In an effort to not have so long of a gap between updates for this story (ha!), I'm shortening the length of its chapters. Anyone who has read my work knows my chapters are never below 7K so this will be a bit of a shift going forward (ONLY with this story, however). It does mean there will be more parts to this than I originally planned, but eh. Huge thank you to themmaswan for beta reading and phiralovesloki for being a sounding board!
As always, enjoy, and reviews feed the finicky muse!
Chapter 2: The Choices We Make
Emma sighed as her horse slowly made its way down the forest path, her heart too troubled to truly appreciate the beauty of the landscape that surrounded her.
So much had changed over the past five years. After Killian and Liam's deaths she had thrown herself into helping her mother keep the farm going, working from sunrise to sunset and in every condition Mother Nature could throw at her, refusing to even let Mr. Smee handle the more back breaking chores the boys use to do. She had told herself it was because life on a farm didn't cease after a loved one's death but the truth was if she hadn't of done it, she would have lost her mind.
Without having the work to keep her busy she would have dwelled even more on the loss she had suffered. The manual labor forced her to concentrate on whatever task was at hand so she didn't injure herself which would have left the brunt of the chores to her mother. It hadn't always been that simple, however. Killian and Liam had spent seventeen years on the farm and their ghosts haunted every inch of it, the men's presence lingering there long after the news of their deaths had been delivered.
At night she had allowed the grief she kept at bay to consume her, tears soaking her pillow as she clutched the book that contained the remnants of middlemist flowers to her chest.
Two years later the war that had claimed the boys' lives ended, and life as she knew it had forever changed.
"Emma?"
Looking up from the horse's stall she had been cleaning, Emma saw her mother walking into the barn with a piece of folded parchment in her hands and a frown pulling at her lips.
"What is it, mother?" Emma asked as she blew an errant piece of hair out of her face that had come undone from her braid while she worked.
"You've received a letter."
"Me?" Who in the name of Zeus would be writing her? Belle, the young woman who had arrived in town a little over a year ago and taken over the dilapidated library, and Merida were her friends but neither had ever written to her before. There was no need to, really, not when they could ride to the farm in a matter of a few hours and chat face to face.
"You," Ingrid confirmed, holding the letter in question out toward her. "It's from the King."
That had Emma more confused than before. Leaning on the shovel she had been using to clean the stalls, Emma wiped her hands on the apron around her waist before taking the folded parchment from her mother. Her eyes widened when she saw the personal seal of King Arthur stamped on it.
She had met the young King only once before. Despite the fact he had not beaten the Ice Queen of Arendelle, he had held memorials in Camelot's capital for the men who had been lost during the long war. Emma and her mother had made the four day journey to honor Liam and Killian's sacrifice and it was at one of those memorials that she had met the youthful King. She could remember him being kind and sympathetic to the loss she had endured, his blue eyes never leaving her as he praised the men aboard Killian's ship for their courage and dedication to Camelot. They had barely spoken more than a few sentences to each other, however, and she couldn't fathom why the King of Camelot would be writing her a month later.
Unless it was once again to give his condolences,she thought as she broke the royal seal and began to read.
Miss Swan,
I hope this letter finds you well. I know the memorial services were hard on everyone's hearts and I truly give you and your mother my condolences once more on your loss. War is a terrible burden for any kingdom, and the fine men who gave their lives for a greater cause—your fiancee and his brother included—will forever be remembered by Camelot and myself.
If you will permit me to be bold, I must confess to being swept away by your beauty. As you stood by the docks, it was like the sun had finally shined through the dark clouds that covered Camelot when my eyes fell upon you. You are by far the most beautiful woman in the realm. I can not sleep knowing you are out there, a diamond amid the dirt that any man may step forward and claim as his own.
I know your heart is heavy with sorrow now but in time and with Zeus' prayer, I hope to court you. Your strength amidst your loss is inspiring and I cannot think of a woman more suited, in beauty or grace, than yourself to be Queen of Camelot.
I will await your response with hope in my heart.
Your faithful ruler,
King Arthur
While flattered that a King of all people would view her in such a way, Emma hadn't taken the letter to heart and waved off her mother's questioning look once the other woman read it herself. They were just words on a page, she told Ingrid, A man smitten who would soon find an appropriate woman befitting his station to court.
He hadn't, however.
Arthur's letters had come once a week after that, always delivered by an official court messenger and bearing his personal seal. They had been filled with praises of her beauty, telling her about court life, his dreams for Camelot's future, and how she would fit into them as she stood by his side.
Emma had never responded to his letters, each one burned in the fireplace after she read it. There were many women who would have jumped at the chance to be courted by a King but she knew she could never return his affections, not when her heart still belonged to Killian.
