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All Was Golden in the Sky (23/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

—

Rating: Mature AN: Everyone is an exceptionally bad royal.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

Elsa calls a council.

It’s incredibly proper and entirely royal, a meeting of minds and titles and probably a few more adjectives that are less complimentary because, it seems, when those minds and titles get around a table in one of the rather large halls in the Arendelle castle, they are incapable of agreeing on much of anything.

David keeps mumbling diplomatic under his breath.

“Do you think it’s possible for Regina’s face to get stuck like that?” Emma mumbles, leaning to her right and Killian has to bite his lip. It’s distracting.

He glances at her, not much more than a passing look, but there’s amusement mixed in with the blue in his gaze and Emma lets her hand reach forward. Her fingers twist around the curve of his hook, cool metal that’s almost enough to center her because, really, this council has been nothing short of ridiculous.

She supposes that’s how politics works.

Even when they’re being diplomatic.

“No, I think she’s just got a few extra muscles there,” Killian says. He’s incredibly bad at whispering. And Regina is very good at glaring at them.

“If you two are quite done.” Emma scrunches her nose, a quick shake of her head. Regina rolls her eyes.

It’s the third day they’ve done this and a little more than a week since the Misthaven royal family appeared in a cloud of purple smoke in a different hall in a castle that is, seemingly, overflowing with a variety of large spaces.

There’d been questions – mostly about how Emma had managed to get that bird to agree to fly to Misthaven, but Mary Margaret had been impressed by the whole thing and claimed Evan was very enthusiastic about his mission and--"Now, here we are, ready and willing to save the kingdom.”

And that was that.

There were more birds sent out and missives, envoys in well-tailored uniforms sent on several different horses in a variety of directions, requesting the presence of every ruler of every kingdom. To save the kingdom.

And set some ground rules.

For the rest of everything.

Emma nearly falls over when she hears the chair on her other side squeak, Ruby’s soft grumble barely audible over whatever kind of reaction Regina is currently making. Maybe they should have discussed how to act while taking part in a royal council.

As it were, they’d spent most of the last week recounting adventures in seaside ports and Neverland, introducing Henry and trying to remember how, exactly, to move without tripping over the far-too-long hems of the dresses they were all wearing again.

That might have been Emma.

She really misses pants.

She’s going to wear pants to the next royal council. Just to see what it does to Regina's face. And Arthur. She still kind of hates King Arthur.

He’s most of the objections they’ve sustained in the last three days.

“What are we talking about?” Ruby hisses, elbowing Emma in the side roughly.

She groans, gritting her teeth and Regina has started to glare at the ceiling. “Why do you not know how to whisper?”

“I’m not really trying, if I’m being honest.” “That was rather obvious,” Killian mutters, and Emma is not surprised when Ruby sticks her tongue out at them.

They are a picture of royal perfection.

“I am bored,” Ruby whines, rolling her whole head with enough drama that Emma is sure they would be able to harness its power for good. “Arthur is suggesting that we need to redo the treaty again.”

Emma is going to sprain her jaw. She clenches it, tight enough to send a ripple of pain down either side of her neck and, possibly, up into her head, neurons firing in something resembling fury because he keeps doing this and she hadn’t really been paying attention.

Like, at all.

She’d been far too busy flirting. And trying to covertly look at Killian’s jacket. It’s new – everything they’re wearing is new, meetings with the official Arendelle seamstress, which, is, apparently a thing and Emma’s only a little annoyed that her meetings have led to a mostly all-white wardrobe, something about the savior and meaning, but it had made Killian’s eyes widen slightly that morning and she likes this jacket a lot.

Maybe the tension in her jaw is doing permanent damage to her psyche.

She’s fairly positive the vest he’s wearing is leather too.

It’s absurd.

“I can hear you, you know,” Arthur drawls, seated at the other end of the table. That’s probably not a sign. He’d picked that seat anyway.

And that’s probably because is he, at least a little, terrified of Emma. Or the sword strapped to Killian’s hip.

“Yeah, I don’t think she was all that worried about it, really,” David shrugs. He leans forward, an appraising look on his face, like he’s getting ready to challenge the king of Camelot to more than one duel.

Mary Margaret bites back a smile. “What is it this time, Your Majesty?”

“Oh shit, that was almost scathing,” Emma whispers. It’s not really a whisper. Regina looks like she’s about to slide out of her chair, directly onto the floor and blow a hole in the ceiling with a very large fireball.

Killian grins.

“His Majesty appears to be concerned about the decision to, simply, send Prince Hans back to the Southern Isles,” Ariel says, a forced calm in her voice when her fingers have started tapping an impatient rhythm on the table.

“We’ve discussed this,” Elsa sighs. “I’m not interested in doing anything else. Hans is nothing more than an upstart and a mistake. He saw an opportunity to seize control of something that wasn’t his--” “--Sound familiar, Arthur?” Killian cuts in. There is no calm in that question. It’s unspoken threat and narrowed eyes, but he leans back towards Emma like he can’t help himself and, eventually, she’s sure, she’ll be able to have a single, coherent thought about the state of his jackets.

Will snickers, feet propped up on the edge of the windowsill on the other side of the room with Henry and Belle a few feet away, books strewn around them, and he’s doing that chair-leaning thing again. “He does bring up a very interesting point, Your Majesty,” Will says. “And I do believe you’re harping. It’s inefficient.” David hums in agreement, Regina throwing her whole arm over her face because, for the third straight day, this has dissolved, rather quickly, into a rather large farce.

Merida – the heir to the throne in DunBroch, or so Regina explained when the redhead appeared at the Arendelle gate with a quiver strapped to her back and a questionably large horse – scoffs. “Who are you again?”

“Oh, that’s just rude,” Will grumbles. “We did introductions several days ago.”

