Warnings: None

Notes: This is the next to the last! I'm so sad to see this come to a close, but also so happy with the response. Thank you guys so much for your support. Epilogue will be up on Wednesday!

Chapter Fourteen

Emma watched, with both great sorrow, and great joy, as the world began to shift.

Aldan had returned from the Underworld with a single strand of Killian's hair, and the seeds planted for a change of heart. After she had quietly asked for a strand of Emma's own hair, she had gazed longingly up at the sky, where the hands of Killian's lonely mountain reached up towards the stars. Then, they'd both watched, captivated, as the strands of their hair twisted together, two unbreakable threads of magic glowing brightly in the little bottle. Emma had hardly been able to appreciate the moment, to dwell upon the fact that the love she and Killian shared was true, surmounting death itself. The magic swirling in the bottle, it had felt alive, as much as he was not...

But Aldan, eager to carry on and still apparently determined to repair the curse, had gathered some things from the castle, and hefted them over her shoulder. With her and Emma's magic combined, it was a simple matter to return to the Isle.

"But how did you get in?" Leo asked, eagerly.

It had been a few weeks since, and now she and her family were welcomed to Camelot. Though the unrest lingered, the wisdom and influence brought by Guinevere and Lancelot had cowed all those who had been contesting the crown. A crowning ceremony was held on the castle grounds, a symbol of both hope and intent, meant to encourage those who had lost so much, and to discourage those who might spark a civil war. Leo, of course, ate it up. He'd begged their parents to attend the crowning of Guinevere, and the declaration of Princess Aldan. But after sitting through what he considered a very stuffy and boring ceremony, he'd demanded to walk the grounds, and to hear the story of her adventure.

"This is where we first saw Mordred," she would say, as they walked. Or, "Don't tell mother and father that I told you…but this is where the king died."

Leo would listen, eyes bright and attentive.

"Aldan does have magic, you know," Emma answered.

"Yeah, but so do you, and you couldn't get in."

She shrugged. "The curse was weakened when Merlin died. The magic was unstable, but it seemed to recognize its own blood. When Aldan prodded at the barrier, it opened for her."

"And she listened to Killian," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Well, sort of. I think it was her parents who really talked her into it, though it didn't take much. She let the magic in the bottle go free, and that weakened the curse. Aldan and I did all that we could to tear it down. It nearly sapped us to death, but we managed to shatter it. The true love not of one was not enough, but of many, that's what did it, I think. Our parents', Aldan's, mine and Killian's…" She paused, and swallowed past the lump in her throat. "…that was enough."

"Wow."

Leo seemed to consider this while they wandered down towards the port, where the sun set over the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, a gradual shift from blue to yellow to orange, a graded curtain tugged from east to west. The noises of a kingdom in muted celebration rose above the sounds of the waters. It was melancholy, a bittersweet return of a people to their own home, one that had changed beyond recognition. Emma was certain the trade between Camelot and Misthaven would indeed take place, though she imagined it would be years before the former regained its old glory, that there would be resentment and deadly skirmishes. But then, she supposed, these were the prices paid for war and revolution. She looked down at her brother, and was glad that in this, at least, he had not been forced to grow up before he was ready.

"They've built a memorial to you and Killian by the battlefield," Leo said, suddenly.

Emma groaned. "Leo, seriously, I know. You've told me a million times."

"Well, aren't you going to visit?"

She sighed, and patted his shoulder. "It's…hard."

She wondered if he might ask more questions, but he only nodded, as though he understood more than he ought to. Again, they were quiet, until soft steps echoed down along the boardwalk. Emma turned, and saw both Aldan and her parents approaching. She gave Leo a playful, gentle shove.

"Why don't you go get into trouble up in the castle?" she said.

Petulant, he glared at her.

"There's a secret passage behind the throne room," Emma taunted.

Leo only hesitated a moment, before he gave the royals of Camelot a quick hello and goodbye and ran up the hill.

Guinevere laughed. "Your brother certainly has spirit."

Emma agreed. "He'll make a better ruler than I ever could."

Lancelot stepped forward, and she didn't hesitate to step into his arms. He patted her back before stepping away.

"It's good to see you again," he said, warmly. "Good to see your mother and father again as well. That's a reunion I never quite dared to hope for."

"Yeah, I don't think they did either."

For a moment, Emma simply basked in their presence. She was tired, and she felt a little hollow. Everything was a reminder, some more pleasant than others. She had only to listen to hear Killian's voice on the breeze, but with each passing moment, it felt more and more unreal, as though she was only conjuring what she remembered. Her smile faded, and she sighed, looking over their shoulders at the rise of the trees beyond.

