"Wow," Henry breathes upon entering the foyer, which could have been its very own prison, given its size. If not for the enormous windows ahead of them, Killian would find it all too easy to imagine himself in a stone box, with only rugs to break up the dullness. The rugs do add color, however, as do the nobles on either side of them whispering excitely about the newcomers. But not one of them looks like a wizard.
"Wow is right," David murmurs.
"I am so not dressed for this," Snow groans.
Somewhere between the bridge and the interior, Arthur had left them, a herald calling out his entrance. Between the fanfare-blowing and the shouting, he wonders about this servant's status and whether his compensation equated to the very little skill that was required.
Arthur greets them again with a friendly smile, his arms open...a suit of armor still adorning him.
"And now allow me to introduce the loveliest creature in all of Camelot—my queen, Guinevere."
What, no trumpets for the Queen, he scoffs, still bowing his head as a petite, olive-skinned woman in a bold fuschia gown glides down the staircase without a sound. Lovely indeed, if a little vacant looking at times, like she has to collect herself with every step. He watches her eyes dart from new face to new face.
"Your Majesty," Snow speaks for them.
"The pleasure is ours," Guinevere insists. "We have been awaiting your arrival from the moment we heard Merlin's prophecy."
And yet she and her husband look the very picture of calm, he observes, raising an eyebrow. He supposes he should be grateful for more royal help. Not to be a snob, but it does tend to yield faster results than peasant help. It's just...shouldn't things be a bit more bustling? Roughly a dozen guests from another land just showing up and conveniently being the long-awaited brigade to free one of the most powerful Sorcerers of all time? Some unprofessional giddiness, he could understand, but then he's never been accustomed to the traditional regal way.
"Well, we hope you haven't been waiting too long," David says to her, more adept at contributing to this chit-chat than Killian would be.
"Only a decade or so," Arthur laughs.
"Sorry."
"I'll wager it's been worth the wait. And, as a bonus, it's given us more than enough time to prepare a ball in your honor tonight."
Oh, bloody hell, are they really doing this? Rolling his eyes, he clears his throat to suggest—politely—they get down to brass tacks, but the dwarves murmur amongst themselves behind him while Granny muses about a party she doesn't have to cater. Look, nothing against celebrating once Merlin is found or freed or whatever dilemma he's found himself in and Swan's herself again, but nothing is making any sense.
"Is this really necessary?" he hears Zelena over the hubub, although she's at least had the good sense to keep her voice low enough for only them to hear. She rubs the cuff on her wrist.
"You're lucky you're not locked in Granny's freezer," Regina snaps through gritted teeth. He hopes it's large enough to throw Arthur in with her for all his mismanagement.
"Take it off!" Zelena demands. "Or I tell Arthur he just welcomed the Dark One into his-"
He spins around to see Zelena tapping at her throat with a perplexed expression.
"What's that, sis? I can't hear you," Regina snarks. Ah. Good form. At least one thing is going their way. "No one here knows who we are and it's going to stay that way. So you can either behave and pretend to be my mute handmaiden, or go back to Granny's. You can rely on Doc for prenatal care."
So, everyone's in agreement they stay hush-hush about their identities, Zelena's squared away—if only someone else would act as though they were in a rush.
"Swan, Swan, a word?" He strokes the back of her arm and positions her so they face away from the others. "We don't have time to waste on a bloody dance."
"I'm not going to go dark in one night," she says, shrugging, angling her head up at him. With a sigh, he shakes his head. Not making waves may be favorable, but finding Merlin? A thousand times more.
"I'm not willing to take that chance," he says to her before looking above the crowd at Arthur. "Your Majesty! When are we going to start our quest to find Merlin?"
"Find him? We don't need to find him. We know exactly where he is," Arthur says, grinning like he's just granted him a boon. Killian grins back.
"Now, why don't I find that comforting?" he challenges.
"Hook..." he hears David's voice behind him.
"Apologies, Your Majesty, but we've traveled a long way and my—our situation, as it were, demands more immediate attention that that. I hope you understand."
"Of course. How thoughtless of me." Arthur instantly sobers. "Sir...?"
"Captain."