“You’re not exactly a royal though, are you?” Princess Abigail, Midas’ daughter, asks archly. “I can’t understand why your opinion should...well, count.”

“Ah, so the rude thing, is just a sweeping pandemic now, huh?”

Mary Margaret tries to turn her laugh into a different noise, a spectacular fail that she does her best to wave off. “What?” she challenges. “That was actually funny.” “Oh, don’t tell him that,” Killian sighs. “We’ll never hear the end of it now.”

“Too late, Jones,” Will calls, slamming the feet of his chair back into the ground so he can pull out a deck of cards from his back pocket. Henry’s eyes practically light up.

“And he does bring up a good point,” Ella admits. She and Thomas had arrived almost as soon as they’d sent out the missives, quiet smiles and curt nods that Emma hopes is, actually, some kind of sign because they seem nice and they could use some nice at this point.

Will lets out a triumphant noise. “Thank you ma’am! That’s exactly what I was trying to do. Make a point. A good one, in fact.” “He can’t remember his point,” Killian mutters, barely loud enough for Emma to hear.

Abigail’s eyes narrow, lips curling into something that can only be a little aggressive and maybe Emma will slide out of her chair before Regina. That would be impressive.

“Alright, let’s get several things straight,” she bites out, frustration turning into anger and anger turning into words and her voice doesn’t shake.

Killian is still smiling.

“Hans is a non-factor,” Emma continues, “The only thing we need to be concerned with is getting him the hell out of Arendelle.” “Hear, hear,” Anna shouts, and Emma hadn’t seen her move away from the table, but she’s already got cards in her hand and a slightly disgruntled look on her face. “Wait, wait,” she adds, “what did you say was wild?” Henry groans. “Jokers, Ms. Joan. And what was the other one, Mr. Scarlet?”

There’s a collective laugh from the entire Misthaven contingent, lips tugged behind teeth and Killian’s whole body shakes while he does his best not to fall over. “Ok, don’t start,” Will warns. “At least the kid knows where to show some respect.” “And you still think you deserve that?” Arthur asks. The room goes incredibly quiet.

Except for David’s mumbled oh shit. It’s not exactly mumbled.

Regina pulls her arm away from her face slowly, sitting up straighter and turning so slowly Emma wonders if there’s actually magic involved. She can’t imagine having that kind of control over her limbs.

“Too many muscles,” Killian mutters, Emma letting out a huff of something that isn’t a laugh, but may just be generic exhaustion and there’s been no mention of boxes or dates and she’s going to make him get several versions of this vest.

“Thank you, Captain,” Regina says, eyebrows arching impossibly high. He salutes. And Regina keeps moving, twisting towards a wide-eyed and suddenly pale Arthur. “You have thoughts, Sir? Would you like to share them?” Arthur's eyes look like they’re trying to fly out of face. “Sir?” he echoes, voice managing to crack on each letter. “How dare--” “--No, no, no,” Regina interrupts, and she doesn’t actually stand up, but she somehow looks more intimidating this way. Her shoulders roll back, head tilted and a spark in her eyes that brokers no discussion. The flames crackling between her fingers help too. “You want our respect, Arthur? You get it when you deserve it.” “And you what? Assume that you can return here and take over again? Demand we all fall in line and fear you, the same way we did George?” “Oh my God,” David groans. “How many times do we have to go over this? George was an asshole. No one is trying to be him.” “The opposite, in fact,” Elsa adds, several nods from the Misthaven royal family.

Arthur still doesn’t look convinced. He’s standing, palms flat on the table and enough tension between his shoulders that it almost looks like he’s actually carved of wood. Maybe they could just turn him into wood.

Emma’s fairly certain she remembers a story like that from when she was a kid.

“You took your men out of Misthaven, Arthur,” Mary Margaret points out. “You’ve met with Emma and David and Killian more times than we can count. But you’ve still got that fear in your eyes--” “--I’m not afraid of anything,” he shouts, but having to use those words kind of defeats the purpose of them.

“We both know that’s not true, Sir.”

Anna laughs, the sound bouncing off walls and windows that are, mostly, clear of snow now, nothing more than a soft frost in the morning because it’s autumn and things are changing and shifting and Emma wants to stop thinking in metaphors.

“What is it you’re looking for, Arthur?” Elsa asks. “Emma told me. They’ve given you every inch you’ve asked for, aside from letting you run rampant through their kingdom.” “A kingdom they deserted,” he growls.

Killian runs his free hand over his face, fingers carding through his hair roughly. “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he sighs. “Answer the bloody question, Arthur. What do you want?” The doors at the far end of the hall swing open –– a man and a woman and Arthur gasps loudly enough that they’ve almost circled back around to comical. “What the--” Emma starts, but she nearly chokes on her own tongue when she notices the look on Mary Margaret’s face. “M’s...what’s going on?”

Mary Margaret shakes her head slowly, jumping out of her chair and sprinting forward, crashing into the man’s chest. He catches her, tight arms and words mumbled into her hair, and Emma doesn’t know where to look.

Her eyes flit towards David, surprise etched onto every inch of his face.

“So, uh,” Ruby says, “this is something, huh?” “I thought you were dead,” Mary Margaret exclaims, working back onto her feet so she can rap her knuckles on the man’s armor. He’s wearing armor. The woman next to him looks incredibly amused. “George, he said--once he knew I wasn’t the Savior--”

Her breath catches, tears obvious even from the other side of the hall and David is half sitting, half standing now, hand drifting towards his sword like he’s getting ready to defend Mary Margaret if needs be.

“It’s alright, Sparrow,” the man says, lips curling up into a smile when his thumbs brush away Mary Margaret’s tears. Emma isn’t sure how she moves, doesn’t remember deciding to shift her legs or unbend her knees, but she’s not sitting on her chair anymore, perched, instead, on Killian’s thigh with an arm tight around her waist.