"We wanted to thank you," Guinevere said, quietly, at length. "Our kingdom would be lost without you. And…although I know I had my doubts, and my reservations, if your companion were here…" She paused, and laid her hand on Emma's shoulder. "…I would thank him as well."

Emma bit down on nothing, and willed herself not to cry, not where they could see. She took a deep, unsteady breath.

"He wouldn't accept it," she said, sounding weaker than she would have liked.

"I know," Guinevere said. "And that's part of why I would do so anyway."

Emma nodded furiously and Guinevere tugged her into her arms. Over her shoulder, Aldan smiled, and when they pulled apart, she stepped forward.

"So, this is what it's like?" she said, conspiratorially.

Emma tilted her head. "What?"

"Having to be a princess, after…everything that's happened."

Emma laughed, humorless. "Yeah, it's not easy. But, you know…if you ever need an escape…my ship should be repaired by the season's end. I can take you wherever you'd like to go."

Aldan nodded. "I'd like that."

When they said goodbye, an earnest invitation to come whenever Emma would like on their lips, she turned back towards the horizon. Darker, now, with stars peeking out from behind the veil of light. She listened, intently, but she could only hear the waves, and the evening creatures, a song, soft and sonorous. She closed her eyes, and listened harder still. Though she felt some measure of triumph, in that moment, it felt as though Killian were really gone. Neither his voice, nor the impression of his breath against her neck, followed her.

She was alone.

Aimless, Killian wandered the land of the dead.

It was the loneliest place he had ever been. After Aldan had left, the map of the world had folded tighter still. One step from the northern isles brought him back to a young forest north of Camelot. For some time, he'd simply remained, watching night roll to day, and then back again. As long as he stayed, it seemed that he could feel a whisper on the air, a breath of life amongst the dead, as though Emma still lingered with him. He supposed that, if he continued on from Camelot's Underworld counterpart, he might shimmer away, as Merlin had. He wasn't sure if he was ready.

But then, on perhaps the twelth cycle of light to dark, Killian became unbearably tired. The thread of connection that he felt with Emma was as much a burden as it was a comfort. With a deep hollow in his chest, no heart to speak of, he travelled towards the east, where he hoped the sea would await.

As he walked through the forest, he imagined the smell of pine, of decaying leaves, all crushed beneath his feet. That wet, earthy, salty smell that he associated with Emma. He lingered there, though it was not long before he found the sea. Unsurprisingly, it was as dead as the rest of the Underworld, like a thin sheet of glass, suspended over a sandy slope that descended quickly into darkness.

And yet...as he approached, he could feel a breeze on his face. A real breeze, rocking gently through his hair, and through the open clasps on his shirt and vest. He stepped closer, and the waters came to life. The glass shattered, and waves began to roll along the sand. It was as though a great hand had painted the sun in the sky, warm light upon his face. He paused, and looked down, where his boots sunk into the sand. Eager, almost violent, he wrenched them off, and the stockings beneath. The sand was between his toes, and then his fingers when he crouched down. It was all so real.

He laughed.

"Hello, Killian."

Killian nearly fell when he leapt back to his feet, and turned to find an unfamiliar man, wearing unfamiliar clothes. A light seemed to shine from behind his eyes, and when he smiled, the sand shifted beneath their feet.

"Who are you?" Killian said.

"I am Zeus," he answered.

Bewildered, Killian rocked back on his heels. "As in…the king of Mount Olympus?"

Zeus nodded. "One in the same."

Killian looked around at the beach. In Zeus's presence, the unnatural light drained away, leaving behind a familiar scene. Far in the distance, white sails like clouds appeared on the horizon. The water was terribly clear, like a warbled window through which to view the sandy bottom, life skirting about in the sediments. He turned back to the god.

"If that's true…where is Hades? Is this not the Underworld?"

"It is, indeed. But I'm afraid, in this lifetime, that is someone else's story. My brother has long since left death behind, and in his wake, I believe there is one who was once king of the living, who may find himself a much better king of the dead."

Zeus's eyes sparkled, and Killian caught his meaning.

"King Arthur," he guessed.

"Yes. But…" The god stepped forward, and laid his hand on Killian's shoulder. "…Killian Jones, your story can end here."

"What do you mean?"

Zeus gestured towards the ships on the horizon. They were drawing nearer. "Those ships can take you home, should you wish it, where your brother awaits. You can move on, and rest."

Killian sighed, a long, low huff of breath. Oh, how he ached for it. His unearthly body felt like a leaden weight. To ride out upon an endless sea, to never turn back, to spend his life as one with the water he so loved.

But then –

"Should I wish it?" he echoed.

Zeus smiled, brilliantly. "You must make a choice. Either, you can move on, or, you can go back to the land of the living. Back to Emma."