"If you'll follow me, I'll show you why we haven't been able to just free him ourselves." He and the knights gesture for them to follow out a side door out to the courtyard.
"Tactful," David scolds him as he catches up to him and Swan.
"We should at least know the specifics of what we're dealing with," Swan counters. Thank you, love. "I mean, this is still in the Enchanted Forest. Why haven't they been able to free him themselves? It's a land with magic." She pauses midstep, holding onto his arm.
"What's wrong?"
"It's..." she trails off, her eyebrows trying to meet. "There's strong magic out there. This-this won't be easy."
"It never is," he snorts, reaching for her hand. He's close enough now to note the color draining from her face. "Is it dark magic?"
"I-I don't know. It's just, well, strong. Before, I could just sense magic, like the air pressure would change. I didn't even know what that meant until Regina explained it. But now? Now it's like everything that's magic has a great big sign over it that says, "Magic" on it. Whatever's happened to Merlin, we haven't encountered anything like it yet."
Portentous. She pats his back, rubbing circles into his shoulder blade with her palm as they step out into the courtyard where a large willowy tree stands alone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Merlin," Arthur announces. He holds his arm out to direct them to take in the branches above the spiraling roots that make up the thick trunk. Only chirping birds break up the stunned silence.
"So, the most powerful sorcerer in all the realms is stuck inside a bloody tree?" Killian asks. On Arthur's watch? Or before? Gods, and here he thought Storybrooke had problems...
"I said the same exact thing the first time I stood there," Arthur sighs, this time the grin the shallowest attempt to mask an underlying vexation.
"And you think we can get him out?" Swan seeks clarification. He holds his breath. If she were only the Savior, the feat could be done in seconds. But dabbling in the dark magic, indulging the Darkness nesting inside her...
"Oh, we don't think; we know."
He and Swan both spin around at that. If he already knows she's the Savior, well, they'll have some explaining to do.
"Merlin's prophecies are never wrong," Arthur clarifies.
"Why are you so eager to free him?" the knight next to him asks. Gods, can't we just be a troupe of altruistic do-gooders and leave it at that, he wishes he could snap at the blundering idiot.
"Our home is being threatened by the Dark One," David answers for them in only a slightly uneven tone.
"The Dark One. Yes, we're well aware of that demon. That is bad. Well, I pray Merlin can help. But first, we must free him from his prison." David's shoulders relax at the acceptance of the story. "It is said one of you is the Savior."
Here it comes. Royal rejection before they'd even been given any help. Hanging his head, he tries to make eye contact with Swan, who also looks away from Arthur. He'll follow her lead, whatever she chooses, for there won't be a right choice to make.
"So which one of you is it?"
Swan steps forward but then jerks to the side.
"I am the Savior," Regina speaks up, stepping toward Arthur. Ah. The dagger. He could throttle her—her hand's holding the damned thing inside her jacket! The reason Emma had given it to her was for the most desperate of emergencies, not for disspelling awkward pauses. His eyes dart back to Emma. She looks like a deer, hoping the wolves won't see her if she remains absolutely still. Her eyes, though—her eyes flare up at Regina.
"I'm the one who's going to free Merlin from that tree, and then we can take care of the Dark One," Regina assures Arthur and the knights before glancing over at Emma. "And all go home."
Royals...planning this ridiculous ball rather than, you know, saving the Sorcerer who'd obviously been advising them for years. Killian runs his hand through his hair, shaking away one of the longer strands falling in front of his eye. He paces outside the door where Swan and Regina have gone...and judging by the fact he's not hearing furniture being tossed about or glass breaking, they've come to some kind of understanding in regards to the dagger and Regina's Savior ruse.
Swan emerges first, a look of extreme contemplation on her face. Regina sweeps past them, apparently not intent on sticking around.
"You're right," she says to him, motioning for him to follow her back into the room. It's covered in cobwebs and dust. They frame ramshackle shelves bending at the weight of all the books and scrolls on top of them. Wherever there isn't a book, bottles fill up the space. Strange that for a room that no one appears to have used for a long time, the single chair is pushed out, waiting for someone to come and pore over all the papers still sprawled out on the splintery table. His eyes dart from one end of the room to the other, stiffening at the notion of this being Merlin's workspace, and how all the people who refused to alter it, just as he left it, were now their hosts.