“That doesn’t exactly look particularly royal, Jones,” Will calls. Killian flips him off.

“What are you doing here?” Mary Margaret asks. “How are you even here?” “And how did you get past the guards?” Elsa adds.

The woman laughs – soft and almost tinkling, eyes flitting towards Arthur. He’s getting paler by the second. “Oh, your guards are perfectly competent,” she promises. “But we heard that you were looking to have all the royals in the Enchanted Forest here and--” She shrugs. “It seemed rude to decline the invitation.”

“You are not the rulers of Camelot,” Arthur sneers, and, really, that’s the last thing Emma expects to hear. Like. At all.

He pounds his fists on the table, shaking the wood and leading to several swords drawn his direction. “I’d reconsider your next few movements,” David suggests, Kristoff half a step behind him with a look that makes it obvious he’s still not over being denied the chance to stab Hans.

“Can someone tell us who these people are?” Emma demands, waving a free hand towards the strangers. “And if we need to actually be braced for an attack.” The man chuckles. “No, no, Savior. Far from that. My name is Lancelot and--”

“--No, it’s not.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Are you kidding me?” Emma balks, drawing a quiet laugh out of Ruby and Killian’s head falls against her shoulder. He kisses her back. That’s not very royal either.

“I don’t believe so, no.”

“Ok, ok, I--well, ok. Mary Margaret, did you know Lancelot the whole time? Honestly?” Mary Margaret blushes slightly. “First of all, I was cursed. Second of all, do not ask me questions about Excalibur because, we all know, that’s a myth here and Ariel--” “--Those were good clues,” Ariel argues. “It’s not my fault Hook didn’t remember who he was, so he couldn’t appreciate them!”

“Thank you Fisk,” Killian mumbles, not lifting his head away from Emma. “Once again, you’re the biggest help in these conversations.” She makes a face oddly similar to the one Ruby pulled earlier, and it’s no wonder these other royals are convinced none of them are fit to rule anything.

“I’m not disputing any of this,” Mary Margaret says. “But, um--well, our stories, our lives, really, are a lot different than the fairy tales they told in the Land Without Magic. And Lancelot--” She nods back towards the man who is starting to look a little stunned and Emma didn’t realize he was holding the other woman’s hand. Her gasp of understanding is impossibly loud. “--He’s the one who brought me to George.”

David leaps out of his chair, fury practically flickering around him, and Killian has to tighten his arm around Emma’s waist to make sure she doesn’t join him. “No, no,” Mary Margaret continues, “it’s not like that. It’s...Lancelot and I grew up together. But I had magic and George was always good at finding magic, wasn’t he? And making sure people would bring it to him.” “What does that mean?” David hisses.

“My mother disappeared,” Lancelot answers. “Quickly. No trace. I’d never seen her use magic, but there were whispers--when I was young, that she had a connection to the power of the lake near our home and I--I knew what Mary Margaret could do. I thought...well, maybe if I gave George what he wanted, I could get what I wanted. I could get my mother back.” The silence echoes in the hall, most of the Misthaven contingent staring at him with open mouths and something almost resembling hatred.

“Damn,” Ruby curses eventually. “That’s awful.” Lancelot nods. “It was. Is. I regretted it as soon as I decided and then there was no word of my mother, even after. I--I’m sure George had her killed.”

“He told me he’d gotten rid of my friend,” Mary Margaret whispers, more tears and a quiver to her voice. “He was...he was disappointed that all I could do was talk to animals.” “That’s impressive enough,” David shouts, and Mary Margaret flashes him a watery smile over her shoulder.

“For you, maybe. Not for George. But I--I don’t understand. What happened to you, Lancelot? Are you part of Arthur’s court? I didn’t think there were actually any knights of the round table here. That’s just…” “...More legend,” Belle finishes. She’s holding cards as well.

“It could have been real,” Arthur mutters, and every head in the hall turns towards him. His tone has shifted, low and calculated, the kind of voice that invades a desperate kingdom looking to cement his own power and Emma is running out of air to properly gasp. “That part of it’s true,” she muses. “Isn’t it?” “I don’t know what you’re suggesting.” She hums, turning slightly and Killian’s fingers have started drawing absent-minded patterns on her stomach. “Are you Guinevere, then?” Emma asks, more than a few curses from previously cursed royals who believed a different legend and managed to defeat darkness that way.

The woman nods.

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes. “Ok, ok, so, um, let me see if I can get this straight. So, everyone here knows George was a dick, right?” There’s a general murmur of agreement, although there are also a few stunned expressions and Killian mumbles colloquialisms into her shoulder blade. “He was, that’s not up for debate. So...as we’ve told you all several thousand times, George was working for the Dark One the whole time. The Dark One wanted, well--me, I guess.” Killian’s arm tightens, David standing up straighter and Mary Margaret’s tears are falling for a different reason now. Will puts his cards down.

Emma does her best to look consistently confident.

“We tried to fight that,” she continues, “realized what was going on and did our best, but, well, you can see how that ended up. Anyway. We were gone. There was still dark magic in this realm and Arthur saw it as an opportunity to add some real estate to his kingdom.”

“He’d been obsessed with the Dark One since we were children,” Guinevere says softly. “Wanted to understand how to control him, harness that power and--” “--Harness it?” “Oh, yes. Was equally fascinated and terrified by it. And when all that was left in this realm was that darkness, Arthur saw it as a chance to assert himself, seize control as it were.” “By burning Misthaven,” David fumes, another nod and soft sound of pity from Guinevere. “And he’s what? Never going to agree to anything now that we’re back?” “He’s angry at us,” Lancelot adds. “All of us.” “Because of the what?” Will asks. “If I ever I should leave you, shit?” Lancelot blinks.