Unbidden, Killian made a soft, sorrowful noise. All at once, he was torn in two. He looked longingly at the horizon, and then back at the forest.

"Why?" he said, roughly. "Why not just let me die?"

"I have watched you for a long time, Killian. Though you may not think yourself worthy, for decades you hid the curse of the Dark One from the realm above. At the end of your days, you chose to spend your life to protect it from even more darkness. The magic taken from the lapis manalis is a powerful thing, but you chose to banish it."

"It was Emma's light that banished it," he protested. "I was merely a conduit. I did nothing that was not in payment for the sins I committed, of my own volition."

Zeus hummed, thoughtfully. "And now those sins have been washed away. You may spend the rest of these unending days on the sea, or you may take my reward. It is wholly up to you."

Cowed by the god's generosity, Killian looked down at his feet, before following a line of sand to the water. Mesmerized, he walked towards the sea. The further he went, the closer the ships appeared. The water was cool on his feet, even cooler as it lapped at his knees. Sand gave way to cobble, rough against his toes. It was then that he felt just exactly as a man who had lived three hundred years.

"I'm so tired," Killian whispered. The wind caught it, and he felt what those unending days might be like. Storms that did not kill, currents that led to new ports. The horizon would never give way, never turn back on itself. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he turned back to look at Zeus.

"Have you made your choice?" the god asked.

"Aye."

Early the very next morning, Emma walked the castle grounds. She had shed her finery, and tugged on her trousers and boots. Eager to spend time with their old friends, her parents had elected to stay another day. Feeling the raw scrape of watching the happy reunions of others, Emma took the day to wander on her own.

Too familiar with the woods of the north, she ventured south, where instead of thick forest, the land sloped down low, into sparse groves and marshlands. Fresh young grasses lined the sluggish waters. When the sun broke over the horizon, it painted a beautiful portrait, and in that, at least, there was comfort. The further she went, the more beautiful it became. Untouched by the hands of the people, the landscape was lush, all sorts of creatures chattering as they woke with the light.

They've built a memorial to you and Killian by the battlefield.

Emma sighed. Though the beauty of Camelot's wilds was distracting, it was not enough to fool her into forgetting that, in just the direction that she travelled, they spilled out onto the battlefield, and some sort of stone edifice had been built near the place that he had died. Through aid of Regina's magic, it had been built nearly a week ago. But Emma could not bring herself to visit, no matter how her brother needled her, or how many times her parents asked if she'd like to go.

I can't feel you anymore, she thought.

Emma had held onto him as long as she could, but in the evening past, the specter of his memory had taken its last breath. She wondered if returning to the place he had fallen would bring it back to life. Briefly, she thought that she might ask her brother to go with her, his bright young face enough to counter whatever sorrow she might find.

But then, petulantly, she thought, I want to be sad.

In a swirl of magic, Emma found herself in the trees just beyond the battlefield, near the place where she had kissed Killian last. Though she bit down on her lower lip, with nearly enough pressure to make herself bleed, the tears still gathered in her eyes.

"Dammit," she said.

Alone by the field, she did not bother swiping at her face.

Emma counted several minutes gone by before she could muster the courage to step out into the open. The moment she did, the light bathed a stone structure upon the hill. She walked closer, unsteady on her feet, and could first make out the swirling tail of Killian's coat, the sword in his hand. Not Excalibur –

"If I have to look at that sword on a statue for the rest of my life, I will punch you in the face," she'd said, when Regina had asked.

– but his own cutlass, the one he'd taken from Jack's hold. It was all carved from some kind of deep, glistening stone, and it glittered brilliantly in the morning sunshine. When Emma walked around to the other side, she could see herself, facing the other direction, caught in a similar battle pose, her sword held aloft.

"I am not that much shorter than you," she told it, as though it could answer, as though he lived somewhere inside. "But it's…nice."

It really was beautiful, but Emma could hardly stand to look at it any longer. Killian looked so fierce, and so alive, that more tears dripped down off her chin.

"It just…" She cried, and stepped back. The ground, still deadened from the battle, gave way beneath her feet. "…it feels like now, you're really gone."

When she could bear it no more, she turned, and instead looked out over the hills. They were little more than mud and muck, the decayed bits and pieces of whatever had been left behind, roots starved for water and sustenance. It was a terrible sight. Emma walked towards the west. She felt she owed it, at least, to all else who had died, to pay her respects. Each step was more difficult than the last, but she pressed forward, until the final, ugly scar disappeared, and only grass and forest lay ahead.

She paused, and looked up at the sky.

