A/N

Is this what happens when I write while listening to too many sea shanties and folk songs? Apparently. Superficially inspired by "Caroline and Her Young Sailor Bold" (Kelly Oliver's version), "Across the Sea" (The Wailin' Jennys), and "Underneath the Stars" (Kate Rusby/Voces8), none of which ultimately apply to this little story—but all of which I highly recommend :)

Hope you enjoy ✨

She'd been staring at the clock, and it almost began to feel as if it were staring back.

It would clang in a minute, and she would brace herself, and yet she'd still jump when the bells started rolling. She knew this, since the exact same thing had happened just an hour before, and again an hour before that.

He was supposed to be here already. Why wasn't he here already?

It wasn't like she ever expected him to be on time, not really; he couldn't ever really know how long he would be, and she understood that. But it didn't stop the anxious feeling, the living on edge until she finally saw him safe on solid ground.

Love was waiting—so much waiting. Her parents never told her that.

Clang. She jumped. Only once this time, which was better than the twelve before.

With the fresh burst of adrenaline, she ran over to the window—a gorgeous night, the moon waxing full in a few day's time. She looked for a shadow, for a sign of life; nothing. The grounds were eerily still tonight.

She shut her eyes tight, steadying her breath, biting the inside of her cheek. A jolt, and she was outside. She was now looking up from the grounds to her bedroom window, lit by a little flickering flame in the hearth that she could no longer see. She smiled; that particular spell was still a thrill to her.

She could hear him in her head now—or his tone, anyway; there would be a subtle pang from his throat as he told her to turn back, and not to worry, and not to come looking for him. He would find her, as he always did, and the ignoble world beyond the castle was not fit for a woman of her caliber.

But that was just the thing, wasn't it? A woman of her caliber—she could handle herself.

She smirked to him in her head. She liked to win, even if it was in a fiction of her own creation.

She rubbed her hands together, and a small burst of light emitted from her palms, as dim as a candle. She didn't want to draw too much attention, should anyone see her. Maybe she would check the port, just to see if he had even arrived in town yet?

"Emma, love!"

"Killian!" She ran to him, the light cutting out as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

He held her face as they parted, a smile on his lips and disquiet in his eyes. "What are you doing outside?"

"You were taking so long, I thought something might've happened to you!"

"I'm alright, you needn't have come out looking for me…" He kissed her forehead, pushing away strands of her hair. She could hear the concern bleeding through his voice. "I'm so sorry, darling, we got a late start."

"It's okay, you're here now." She smiled, grabbing his hand. "Come on, I want to show you something."

A jolt, the convulsive pull of teleportation magic, and he gripped her so tight she felt her knuckles crack.

"Where…where are we?"

"I don't really know."

"You don't know? How is that possible?"

"I dreamt it a couple weeks ago. I didn't think it would be real, but…"

She pulled him to the edge of the knoll that had materialized before them, gazing up at the infinite stars sparkling above. They glowed closer than ever here, in a way that shouldn't have quite been possible—she reached her hand out, and could have sworn her finger traced a trail of shimmering light in the sky. He watched her first, and then did the same.

"Beautiful…"

She smiled. "Isn't it?"

"How is this even real?"

"Honestly, I don't think I even want to know…I think I like the mystery of it."

She sat down on the dewy grass and pulled him to the ground beside her.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"You were gone so long."

"Aye, I know."

His fingertips met hers, and she softly pressed their palms together.

"Tell me everything."

He smiled, starlight reflecting white and blue in his eyes. "I kept a journal for you. I wrote down everything I could remember."

He pulled it out from inside his jacket pocket and placed it gingerly into her hands, and she ran a finger over the crisp bound leather.

"I can feel magic in this."

"What, magic? Really? I didn't…I don't know how that's possible—"

"It's not typical magic—it's the magic of words. Of story." She nudged him softly. "Of love."

His voice was tender, almost reverent. "You can really feel that?"

"I've been practicing a lot since you left."

She cracked it open, and felt the thrum of his words pulse through her fingers and into her chest. It felt warm, like stepping into a patch of sun. He'd drawn in the margins, and she thumbed over a sketch of a sea-bird peering over to the next page.

"Emma, I should tell you this now—I'm only docked here for the night. I'll be leaving in the morning."

She leafed absently through a few pages, until she saw an image of herself looking pensively into the sky. She squeezed his hand. "But you were gone for two months."

"I know, and I'll be gone another month more."

"Can't you wait just one more day?"

"Would I even be able to see you tomorrow, if I did?"

She shook her head, closing the journal softly in her lap. "No…no, you wouldn't."

"I'm sorry, love."

She leaned in close, and ran her fingers through his hair, and he kissed her head. "You could join our Navy, and then my parents would adore you, and we wouldn't always have to meet in the dark?"

It was a game they liked to play, and it played itself out the same way every time.

"And then I'd be gone for years at a time, and I wouldn't even be able to guess for you when I'd return."

"And you'd be killed in battle, probably."

"And they would name me a hero, and I couldn't have that."

"You couldn't have that." She smiled, lacing their fingers together. "How about I run away with you?"

"Your people need you."

"I never asked them to. I'd rather run away."

"Your family needs you."

"I'd come back to visit, every once in a while…"

"You'd have a high price on your head if you ran away, and you'd be killed, probably."

"And I'd never get to be a hero…"

"And you couldn't have that."

"I couldn't have that."

He traced a line on her palm, a cautious smile on his lips. "Remember when we got to spend that full week together?"

"How could I forget?"

"And you thought for a moment that the ship was going to sail straight into the sun?"

She laughed, a soft breath. "Yes, I remember."

"I'm afraid that we're steering a little too close to it now."

She closed her hand over his with a tight grip, as if to chide him. "Don't. Not now."

He smiled, gentle and gingerly. He pulled his hand back; she suspected that her palms were beginning to burn him. "You're right. We won't."

"Love is meant to char you, anyway. Isn't it?" Her voice was shaken. It was meant to be rhetorical—but it was a genuine question that escaped her throat, and there was a flicker in her eye she could not rein in.

He turned his head, looking out to the stars. "That's how the stories always seem to go."

"And love is always worth all that, in the stories."

"Aye, in the stories."

She smiled, pretending to be satisfied with the answer. "Then we'll be alright." She bit her lip, her voice turning meditative. "Besides, isn't that what makes it all so beautiful?"

"What do you mean?"

"To see the beauty of the sun, the stars, up so close—wouldn't you rather be burned, than never to see them at all?"

"And we venerate their beauty because of how they burn."

"Exactly."

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close enough to lean her back on his chest; and she closed her eyes as he held her, and she left tender kisses on his palm.

"Emma, my love?"

"Hm?"

"Could you give us a happy story tonight?"