“That reference went over everyone’s head, Scarlet,” Killian mutters, Will making a noise in the back of his throat. “You did take your men out of Misthaven though, Arthur. What is that? Conceding defeat?” “There is no defeat,” Arthur snaps. “Because we are not signing your treaty. Camelot is its own kingdom, functioning on--” “--Us now,” Guinevere smiles. It’s not exactly sweet. “That’s why we’re here, Arthur. Because the kingdom deserves a new chance, enough of the darkness and the desperation.” “Can someone explain what the hell any of you are talking about?” Ruby asks. “If this guy is the one who brought Mary Margaret to George, how’d he end up in Camelot?” “Guinevere just told you,” Lancelot says. “Arthur has been obsessed with the Dark One, his whole life. And when you lot were gone, that sentiment only grew. It’s one I shared for a time.” “Why?” “I regretted what I’d done to Mary Margaret. Knew I’d given her up to a man who--how did you word it, your highness?” Emma grins. “He was a giant and absolute dick.” “Yes, that, exactly. But once Misthaven was emptied, it was clear that darkness was still here. And stronger than ever. I thought I might be able to atone if I did my best to fight it. Only Arthur--he went too far. Started organizing the other kingdoms, even after the magic in this realm changed again. It never stopped. So, I--” “--Ran away,” Arthur screams, face going blotchy and Abigail makes another pointed noise at that. It’s not particularly royal.

Emma wonders if this is all a dream. That would almost make sense at this point.

“You didn’t stop, Arthur,” Guinevere says. “It was never enough. Another quest and another piece of research, all of it coming to nothing because the only one who could defeat the Darkness was her.”

She nods towards Emma, still sitting on top of Killian’s leg. She should stand up. She should say something, smile or give some kind of allusion that she’s got a handle on any facet of her life, but mostly she just wants to come up with a few rules for all of these kingdoms and make sure the people in her kingdom are happy.

Emma just wants to be happy. It doesn’t seem like that big of a request.

“And we did that,” Emma adds. “The Dark One is gone, Arthur. There’s no threat of that coming back. The only thing that is back, is us and we are--” “--Heroes,” Elsa says suddenly, sliding to the edge of her chair and she’s got a crown on. She’s been wearing it since that tomorrow she’d mentioned, a shimmer that is absolutely a byproduct of her own magic. “That’s it, isn’t it? It wasn’t perfect and it didn’t all go according to plan, but the prophecy is true now. The Swan and the Knight. Saving the future of magic and ensuring that we’re safe. We are safe now, Arthur.”

“Hear, hear,” Anna calls again, the card-playing, decidedly unroyal group around her throwing their hands up as well.

“We’ve told you several times now, Arthur, all we wanted was to come home,” David says. “To protect our home. That’s it.” He sheathes his sword, but there’s still a hint of challenge and Emma can see the magic hovering just over his right boot.

Mary Margaret reaches for his hand.

“I think everyone deserves that,” Merida mutters, a return to the conversation that’s equal parts surprising and helpful.

Another woman – dressed in head to toe armor with more than a few weapons buckled to her side and shiny, black hair that reflects the light in that hall – hums in what Emma hopes is, at least some, agreement. “The Dark One was a threat to all of us,” she says. “His defeat is something we should rejoice. Not a reason to question the royal family in Misthaven.”

“You weren’t so sure of that before,” Arthur says, accusation ringing in the statement. “Your king and queen were just as worried as I was. The same goes for your parents, Merida.”

“Oh, look, at that I was right,” Killian muses, hooking his chin over Emma’s shoulder. She leans back, not really trying to burrow further against his chest, but his arm does tighten and she has to rest her hand on his thigh to keep her balance.

Or so she’ll keep telling herself.

“I told you that,” Kristoff mumbles.

“Don’t take this victory from me.” “He’s showing off for the princess,” Ariel grins. She’s sitting on a windowsill again, cross legged with her elbows digging into her knees and, every now and then, she flashes a few fingers in Henry’s direction.

They’re cheating at cards.

It’s strangely comforting in the middle of a royal council that has dissolved into chaos.

“That is kind of true,” Killian admits, pressing the words into the skin behind Emma’s ear and she would probably be embarrassed by the whole thing if she weren’t also half certain Merida and Mulan are currently also making eyes at each other.

That’s also rather comforting.

“Huh, so that is happening, right?” Ruby asks, Killian’s cheek brushing over Emma’s hair when he nods. “Right, right, ok, I just wanted to make sure.” “Things have changed, Arthur,” Mulan continues. “The Dark One is destroyed. The Savior has won. Misthaven has a royal family again. A warrior of true honor would understand that. He would not continue only to serve his own self-interest.”

Both Anna and Will shout hear hear that time before Will grumbles are you cheating as soon as Henry puts his cards down.

“No, no,” Henry promises. “Not at all.”

Emma moves so quickly she nearly elbows Killian in both ribs with each of her arms. “Ah shit, sorry, sorry,” she babbles, but he just presses another kiss to her shoulder and it would be easier for his fingers to find skin if she weren’t wearing this dress.

Seriously, pants. Soon.

One of the witches from Oz –- Emma genuinely can’t remember her name, but she’d appeared in a bubble and that was a lot, honestly -- makes a noise of agreement. “There’s goodness here,” she announces, as if that doesn’t still manage to sound a little menacing. “A desire to help and they--” She waves her hand towards Emma and Killian. “Are at the very center of it.”

Arthur scoffs. “Them? Please. We know what he was. Even if it’s not true anymore, the pirate was half the reason Camelot had to defend itself!” “No, no, Arthur,” Lancelot objects. “That was only ever you. That’s why we’re here. The people have started to realize what you’ve done. A broken kingdom, sire. And it won’t be mended by you. Not now. Not after everything.”