It was curious, really, how it happened. One moment, the sky was deathly quiet, as though it mourned alongside her. Then, a flash of light, and a pulse of powerful magic nearly knocked her off her feet. She shook her head, and wondered if she truly had gone mad. The ground beneath her feet, still fraught with oleaginous decay, began to swell with life. She turned, and watched flowers spill out of the ground, and down along the hillocks.

"Did I do that?" she wondered aloud.

A voice came on the wind, and though at first it felt like a trick, she looked up, and saw a dark figure stumbling over the nearest hill.

"Swan!" he called, over and over again, clearly now. "Swan!"

Emma could only whisper his name in answer. She waited for him to disappear, for the wind to take him. But whatever powerful magic had brought him to her, it continued to work. It was not a cruel trick, whether of her own mind or someone else's. For just a moment longer, she watched a beautiful, colorful meadow grow, and then looked back at him.

"Killian?" she said, louder this time.

She ran. Emma ran. Killian, who still appeared unsteady, did the same. More than once, he fell to his knees, and hefted himself back up. She probably should not have leapt on him like she did, when she met him at a dip in the valley, arms and legs thrown around him. But he caught her all the same, and crushed her to his chest.

"Oh, Emma," he cried. "Emma, my Swan, my love."

"Killian," she answered him, nearly shouted his own name in his face. He only laughed and laughed while she kissed his face, his ears, his neck, everywhere she could reach.

"What," she said, and kissed the swell of his cheek, just where it met his nose.

"How," she said, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth, missing and getting him again by the nose.

"Where," she said, and kissed his temples, burying one hand in his hair, the other holding on tight to his shoulders, and sure to never let go.

"How are you here?" she said, and she pulled back just far enough to look at him. His smile was brighter than she'd ever seen. No darkness in his posture, and none in his face. The skin by his eyes crinkled, until only slits of blue looked up at her.

"Zeus," he said, his breath warm and wet over her mouth. "He sent me back. He told me that I could move on, or that I could come to you. I almost went, Emma, I almost left, I was so tired, I was so tired."

"I don't care," she told him. "You're here, I don't care."

His arms began to quiver, and she slid down his body, familiar dips and curves against her own. His coat, she realized, glowed brighter than she'd ever seen it. Even when she let him go, it still flared. Killian followed her line of sight.

"This bloody coat," he said, and nearly tore it off. The moment it left him, its light burnt out, and he pulled her back into his arms. A proper kiss, then, or not so proper, his mouth opening against hers. She stood on his toes, and he grunted, a puff of air against her lips before he leaned back, laid his hand on her neck, and tilted until he could seal his mouth over hers. It had not been long since last she'd held him, but there was no clock, nothing to do, so when he pulled away, panting into the side of her neck, she let him rest, before turning to the other side and kissing him again, and again.

"I love you," she said, nearly leaping up to throw her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. Her jaw ached, and her lips were swollen, but she would kiss him for the rest of their days, for the rest of time, if she could.

When at last the frenzy faded, Emma pulled back once more, her hands wandering over his face. Though she had spent nearly a month and a half looking at him day and night, there was something new about him.

"I've never seen you when you weren't filled with darkness," she said, fingers still searching.

He smiled, harder, if that were possible. "Aye, Swan, and I caught only a glimpse of you before…well, you know."

"First rule," she said, hands smoothing over his brow. "No talking about the dying thing."

"The dying thing," he echoed. "Aye, Swan, whatever you say."

Emma laughed, for no other reason than she felt that she could. Again, she buried her hands in his hair, and tilted her head.

"Your hair's changed," she said.

The nearly hysterical edge to his smile faded, and he looked at her warmly. "Many things have changed, my love." He looked briefly down at his feet, where fresh young growth still curled up out of the ground, where once it was ugly and scarred. Then, quietly, "For one...I could never make anything grow."

A fresh wave of tears began to flow down her face when he looked back up at her.

"Please," she said. "Please, don't leave me again."

"Never," he answered, leaning down until his forehead pressed against her own. "Never."

"You're dying with me next time. I swear to the gods, Killian, I will come down there and get you if you go earlier."

"Aye, love," he said. "As you say."

He kissed her once more, before she tugged on the collar of his shirt, and rested her cheek against his.

"What the bloody hell is that?" he said.

Emma looked over her shoulder, where the sun split around the memorial. "Oh, it's a statue of you and me."

He was clearly bewildered. "Whatever for?"

"You saved so many people, Killian. You're so blind to it, but you're a hero."

She considered it a win when he only nodded. She folded herself back in his arms, gently this time, and tucked her head under his chin, so she could listen to his heart beat just behind his ribs, beneath warm, mortal flesh. There she remained, for some time, until Killian leaned down, and spoke, lips brushing the whorl of her ear, as he gazed over at the memorial.

"I'm not that much taller than you, Swan."

And Emma laughed.