But then six months after his first letter, Arthur arrived at the farm unannounced.
"You haven't responded to any of my letters."
Emma nodded as her and Arthur walked through the field of daisies just west of the farmhouse, her eyes trained on the flowers that swayed gently in the early Spring wind. The King of Camelot showing up on her doorstep had been the last thing she ever expected to happen, but considering the fervor his letters had contained over the last few months, she wasn't completely shocked. The problem she now faced was telling him she could never be his Queen, because to deny a King's wishes, even when you were following your own heart, was paramount to treason.
"May I inquire as to why?"
"I—" Emma took a deep breath as she faltered, knowing she had to be careful so as not to bring trouble on herself, her mother, or their livelihood. "I don't believe I'm what the people of Camelot would want in a Queen. I'm not a princess or of noble blood. A woman more befitting the role should stand next to you, not I."
Before she could take her next step Arthur gently grasped her arm and turned her towards him.
"You are exactly what my people would want, Miss Swan," Arthur responded, the conviction of his claim evident in the seriousness of his features. "They want a Queen who is strong and beautiful, a woman who will be a symbol for the kingdom in times of hardship and joy. You showed those characteristics that day you stood on the dock as the memorial took place. Your heart was breaking but you held your head high and were a pillar of strength for your mother."
Emma shook her head. "But I'm not—"
"Kings—and Queens—are not required to marry those of noble blood," he interrupted. "Queen Snow of Misthaven married a man who was once nothing more than a simple shepherd."
"They were in love though," Emma whispered. She could see the moment he realised the real reason she was so reluctant.
"Ah. You are still in love with the man you lost during the war."
Emma nodded, tears blurring her vision of the handsome King in front of her. "I am, very much so."
Arthur contemplated her for a long second, the cool breeze ruffling the red cloak he wore with his armor. "I believe, with time, you could grow to love me as well. Perhaps not in the same way as your departed fiancee, but there are different types of love. Or so I have been told. The law of the land grants me the right to choose my bride but I will not force you, Miss Swan. I want you to willingly accept my courtship."
Offering his arm to her, he began to lead them back to the farmhouse.
"You never know. Something might occur that will lead you to realise becoming Camelot's Queen is the best course of action for you, milady."
That something had arrived sooner rather than later.
It began a week after Arthur departed, with Emma waking up to the sound of her mother coughing in the kitchen. Ingrid had waved Emma's concerns away, saying it was nothing more than a tickle in her throat that would pass. It hadn't, however. Over the course of the next month her mother's cough became progressively worse, until Emma was forced to confine Ingrid to her bed and take on all of the farm work. The more persistent the cough became, the more Emma worried.
Then, two months after Arthur's unannounced visit, blood began to appear whenever her mother coughed.
Fearing the worst, Emma had sought the help of a local healer who confirmed her worst fear—Ingrid had contracted the lung sickness that was known to be prevalent in rural parts of the kingdom. He had suggested a move to a major city would lessen her mother's symptoms, perhaps even rid her of the disease altogether. Between her mother's rapidly declining health and her own inability to keep the farm running by herself, Emma had given in and written to Arthur. Within a fortnight the farm had been sold and they were on their way to Camelot, Ingrid with the hope that her life would be prolonged and Emma betrothed to Arthur.
Three years later she was now a princess in title if not by birth, and she loathed the deal fate had struck her.
Gently pulling on the reigns of her horse to bring him to a stop, Emma looked out over the large river that bordered the royal lands of Camelot. Despite her choice to become his bride, the love Arthur had assured her would come with time had never arrived. He was a good man and a kind king, but it wasn't enough for romantic feelings to blossom, at least on her part. Her heart didn't race when his hand touched hers and although he was attractive, his smile nor laugh never caused her stomach to flutter with butterflies. Even their kisses, which had been chase due to royal protocol, had never ignited her passion.
She cared for the young king, of course, but it was in the same way she had once cared for Liam - platonically, as a friend or a brother. No, Emma's heart still belonged to Killian Jones, wholly and completely. There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't think of him, recalling to memory every detail from how his hand had felt in hers to the way the corners of his eyes would crinkle when he smiled, even the shade of blue his eyes had been. She still had the pressed middlemist flowers and the letters he had sent her, tucked safely into a chest that only she had a key for and her engagement ring with him hung on a simple silver chain around her neck. Some nights, after the fancy dresses had been stowed in the wardrobe and the tiara she now wore sat abandoned on her vanity, she allowed herself to daydream about the life they could have shared.