“The Savior and her pirate have already done more for this realm than you could ever begin to dream,” Guinevere adds. “Look at this kingdom! Hans was--well, he was also a bit of a dick, wasn’t he?”

Mary Margaret’s hand flies to her mouth, still not able to keep her guffaw from flying out of her, and Emma’s eyes get so wide they actually start to water. Ruby’s head falls forward, landing with a thump on her forearms, while both David and Regina sport matching looks of surprise.

“Aye, exactly that, your highness,” Killian says, smile obvious in every syllable.

“I wasn’t sure if I was using it in the right context. It’s a very catchy saying, isn’t it?” “Something like that, absolutely.”

“Right, well, as you say. Hans did not belong on this throne. But you and the Sav--” She closes her mouth when she glances at Emma, gaze turning appraising and almost understanding, as if she realizes what that title weighs. “You and Emma,” Guinevere corrects. “Made sure that he couldn’t maintain it. You brought back Princess Anna, brought back Queen Elsa, even. At great personal expense.” “Something like that,” Killian repeats, Emma squeezing her hand lightly.

“A good warrior knows when to retreat, Arthur,” Mulan says lightly. “Phillip and Aurora agreed to your terms in a different world. Those terms don’t hold anymore.” “Almost like your reasoning for attacking us to begin with,” David mutters.

Arthur gapes at them, eyes darting from one royal to the next like one will, eventually, return to his side. None of them do. None of them say a single world, in fact, which doesn’t seem to bode very well for any of them, but then Regina coughs softly and her chair scrapes across the tile when she pushes back, enough royalty to ensure several treaties get signed in the next few seconds.

“Let’s make a few things clear, shall we, Arthur?” He doesn’t answer. Of course not. “You were obsessed and fascinated and terrified by the Darkness? So were we. We lived it, you coward. We were shaped by it, groomed for a battle that wasn’t ours until it was on our doorstep. We were bartered and captured, kidnapped by even those with the best intentions.” She glances over her shoulder at a repentant-looking Lancelot, a strange string of limbs with one hand still wrapped up in Guinevere’s and the other laced with Mary Margaret’s. Mary Margaret is also holding David’s hand.

“You made mistakes,” Regina continues, “we all did. We--Gods, that curse was a disaster, wasn’t it?” “It wasn’t the best,” Killian agrees, the feel of his upturned lips obvious on the side of Emma’s neck as soon as she leans further back. She’s started toying with the edge of his jacket.

“We’ve been over this, Arthur,” Emma adds. “Our magic isn’t something to be feared. It’s the deck we were dealt, that’s it.” Will groans. “If you keep making jokes, I’m not going to have a job, Em!” “You are not actually the court jester,” Ruby points out, but Henry is laughing loudly and Belle looks consistently charmed by this and maybe they can just be good royals by being themselves.

That’s a kind of a nice thought.

“I mean, we could probably do something about that if he’s really determined,” Regina muses. “Maybe after all of this though. Priorities.” “Regina, was that actually a joke?” Emma asks, both Ruby and Mary Margaret exclaiming in what may actually be delight.

The other royals look stunned.

So, maybe they’ll have to temper back some of their honest personalities.

“It happens,” Regina mutters, David already objecting and Killian mumbling what sounds like that’s never happened, ever under his breath. Regina blushes. This may actually be a dream. “Oh, whatever,” she grumbles. “The point I am trying to make and really--not just to Arthur, to all of you, is that we understand your anger. We’re still angry. At everything done to us and done because of us and by us and if we could change things, we would.”

She turns to Emma, the ends of her mouth tugging up. “But,” Regina says pointedly, “the past is something that is, unfortunately, set in stone. Not a sword in a stone, but--” “--See,” Ariel cries. “She would have understood my references.” “I was cursed, Fisk,” Killian hisses. She ignores him, far too busy trying to make the clubs symbol with her hands.

“We aren’t asking for anything from any of you,” Emma says, sitting up straighter. That only pulls her back closer to Killian’s chest though and it probably shouldn’t make her feel more confident, but that’s another deck she’s been dealt or however the metaphor about True Love should work. “Honestly. And we--well, prophecy lasts a lifetime, doesn’t it? We all have magic, we all have power and we’re not opposed to using either one of those things in the future. For good.”

There’s a murmur from the other Misthaven royals, encouraging smiles and even Elsa nods, promises on their lips that Emma fully expected them to make. It’s nice all the same.

“These kingdoms were allied before,” Emma continues, “but only because George was a threat. And the Dark One was looming. Those are gone. We’ve made sure of that.” “What are you asking us for, Emma?” Merida questions, and she can’t help the laugh that flies out of her.

Killian’s hand stills, understanding even in the lack of movement.

“Nothing,” Emma replies. “There’s no bartering here. No back and forth. No magic for magic. I--I’ve seen that already and I’ll be honest, I’m not all that interested.”

“And you’ve got the authority to do that?” Abigail counters. “If memory serves, even before you lot disappeared, after George had locked himself in his tower, you weren’t the acting monarch were you, Emma?” And, that time, the murmur that comes out of the Misthaven royals, and Elsa, is a little less understanding, an edge to the noise that’s reminiscent of defenses and a childhood spent protecting each other.

“Oh, you may want to try that again,” David suggests. “Killian, take a deep breath.” Emma doesn’t have to turn around to know how thin Killian’s eyes have gone narrow. She can feel his chest shift against her though, Abigail’s expression turning timid the longer no one else says anything. “Well,” she reasons. “It’s a fair question.” “Is it, though?” Ruby asks. “Honestly?”