"You're right," she says again, shrugging. She walks around the circular room, stepping further away from the chair than needed when she passes it. "We shouldn't be doing this. We're wasting time. We should be helping Regina find whatever she needs to find to get Merlin out of there."
"You're sure this is you talking and not something Regina ordered you to say?" He means it to be snide, flashing her a smirk, but she grimaces.
"If they intend on throwing a ball and insist on everyone being present, it's going to be a little difficult to get away," he adds.
"Who cares? They won't mind us blowing off some party if we come back with a way to save Merlin."
"Emma?" He turns around and Swan tenses at Snow resting her hand against the door in a motion to knock at it. "I was wondering if you wanted to start getting ready?"
"Now?" Swan whines with all the expertise of a child used to her mother's nagging. He half-expects her to stomp her foot.
"Well, no running water, makeup kind of a hot commodity, last-minute gown alterations—you'll never think getting ready for a night out in Storybrooke is much of a hassle ever again," Snow lets out a gentle laugh and sends Killian a beseeching expression with her eyes. Her smile remains soft, but those eyes...silently screaming help me out here to him.
"Mom, I've got to go with Killian on this one. We've got to get to work."
"Emma, what do you think balls are? I know I talk about them fondly, and I'll admit, they can be wonderful, but it's also business. You've been invited by a king to a ball. If we don't go, we'll be in danger of being rude guests, and 'rude' guests can quickly snowball into 'suspicious' guests. We have to act like we have nothing to hide," Snow argues.
The two of them look so much alike at times. He's in the perfect spot to watch their eyes, cocking his head at how each pair shines with love for the other, but also an apprehension, a fear of upsetting the other one.
"Actually, Swan, perhaps it would be best to take the night off, so to speak," he says. Snow beams at him, but Swan raises her eyebrow, her reading of his face quicker than ever.
"You're not usually much of a flip-flopper," she wonders out loud. "What's going on?"
"Well, as your mother points out, we don't want to offend people who can help us. We don't want them to think you have a particular reason to avoid them. Gods help us; we're in the hands of politicians. It's best for our group if we go along with what they want tonight, and it might be best for you to be around your family." It still feels like more than two days that they'd been apart, he thinks, but refrains from saying. Suddenly the idea of attending a second ball with her, not leaving her side, holding her close for an evening... He pretends he's simply nudging her toward her mother, but his fingertips savor the pressure when he pushes on her back, her hair tickling his knuckles.
"Okay," she sighs, playfully rolling her eyes at him over her shoulder as she takes her mother's hand. "If you're sure you can stand to be away from me..."
"I'll see you soon."
"Promise?" she mouths to him as Snow leads her out the door and around the corner to the staircase. Oh, he promises.
The dwarves were sent almost immediately to a seamstress for alterations, leaving Killian, David, and Robin in a square closet-esque room with three full walls' worth of trousers, hose, doublets, robes, shirts... Two mirrors and a high window break up the endless patterns of garments.
Only David walks towards the clothes without hesitation, sifting through them with a careless sort of monotony. He devotes so little of his attention to choosing his items that Killian has no doubt in his mind the Prince knows full well he and Robin are watching his movements.
"Er, David?" Robin addresses him, taking a step toward him. "I might be in need of some assistance here."
"First ball?" David asks, nodding in response to his own question. "You just pick out what you want to wear."
"It's not as easy as it sounds," Robin remarks.
"Yeah..." David trails off, clucking his tongue. He springs forward with his arm up, waving at the doorway. "Regina!"
Regina, still in her Storybrooke clothes, folds her arms and looks around before bustling into the closet.
"I'm not so good at fashion. Can you rig Robin up in something nice and preferably comfortable?"
"Why, of course," she says with a sly smile as she waves her hand around in Robin's direction. A quick whiff of purple smoke encases him and disappears, leaving him in a loose-fitting white shirt and forest green—naturally-doublet with the most nuanced of embellishment on it.
