long-forgotten box of childhood treasures. With her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, she made her way over to the fireplace, tossing another log onto the dying flames so she could more easily see the contents of the worn box.
Reverently, she brushed away the dust with the corner of her apron, then lifted the lid to reveal trinkets she'd once cherished in her youth. A length of pink silk ribbon she'd found on the street, but never had the courage to wear in her hair for fear of being accused of thievery. A stone that glittered in the sun with all the sparkle she had imagined a diamond might possess. A few pressed flowers, whose meaning she could no longer recall, some sea shells she had collected along the beach of a secluded inlet she'd often escaped to, as well as the pieces of a broken saucer she'd seen one of the storekeepers discard, thinking its pattern too lovely to be tossed out with the rest of the refuse.
Beneath one of the shards was a twisted blade of grass that had been knotted into the form of a small ring. The sight of it caused tears to prick the corners of Emma's eyes as she gently lifted it from the corner of the box. Its browned and leathered appearance called forth the memory of the day it had been bright green and freshly wound around her small finger, and of the boy who had fashioned it for her. A boy with eyes the color of the ocean horizon and a lop-sided smile that had made her young heart flutter for the first time in her life.
He'd been hiding in the brush that surrounded the inlet she'd run off to that day, hoping to escape the duties and responsibilities of her pitiful life. He had confessed his own need for such an escape, having run away from his older brother when they had disembarked the ship that had brought them over for a short visit. Worrying for his safety, certain he would catch a beating for his actions, she had invited him to remain and spend the day with her combing the beach for treasures while playing in the surf as it washed over their feet.
Killian. His name was Killian. She'd never forgotten his name, nor the way he had made her feel. Like she was the most interesting person he had ever encountered. As though her thoughts and ideas were marvels he had never contemplated before. That, if they weren't from separate realms, she might be someone who could have come to mean something much more to him than a passing childhood friend made on the banks of a shore during a day of frivolity. Frivolity that had been marred a time or twice with revelations of Emma's circumstances. Killian had not made her feel ashamed of her life, however. When she had confided her fear that no one would ever want to marry her because she was a poor orphan with no dowry, he'd professed how proud he'd be to marry her, then proved it by insisting they get married right then and there on the beach.
It was all a bit of fun, a game they played as afternoon turned to evening and the sun began to set. He'd plucked a strand of the tall grass that swayed along the shore and made her a ring while she gathered a few wild flowers, braiding several into a crown she wore in lieu of a veil while gathering the rest into a bouquet.
Having never attended a wedding before, Emma had no idea what sort of vows a bride and groom were meant to share, but Killian did. Slipping the delicate band onto her hand, he had promised things no one had ever declared to her before. Oaths of protection and care, of love and partnership, of forever and always. Things she now knew she would have to vow to Neal, doubting very much whether either of them would profess such things with the same earnestness and fervor as she and Killian had all those years ago.
Emma gently threaded the band onto her pinky, a sad smile ghosting over her lips as she wondered, not for the first time, what had ever happened to the boy she had "married" that day. Though the box and its contents had been forgotten over the years, the memory of him had been a frequent companion she had carried within her heart, hoping he might find her again someday.
How many times had she caught sight of a pair of blue eyes, gazing at her from across the tavern, causing her to hold her breath in anticipation only to be let down when he introduced himself. How often had she watched men disembark from foriegn ships, praying one of the dark, wind-swept heads of hair might belong to him. She knew it was a fantasy to even hope he might remember her, but she had little else to cling to. Eventually though, she had to stop wishing and hoping.
Even if he had returned for her, who was to say he would be the same sweet boy she remembered? Time and duty might have eroded away the qualities she'd come to fall in love with as she compared every man she met against the measure of Killian's regard for her. No one ever looked at her the way he had, nor conversed with her for the mere pleasure of her company. Of course, they had been but children back then. Who knew whether she would receive the same profane propositions she had from other men if they were to meet again now as adults. Convincing herself that he must have surely grown up to be no better than the other salacious sailors or morally corrupt merchants she'd been exposed to while working in the tavern had made it easier to let go of the fantasy of a dashing rescue. No one would save her from this bleak existence except her, and yet… even after all these years, with the prospect of that salvation on the horizon as she prepared for her nuptials in an agreement she alone had brokered, Emma could not help but wish to go back to that day, to that inlet beach, to that time when the band of grass had been supple and green, and the crown of flowers adorning her head had perfumed their words with their sweet fragrance.
Swallowing past the tightness such musings had caused within her chest, Emma carefully stowed the baubles and trinkets back into the box. She paused when her fingers brushed the brittle fibers of the ring. Though it was long past time for her to put away such fanciful notions of nostalgia, she wasn't quite ready to relinquish this particular remembrance, so on her finger the band remained as she set about finishing her evening's work before the hour grew much later.
She was readying herself for bed when a commotion erupted downstairs. It was not unusual for patrons to kick up a fuss when the proprietor told them no more ale would be served and that the tavern was closing for the night, but when the disturbance made its way up the stairs to the very threshold of her doorway, Emma knew this was no normal uproar. The entire wall shook from the force of the fist that pounded against her door, and for a moment Emma was frozen in fear of what she might find awaiting her on the other side.
"Open up for their Majesties Guard!" a voice demanded, shaking Emma from her petrification.