“Are some of you worried that we’re actually...going to fight each other?” Mary Margaret whispers. “For the rule of Misthaven?” Arthur clicks his tongue. “It’s been known to happen before.” “Fucking hell, Arthur, shut up,” David roars. “Abigail, that is not something that’s going to happen. We’re--well, we’re a family. Our only interests are the ones that benefit the future of Misthaven and--” “--Emma has all of that power, though,” Abigail objects. “Even Glinda said it. The Swan and the Knight. We’ve all heard the prophecy. What’s to say we agree to your terms and she suddenly decides she wants a little more?” David exhales. That’s probably the best reaction. Until Killian reacts.

“She’s the bloody Savior,” he shouts, loud enough that Emma winces at the sound reverberating in her ear. “You think she’s suddenly going to turn into a power-hungry royal? No, no, we’ll leave that to the rest of you.”

Abigail seems very interested in her hands all of the sudden. “There has never been a kingdom with multiple rulers,” she mumbles. “It just--it simply isn’t done that way.” “Oh, that’s not entirely true,” Belle objects, Killian’s quiet laugh bordering close to pride as soon as she jumps up and leaves a small pile of cards in her wake. “It’s happened several times in history. A whole family and mutual interests being served, I mean...think about England.” “England,” Abigail repeats dubiously. “Which part of the Enchanted Forest is that in?”

“Is that honestly the real name of this place?” Will crows, nearly falling back in his chair again.

Emma sighs. She hopes they don’t have to actually use the guards to escort Arthur out of Arendelle. “That’s not the point,” Emma says. “The point is, and seriously, this is the last time we’re doing this, I am not looking to take over anything. I was supposed to defeat Darkness, I--”

She twists, not entirely comfortable, but absolutely necessary and Killian’s smile feels as if it slinks its way down her spine and settles her magic.

“We,” Emma amends, “did that. And so we’ve done enough. We’ve done Neverland and getting Hans out of Arendelle. We’ve comforted people whose entire homes were destroyed by Arthur. We understand what you went through and know some of that was our fault, but that’s different now. All we’re looking for is for you to trust us. No one is coming for your kingdoms. No one is looking for magic or the chance to intimidate anyone. All we’re looking for is exactly what David told you, to return home and start over. For the better, for all of us.”

No one says anything.

No one even moves.

And for a moment Emma doesn’t dare to breathe, eyes wide and lips parted slightly, but then she can feel the flutter of fingers tracing over the curve of her hip and her magic rises, a soft wave that’s a bit like the tide and a hint like the waltz she’s determined to get at some point and--

“Camelot pledges its loyalty to the royal family of Misthaven,” Guinevere says, nothing but confidence in her voice and Killian’s exhale makes Emma’s magic soar.

Arthur pales. “You can’t do that!” “Ok, but I--I just did, so…”

Guinevere shrugs, Lancelot chuckling lightly with a kiss pressed to the top of her head and Emma’s jaw drops even further. She glances a Ruby, an almost identical expression on her face. Mary Margaret’s got her hand over her mouth again.

“You’ve gone too far, Arthur,” Guinevere continues. “And you’ve known this was coming for ages. All of it, you--” “--I am the king of Camelot,” he shouts, stumbling back with hands that can’t seem to grasp his sword. “This is my decision and you’ve all agreed to stand with me and--” Arthur nearly trips over his own feet, a clack of metal from the chain mail under his shirt and the hilt of his sword slamming into his stomach when he manages to get it out of its scabbard.

“That was different,” Merida says evenly, but Emma can see her fingers fluttering at her side and maybe next time they hold a council they’ll make everyone forego their weapons.

“You’ll regret that!”

Merida hisses in a breath, standing up with an arrow pinched between her fingers. Mulan’s sword is half pulled out and even David’s trying to move Mary Margaret behind him.

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles, a soft laugh on her neck when Killian shifts her off his leg. He stands slowly, not trying to move her any further, and, eventually, she’ll think that may be her favorite part of the day, but then he pulls his sword out and tilts his head slightly, narrow eyes and a certain set of his mouth that’s nothing short of a threat.

He smiles.

And it’s not kind. It’s not Emma’s. It’s sinister, almost, a sneer and every single one of his teeth, the tip of his tongue swiping across his bottom lip.

“I’d put the sword down, Arthur,” Killian murmurs, a slight flinch when Emma’s magic sparks. The ball of light in her palm doesn’t touch her skin, but it’s bright enough to reflect of the metal of his sword and she needs to get him a new sword.

Maybe she’ll ask in Arendelle. They did such a good job with the jacket.

“Or what?” Arthur challenges. “You’ll kill me? That’s only proving my point. You do not belong here. None of you do, not anymore. This realm doesn’t need you! And we certainly don’t want you. Especially,” he adds, voice dropping with the weight of the next few words, “a villain and a pirate who destroyed everything he--” “--Enough,” Emma snaps. The light in her hand explodes, bathing the entire room in a near-blinding glow and she’s never moved that quickly. She nearly over-spins, the ends of her dress fluttering around her heels and she’s got to get used to heels again, but she’ll worry about that later. After her hand lands on Killian’s cheek, stubble on the inside of her palm and the feel of his jaw clenching against her skin.

“Shit,” Will muses, entirely un-royal and absolutely accurate. “You’re a total asshole, huh?” Guinevere still hasn’t moved, but her eyebrows shift slightly. As if she’s not surprised. At all. “You never understood, Arthur,” she mutters, “never. That there’s more to this. Being alive...being in love. Caring about anything except your own interests. Camelot will be better off without you. And this realm is better now that they have returned. All of them.”

“DunBroch agrees,” Merida says. She tosses the arrow on the table, a move Emma hopes is some type of respect. “We’ve already seen magic change with your return.” “As have we,” Mulan adds, and Glinda nods in agreement. Emma’s still really curious about the bubble thing. She’s fairly certain it personally offended Regina. “You have our loyalty as well.”