Robin inspects himself in the mirror, and even Killian will give credit where credit is due—none of the garish items would have had the same effect. Robin looked like he'd worn the costume his entire life.
"And now you, I suppose," Regina starts, lifting her hand again. At him.
"Wait, wait, wait." He backs away from her and snags a hanger with his hook off one of the bottom racks. "I've been dressed with magic before and I'd much prefer to see whatever you have in mind for me on a hanger first."
"Look at the alternatives, my friend. You could do far worse than Regina's help," Robin laughs, gesturing at the garments. The man tries to grin at him, but it's strained, not so much out of dislike as much as discomfort. Oh, did he intimidate the outlaw? For a quick, dark moment, Killian imagines having two hands, if only to learn some skill with a bow. But then he casts his eyes down. It doesn't matter if the man's uncomfortable around you, he tells himself. He came to help Emma.
He came to be with Regina.
Who wants to help Emma.
Sucking in, he closes his eyes for a brief moment, chiding himself. A bit early to be so territorial of his family, isn't it? Gods, hadn't Killian himself been an outsider, someone who had convinced himself he didn't give a whit about any of them?
He glances at the ensemble that's suddenly hanging off the hanger, Regina's expectant look in the corner of his eye. Most of it was coat, long and black like his old one, a tad more streamlined and accentuated, but servicable, to be sure. A cherry vest with black pattern, simple black shirt—he feels something in his hand. Opening it, he doesn't know whether to snap his head up at Regina or keep his eyes on the earring she's conjured for him, long, silvery, with a black pearl bauble at the end of it.
"Well?"
"Regina, h-how..."
"You only wear one outfit at a time and don't change it for, like, a hundred years. It's pretty easy to get your look down. You're welcome." Turning to leave, her entire demeanor changes into one of concern when David catches her arm.
"Just one more thing. Please." Blushing, David brings his hands up and forms a circle with them, fingers going back and forth. "Could you make a little wreath out of flowers? To wear on a head? Little flowers, like, uh, they're little and white?"
"Baby's breath? This?" She spins her finger in a circle until a flower circlet appears in David's hands of delicate white buttercups and baby's breath.
"If we were supposed to wear those, they'd be in here," Robin quips, pointing back at the racks of clothes.
"Relax, Robin. I guess I'll go play delivery girl and get this to Snow."
"Actually, it's for Emma," David says, his voice shaking just a little. He holds onto the circlet, turning it over and back, maybe too afraid to brush the flowers on it. "The women in Snow's family have a tradition that every girl wears flowers in her hair to her first ball. It's not techincally her first," he trails off, swallowing as he peers over at Killian. "But it's the first one where we know she's with us."
Taking the coat off the hanger, Killian evades David's lingering stare and instead focuses on yes, this is the best decision. Her parents are thinking of nothing but spending time with her, making her feel like part of this whole venture rather than just the catalyst of it. If the two of them had actually sneaked off to jump through whatever perilous hoops were required to help Merlin, she might have had to resort to using her magic, tainted and darkened by the curse coursing through her veins, tampering with everything that make her who she is. This way, she's surrounded by her loved ones.
"Hook? Out of curiosity, how would you feel if someone asked Emma for a dance?"
What the bloody hell is this? Here they were, just waiting for David before entering the ballroom, and now he's expected to stroke Robin's ego?
"She does have a father and a son," he starts, his head at a snarky tilt.
"I mean a stranger. Is that a custom?"
Killian tucks his tongue between his top and bottom teeth and attempts to read Robin's face, usually not bothering to conceal much of anything. It's an open, honest face...for a thief, and the man seems to have a decent amount of cleverness, concern for his Merry Men, that diligent alertness that seems to come with becoming a parent...what's brought this on?
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"A knight introduced himself to Regina and me and said he hoped she'd save him a dance. Gave her a necklace and everything. Harmless, I suppose, but...the longer I think about it, the more unsettling it feels."
There really hadn't been much of a chance for him to get to know Robin at all. The only real, uninterrupted calm Storybrooke had had, Robin hadn't even been there. That, and he's quite certain he and Swan both would have politely declined a "double date." Whether he was the jealous type or not, he couldn't say, but an unsettling feeling here in Camelot did not bode well.