Cracking the door open, Emma peered out to find a guard festooned in full royal fashion.
"Emma Swan?" he inquired with a seriousness besetting his features.
"Y-Yes?" Emma replied, taken aback by the fact this guard was here looking for her. A reaction that only intensified when he informed her of his reason for being there.
"Your presence is requested."
"My presence? Where?"
"At the castle. You are expected at once."
Emma blanched. What possible reason would there be for anyone at the castle to send a guard for her? Nodding at the guard, she closed the door so she might have some privacy as she changed back into her dress. While donning her boots it occurred to her that with the Queen and her new King having returned to the realm after spending time in his kingdom, a royal escort might now be required for anyone wishing to visit the castle. She knew a number of servants who worked there - some kitchen maids, a squire, a stable boy, even a lower ranked guard or two - but none of them came to mind as to who might have summoned her and why.
Alone within a royal carriage, it mattered not that Emma was incapable of finding her voice the entire way to the castle. When the guard opened the door and assisted her down, she still had not managed to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth, which proved itself fortunate as she likely otherwise would have swallowed it when she was ushered into the throne room.
Hesitantly, Emma approached the dais where her Queen and new King sat upon their gilded thrones. Despite her icy complexion and equally frosty powers, Queen Elsa gazed down at Emma with warmth in her eyes and compassion in her smile. Her husband, however, did not share her pleasant greeting. King Liam's scrutiny was pensive as he assessed her, his expression giving away nothing as to what judgments he had already made of her, though Emma could hazard a guess.
"Miss Swan," Queen Elsa began cordially. "Thank you for responding to our summons so quickly. There is a matter my husband and I are eager to settle."
Emma swallowed past the vast aridness taking over her throat and wet her lips before croaking out, "What matter, Your Majesty?"
Again, Queen Elsa smiled affectionately, no doubt aware of how harrowing an experience this was for Emma.
"Well, you see, His Majesty's brother was to be betrothed to a lady of his kingdom's court, however, when the ceremony took place, the fairies could not bind the union. We have traveled back to my kingdom in order to rectify the issue."
Emma's brows pulled together and her lips parted in perplexity. "I do not understand, Your Majesty. What issue has caused the prince's betrothal contract to not be binding, and what does that have to do with me?"
"It would seem," the King answered, his voice booming disapprovingly throughout the hall, "that the magic that governs our laws would not seal the contract because… my little brother is technically already married."
"Younger brother, if it all the same to you," a voice murmured from off to Emma's left, drawing her attention to a man emerging from the shadows of an alcove.
A man with dark, unruly hair, as though he'd been running his hands through the strands over and over again. A man with eyes the color of the ocean horizon lingering on her stunned face before they traveled the length of her in curious fascination and without the undertones other gazes often held when perusing her form. A familiar lop-sided smile twitched at his lips, practically stilling Emma's heart, when his gaze landed on her left hand.
"You kept it," he whispered in awe, his eyes flicking up just as hers fell to where his had been focusing, the band of grass still circling her pinky.
Gasping, her eyes shot up, locking with his. "Killian?" she breathed before shaking her head and taking a step back. "No. No, it can't be. You can't be… it's impossible."
He took a few measured steps forward while retrieving a square of linen from within the breast pocket of his jacket. Gingerly, he unwrapped the cloth and revealed three pressed pink flowers chained together with delicate braids.
"Do you remember when we parted that day, and you lamented the fact you had not made a ring for me?" he asked, softly. Emma nodded, her eyes misting over and blurring the flowers until all she saw were wisps of pink upon a black cloth. "You gave me your crown of flowers," he reminded her. "I regret that these three buds are all that remain of it, but I have kept them here, next to my heart, for many years."
Tears spilled down Emma's cheeks, prompting him to close the gap between them so he might take her face in his hands.
"I wanted to come find you so many times," he declared. "I petitioned both my father and my brother, desperate to know what had become of you, but they would not allow it."
Emma's gaze flicked up to the dias where she saw the King shift guitlity in his seat. She could not really blame him for refusing. They were royals and she was…
"I thought… I thought you might have forgotten all about me," she said, returning her attention to Killian once more.
"Never," he stated emphatically, before a roguish smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. "How could a man ever forget his bride?"
"Bride?" Emma's eyes widened. Surely he did not mean…
"According to the fairies, you are my lawful bride." Releasing her cheeks, he reached down and took both her hands in his, the pad of his thumb running over the band he'd fashioned for her long ago. "In time, I hope you might consider becoming my wife."
His wife. A prince's wife. The wife of a prince. Her. Emma Swan. Indentured orphan. Married to royalty. Emma's mind was spinning, but it only took one thought to calm the chaos of her thoughts. Killian's. She was Killian's, and he was hers, and they had always belonged to each other.
"Yes," she responded on a gladdened breath. Before she could say anything else, he pulled her in and pressed his lips to hers, his smile fusing to her own.
"How marvelous!" Queen Elsa's exclamation broke them apart just as a spark of something wondrous ignited between them, but Emma knew there would be opportunities later to bask in the heat she could see smouldering in Killian's eyes. "We shall announce your betrothal at once!"
"Actually," Emma interjected, sheepishly. "It might be best if I inform my fiancé our wedding is off first."
"Fiancé?"
Raising herself up onto her tiptoes, Emma pulled Killian back towards her and murmured against his lips, "I'll explain later."