There’s a hum of agreement around the room, Arthur sputtering and stammering until David pulls his sword away from him, but Emma keeps her hand in the same spot, eyes tracing across Killian’s face, looking for something she hopes she doesn’t find.

“I’m fine, love,” he breathes, a quick kiss between her eyebrows.

“Arendelle as well,” Elsa says, and Killian’s arm wraps around Emma’s waist when she spins again. “Our full support and alliance and any other politically correct word or description you can come up with.”

“I could probably figure out a few,” Belle grins. “I defer to your expertise.” Emma’s smile feels impossibly large, a surge of hope and burst of magic directly underneath Killian’s hand, but then goddamn Glinda starts shaking her head slowly and she’s certain everything is going to go to complete and utter shit again.

Mary Margaret’s eyes widen. “What?” “I’m afraid Elsa won’t be able to agree,” Glinda explains, “without actually being crowned queen. Despite his departure from the kingdom, King Hans is still, technically, the ruler here.” “Departure,” Kristoff echoes and Belle mumbles politically correct under her breath. “So, what? You’re saying we have to have some kind of ceremony?” “A party,” Anna cries. She nearly knocks over the cards when she jumps up again, Will and Henry grumbling in displeasure. “Oh, stop, I was winning anyway.” Will huffs. “That is not how poker works at all.” “Poker, Scarlet?” Killian asks. “Honestly?” “Don’t go all royal on me, Jones. You’re just frustrated you didn’t get to play.” Killian doesn’t answer, Emma’s smile still there and turning a little teasing when she tries not to laugh too loudly. It’d be inappropriate in their current situation. David’s still trying to restrain Arthur. “Better at dice anyway,” Killian mumbles.

“And not quite a party,” Glinda corrects, Elsa’s face dropping with realization. “A coronation. You need to make this official, Your Majesty. After everything that’s happened, I think following protocol and tradition will serve us well.” “This is my kingdom, though,” Elsa argues. “I shouldn’t be crowned for show.” “I’m afraid the only way Oz will agree with this is if there is a coronation. You open the gates, allow the kingdom in, invite every land. Show that you are committed to running Arendelle, instead of running from it. Again.” Ruby lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s super harsh.”

“And true,” Elsa mumbles, glancing at Regina. “What do you think?” Regina makes a noise in the back of her throat – a little frustrated, a little accepting, entirely royal. Maybe that’s a step in the right direction. “It might be a good idea. Let your people know you’ve returned, have no intention of leaving again and make sure that the cut between Arendelle and Hans is severed completely.” “The past must be discarded,” Glinda continues, and Emma does her best to keep her face even at the absurdity of that particular sentence. She can feel Killian’s chest shift against her back. “A new era in this realm, with optimism and--”

“--So, it’s really a party, then?” Anna interrupts. “Because we should probably get some chocolate or something.” Glinda’s mouth parts with a soft pop, Elsa shaking her head slightly and Kristoff’s laugh may actually do permanent damage to the structural integrity of the hall. It’s loud and joyful and party might not be a bad word.

“Let’s cross that bridge in a little while,” Elsa says. “Maybe after we’ve all gotten something to eat first?”

It’s a dismissal without actually saying the words, the doors opening by guards who are very good at reading their soon-to-be official queen’s expressions, and the table clears out slowly. There are muttered acknowledgements, hopes for a treaty very soon and Mulan apologizes that Aurora and Phillip couldn’t be there.

Again.

She does it every time they disperse.

And then they’re gone. Arthur is escorted out by a different set of guards, Guinevere and Lancelot promising to take care of it, which is only a little menacing, but Emma’s gotten used to very menacing, so this is almost a victory.

David drops into the nearest chair, barely making it in the seat, legs splayed out in front of him. He lets his sword clatter to the ground. “Well,” he mumbles, head in his hands, “that went great, didn’t it?” “It definitely could have been worse,” Regina reasons.

“How? How is that possible?” “We got people to agree with us, David. Pledges of--oh, shit, fealty sound archaic doesn’t it?” “Something about tradition, probably,” Elsa grumbles. She’s moved away from the table, dropping back-to-back with Anna and there are half a dozen snowflakes fluttering between her fingers. “How long do coronations normally last?” Ruby’s lips twitch. “Long. There will probably be trumpets.” “Oh Gods.” “Can we focus on the positives, please?” Regina sighs. “A lot of good things happened and--” “--A lot of stupid things,” Emma cuts in.

Killian tugs her back with him when he sits down again, nipping at her shoulder blade. “It’s definitely Scarlet playing poker during a royal council.” “As has been pointed out several times, I am not royal,” Will argues. “And, I am doing the kid a service here.” He nods in Henry’s direction, curled against Belle’s side now with her fingers in his hair and his eyes obviously closed. “Real, useful life skills.” “You’re turning him into a degenerate.” “King Arthur of Camelot called you a pirate today. As an insult. Let’s keep degenerate where it belongs, huh?” Killian scoffs, chin bumping Emma’s back when he nods. “Plus,” Will adds, “if you and Emma are going to adopt this kid you just---found, then we’ve got to make sure he’s well-rounded.” “We’re not adopting him,” Emma objects, not sure why that’s suddenly so difficult to say. Her stomach lurches, though, a spike in her center that’s a little painful and very magical.

Will doesn’t look convinced. Mary Margaret looks offended. “Arthur won’t be a problem,” she promises. “Guinevere’s got just as much power in that kingdom as he does. So if she’s decided to align with us, then I think we’re ok?” “You think,” Ruby repeats dubiously. “Are we not going for sure?” “And we’re really going to trust the guy who turned you over to George?” Emma asks.