"What's wrong, guys?" David calls to them, running up. "You know we're supposed to be lining up in front of the door now, right?"
Killian and Robin's eyes veer toward the guarded door where a few soldiers tap their feet impatiently. Waiting for them. Brilliant.
"I'm blaming you, Hook. I thought you'd been to a couple of these," David scolds him in a sing-song murmur as they line up next to each other. It's a wry smile for the Prince, one that prompts a smirk on Killian's face.
"A couple of these a couple of centuries ago, and I don't fancy there will be that many more in the future, mate."
"Oh, we'll all be at at least one more," he says, his face changing from wry to bemused to reflective in a split second.
Before Killian can decipher the meaning, the guards snap to attention, yet another fanfare blaring. Arthur's voice booms, but behind closed doors, the words are indistinguishable.
"You're dancing with the 'Savior' tonight," he hisses to Robin. "You're going to have to expect people to take an interest in her." He smiles. Swan's not the Savior tonight. No one here will approach her for anything. Her beauty might attract a few bold guests, but they'll just have to spray somewhere else in hopes of hitting a target.
"What's the trouble?" David whispers, leaning toward them on his tiptoes.
"Robin's aghast a stranger wants to dance with Regina."
"I was only trying to guage if it was typical behavior or not," Robin scoffs. "If Regina's going to keep up this facade, it would help if nothing unexpected came her way."
"Like Hook said, she's the Savior tonight, which makes her the guest of honor. I think the unexpected should be exactly what you're preparing for," David assures him, huffing out a breath. "I don't know much about being a Savior or being a Dark One, but I'm sure stress doesn't help either case. Let's just try to enjoy the night. We all deserve a quiet moment."
A couple of attendants interrupt to direct them to their places, another one leading Henry out to them, the former rolling his eyes at the lad. Killian performs a quick scan of the boy and moves out of position to straighten the quilted doublet over his shirt.
"Your belt needs tightening. Hang on." David hustles over to them and unfastens Henry's belt.
"You've got the cobbler's clasp still on your boot there," Robin says, bending over to cut it off with his knife. "Sorry, but that's like still wearing the price tag."
"You guys are like chimps. I don't need to be groomed!" Henry grunts, wiggling away from them and smoothing down his doublet. "It's just my first time wearing this kind of thing. I-I'm not sure I'm going to fit in here. I mean, uh, these clothes and all these rules—it's like a really formal wedding or something."
"There are worse places to be, and far more tortuous activities than dancing," he finds himself saying, recalling the story of another captain who caked a whore's face in grease and held it in an open fire, and Killian had had the nerve to be horrified when it had only been a day since Edgar. That one had been the worst, an all-out keelhauling. Poor sot had sunk lower than the Jolly Roger's barnacles on its hull and drowned...not that he'd cared too much at the time. So many worse places to be, he thinks, inhaling. Arthur announcing his name alongside the others' becomes a welcomed jolt to the present.
They all take their places back at the foot of a staircase. She's not close enough to be much more than a white blur, but he's able to make out Swan and her mother bounding down the top set of stairs in a rather un-princess-like manner only to collect themselves and join hands along the landing.
Stunning. She's a bit stiff in a long-sleeve gown of the starkest white, but other than that, she's every inch herself, much like their first ball, when she'd tried so hard to match the other ladies in grace it had completely escaped her notice she surpassed them, and without anyone to have to save or timelines to ensure, she can let loose and have fun. She smiles at him as she descends, and he can't get over how angelic she looks, like a goddess.
Like a bride.
"Swan, you look..."
"I know," she sings. Ever the coy one. Maybe one day he'll unnerve her as much as she does him.
A/N: Dark times lie ahead on the show, so maybe the timing worked out that we're going over the fluffier parts of the story arc now. Robin is the latest character that I get nervous about writing. I like him fine and I like Sean Maguire's performance, but he's so under-written imo that he's a bit ambiguous; let me know if he ever starts sounding like a doofus. He's going to get more and more dialogue as the Camelot arc goes on. Coming up? Hook and Emma go to Target. I am not even kidding.