She knew it wasn't fair to Arthur - he had given everything of himself to her and their courtship - but her heart couldn't let go of the man with the sea in his eyes, even on the eve of her wedding.
A familiar anxiety began to choke her at the thought of tomorrow's highly orchestrated event. She had known since she wrote Arthur to accept his courtship that this day would come, but it was easy to forget about something that was far off when you were throwing yourself into learning how to become a princess and caring for your sick mother. It had started to truly hit her over the course of the last few months that this was really going to happen, and the closer the day had drawn the more she had withdrawn into herself.
The truth was she didn't want to be Queen of Camelot. She didn't want to wear dresses made of fine fabrics or glittering jewels that could feed an entire kingdom. All she wanted was her life on the farm, to wear simple clothes and do a hard but honest days labor - but she knew she could never have that again. She had made her choice years ago to save her mother's life and tomorrow, despite every part of her revolting against it and her heart belonging to another man, she would wed Arthur in front of the Gods and half the kingdom.
"A word, my lady?"
Pulled from her internal thoughts and slightly startled, Emma turned her head to see three men standing in the middle of the pathway. The one to the far right was dressed in woodland garb of greens and browns with a large bow slung across his back, reminding her of the hunters that use to pass through her home village every spring. The man on the other end looked as if he would be right at home in Camelot's court with the way he held himself, the sword at his hip and the fine leather of his clothes making him strikingly regal.
It was the man in the middle of the trio that grabbed her attention the most. His attire was strange, even for the diverse kingdom of Camelot. He wore a corduroy burnt sienna coat and a patchwork vest of differing materials—both of which had seen better days—and a large, very tattered black hat with multiple colored scarves wrapped around it sat atop his head.
They were definitely an odd assortment of men to be traveling together, particularly in this isolated area of Camelot.
"How may I help you gentleman?"
The man in the middle removed his battered hat, revealing dark hair that was terribly in need of a brush. "We are but poor travellers who have lost our way," he explained, gesturing dramatically between his two companions. "Would you be so kind as to tell us how far the nearest village or city is?"
"That would be Camelot and it's an hour's ride that way," Emma answered, pointing in the direction she had come from.
"Nothing closer?"
Emma shook her head. "I'm afraid not."
"Wonderful!" the outrageously dressed man exclaimed before putting his hat back on with a wide smile. "No one will hear you scream then."
Before Emma could fully process what he had said, the blonde-haired man was stepping forward and blowing something he had been concealing in his hand toward her. As the particles of pink dust hit her she had the fleeting thought to run, but then it was gone, lost to the darkness that quickly claimed her.
"Well that was easier than I expected," Robin murmured as the Princess of Camelot slumped forward onto her horse.
Jefferson chuckled next to him. "Nothing like a seemingly innocent vagabond and the wonders of sleeping powder to ensure a smooth kidnapping."
As David moved towards the riverbank to wash the remnants of the sleeping powder off his hand, Robin found himself unable to disagree with the Mad Hatter's statement—even if he was still leary about the other man's motives.
Upon his and David's crossing into Camelot's border a fortnight ago, they had met the former portal jumper at the location Regina had arranged in her letter to him. The initial meeting had went well, but despite Jefferson seeming like a decent enough man—his eccentric ways aside—there was something about him that hadn't set well with Robin. He seemed almost too enthusiastic about the prospect of kidnapping the Princess of Camelot, practically falling over himself to arrange it once David had revealed their target, and more than once Robin had heard him muttering about what was due would finally be coming around.
David had brushed off his concerns though, stating Jefferson was just excited to get the large purse that had been offered to him and reminding the former thief that Regina had said he would jump at the chance to cause Zelena harm, even if it was indirectly.
Whatever reservations Robin had, he couldn't deny Jefferson's enthusiasm had worked in their favor. The Mad Hatter had an extensive network of people residing within the capital and in less than a week they had learned of the princess's daily rides that took her miles from the castle and the protection of Arthur's knights. With Jefferson guiding them unseen through the land and the sleeping powder he had aquired days before their plan had went off without a hitch, putting David one step closer to getting the revenge he had sought for the last three years.
"Are we almost done here?" Jefferson asked, clearly ready to get as far away from the scene of their crime as he could.
Without responding to the Mad Hatter's question, David moved from the riverbank to retrieve the sleeping princess, carefully maneuvering her limp body from her horse and into his arms until her head rested against his right shoulder. A pang of guilt shot through Robin at how vulnerable she looked, her face relaxed in sleep with her blonde hair and red dress a stark contrast to David's dark clothes. She was an innocent woman in all of this, a bride who was looking forward to a wedding that would never happen now, and his stomach turned at the thought that they were playing a role in that.
Just as he was about to turn away from the sight of the woman who had become nothing more than the Dark One's pawn, Robin saw David pause for the briefest of moments. An unreadable emotion crossed the King of Misthaven's face as he looked at the princess in his arms, one Robin had never seen on his friend's face in the six years he had known him. It was almost as if David had encountered something that uncovered a long buried memory, but before Robin could even blink it was gone, David's face once again an emotionless mask as he turned to look at Jefferson.
"We're ready."
Jefferson nodded. "Very well then. We'll take the river South to the Cliffs of Insanity—"
Alarm bells began going off in Robin's head at the Mad Hatter's words. This was not what they had discussed while planning their escape route the night before. Why was he changing it now?
"I thought going North and skirting the marshes was the quickest route?"
"It is the fastest way out of Camelot," Jefferson conceded with a nod of his head, "But we can't go back that way."
Moving to stand in front of the Mad Hatter, the princess's blonde hair swaying with every step he took, David asked, "And why can't we?"
"Because it's the first route Arthur will take once he realises his intended is missing. We may have taken her without alerting him or his knights, but it won't be long before he does know. When the princess hasn't returned by sunset, he will send his knights looking for her and I can guarantee he knows what path she takes on her daily rides. It won't take them long to find her horse here or close by and Arthur is a smart man. He knows the fastest way out of his kingdom from this location is up the river and past the marshes. That trek will take us three days and by the time we've even made it to the damnable marshes, him and his men will already be there waiting for us."
"Why didn't you tell us this before now?" Robin asked, more leary than ever about the Mad Hatter's motives.
"I didn't think of it until we were on the river this morning," Jefferson calmly replied. Robin raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
"Going South will take longer, correct?"
Jefferson nodded at David's question. "It will, but not even Arthur would think to send knights in that direction, not until we are long pass the Cliffs. It'll put you coming out a little lower in the neighboring kingdom than you entered, but I truly believe it's the best route to take. And isn't that what you are paying me for? To get you in and out of Camelot without being caught with a kidnapped princess?"
Robin crossed his arms as the alarm bells began to ring louder. There was something about Jefferson's plan that didn't set well with him, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was, nor could he question the newly advised escape route because he knew nothing of Camelot's landscape. There was some merit in what he said; Arthur surely knew his lands better than anyone and would know the quickest escape route from any point within them, but Robin couldn't see how taking the longer route to get out of Camelot ended up being better, not when a kidnapped princess was in their custody.
After a few beats of silence, David sighed heavily. "Yes, it is what I'm paying you for. If you think it's the best course of action—"
"It's the only course if you want to make it out of this endeavor alive."
Robin watched David weigh the pros and cons of what had been said before nodding his head slightly. "Very well then, we'll head South."
"Splendid!" Jefferson exclaimed, showing that unnatural enthusiasm that Robin had been questioning for the last fortnight. "I'll move the princess's horse a ways up the path, try to throw Arthur off even more when he does find it."
As Jefferson moved to grab the horse's reins and lead the animal back up the path, Robin turned towards David.
"Don't say a word, Robin."
"What in Hades would I have to say?" the former thief replied, carefully keeping his face devoid of emotions.
David snorted and shook his head. "You want to question why Jefferson changed the escape route."
"Don't you?"
"Not particularly. There is a reason we hired him as our guide through Camelot."
"True," Robin conceded as he moved closer to the king, "But even you have to agree, Your Majesty, that the sudden change in plans is a bit…peculiar."
"Not any more than the man himself," David responded, shifting the sleeping princess slightly.
Robin gave his friend an incredulous look. "You don't find it strange that the same man who had the forethought to get sleeping powder days before we kidnapped a princess didn't think of the need for us to change our escape route until the morning of the heist?"
"What does it matter that he didn't realise the implications of us returning the same way we came until three hours ago? We've got the princess. That's all that matters, Robin."
Before Robin could reply, Jefferson reappeared, practically skipping down the forest path.
"The princess's horse has been moved. Are we ready to go?"
"Lead the way, Hatter," David replied, throwing a pointed look at Robin as the formal portal jumper passed him.
Robin sighed internally, knowing there was nothing more he could say to bring light to Jefferson's odd behavior. David was so focused on getting the princess to Rumplestiltskin and finding out where Zelena had been hiding all these years that the king was blinded to an obvious threat. He'd just have to keep an eye on Jefferson himself, he thought, mindful of the promise he had made to Queen Snow before he departed for Camelot.
As they turned to leave for the boat that was anchored down the river, none of them noticed the dark figure watching from the trees, nor the glint of sunlight on the curved piece of metal that sat where the figure's left hand should be.