Mary Margaret clicks her teeth. “Ok, this is kind of mean,” she wavers, “but uh--” “--You kind of did,” David finishes. His head is hanging over the back of the chair now. “Technically, you know.” “Killian is not Liam,” Emma points out, and those words hurt too. Damn. She wants to go back to their rooms. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting to be thrown into the middle of some Camelot love triangle. The whole thing is getting very complicated.”

Will starts humming under his breath – lyrics to a song Emma is only vaguely familiar with, but Ariel looks overjoyed and--”I know that song,” she cries, more than a few exclamations of quiet thrown her way when Henry stirs. “And that whole thing is wrong. The legend in the Land Without Magic is far more dramatic. You know, Hook, maybe that’s it. Arthur’s just jealous of your very fancy sword.” “You’re the one who made it seem like Excalibur, Fisk.”

“Ah, I set that joke up for you so well and you just...left it there.”

He hums, a shift in his eyebrows Emma doesn’t have to see to be aware. “I’ve grown, you see. Matured, even.” “Gotten less...Dark One’y.” “Aye, that too.” “Still a pirate though.”

Killian doesn’t answer, but David’s head snaps up, eyes wide like he’s only just remembered something important. “Also, it hasn’t been said yet, but we’re all a little annoyed you didn’t invite us on your pirate adventure.”

“None of us were upset by that,” Regina promises.

“Mostly that you just didn’t tell us,” Ruby amends. “Tell us before you adopt the magic kid, ok?” “You’re being ridiculous,” Emma says.

“Am I, just?” “Do you want to plan a coronation or not?”

“No,” Elsa responds at the same time Anna shouts “yes” and they wake Henry up almost immediately.

They spend a few more hours in that hall – Elsa calling for food and an impossible amount of chocolate because, as Anna continuously points out, I was stuck in a cage, I’m going to eat my weight in chocolate and no one seems to able to argue with that. There are decisions made and more than a few debates, Belle combing through comically large tomes that burst with dust every time she flips a page, trying to find out how the last twenty Arendelle monarchs have been crowned and each discovery suggests more grandeur.

By the end of it all, Elsa is lying on the floor – in between Emma and Anna, more snowflakes falling in soft piles by their head – with Mary Margaret curled into a different chair and Ruby perched on the windowsill next to the one Ariel has claimed. Belle’s legs are draped over Will’s, a book still in her hand, while Killian tries to translate something that may be ancient runes and David paces a small circle into the floor.

“You’re going to ruin your boots,” Emma muses, and while he doesn’t break stride, his lips do twitch up, a quick flash of his eyes her direction.

“You’re not a cobbler.” “And you’re worrying. What about? Lancelot?” “No,” David says quickly. His pace picks up, and Killian makes a contrary noise on the other side of the hall. “Oh, shut up, Jones.” Killian salutes, Emma propping herself up on her elbows and trying to level David with her best accusatory stare. It just makes her head hurt. That may be all the chocolate she’s had.

“It’s going to be ok.” David stops pacing. “Is that positivity I hear?” “It is an attempt.” “It’s impressive.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma groans. “Your compliments are really ringing true. I’m just--I don’t know, maybe Glinda was right. We’re always going to be everything we were. Magic and makeshift royal and out-of-place pop culture knowledge, but focusing on the past is only going to drag us down and then everything’s going to suck.”

David chuckles, a click of boots moving towards Emma that aren’t his. Emma takes Killian’s hand as soon as she sees his fingers. “Eloquent as always, love,” he says, pulling her up with ease. “C’mon, if I look at anymore of those symbols, I’m going to go cross-eyed.” “It’d be a look.” “Gods, do you two ever stop?” David whines.

Emma shakes her head. “I hope not.”

She doesn’t let go of his hand while they walk down the hall, torches lit with a slightly different glow than the one she’d caused that afternoon. He has to twist around her to open the door to their room, and there’d never really been any discussion of that, no questions about propriety or that pesky tradition that Arendelle seemed so fond of.

It just was.

With a bed Emma is considering stealing when they leave. “How difficult do you think it would be to commandeer a feather bed?” she asks, appreciating whatever her question does to every inch of Killian’s face.

He arches an eyebrow, eyes drifting up her body like he’s taking stock of each part and the twist of his lips is entirely unfair. There are a few pieces of hair stuck up in the back, and Emma knows he’d been running his fingers through it, trying to figure out what, exactly, Elsa has to hold in order to assume the throne, but the whole look makes him a little unruly and decidedly piratical and she yanks on the front of his jacket.

At first, it’s mostly just to get him closer, but then Emma can see the flash in his eyes and the want in his gaze and she tilts her head up and he bends his neck down, the curve of his hook digging into her back and making her arch further against him. He groans. She kisses him.

Hard.

Emma pulls in a breath, heartbeat turning staccato in her chest and she’s thankful for the heels now. It makes it easier to move her arm, a hand in his hair and the other flat against his chest, memorizing the beat of his pulse in a way that’s only kind of weird and possibly possessive.

“Gods, but you are distracting, you know that?” Killian mutters, and Emma must make a noise because she can hear something, a laughter that flutters out of her and bounces off the walls.

“Ok, but that’s not an answer to the bed question.” “I’m sure we could get a very similar bed at home, Swan.”

Her eyes close of their own accord as soon as she processes that word, one that never really had much meaning before and it’s still not enough. Not years and a field or the smell of salt in the air, stolen toffee and fingers dancing on her skin. It’s not leather or a glint of light bouncing off the edge of a sword.

It’s more. It’s bigger. And it’s...again. It’s soft and easy and it’s always been that.

From the very start.

“The one normal thing,” Emma whispers, repeating words from a life that feels like a dream now. Until. Until she lets her eyes flicker up to find Killian staring at her, wonder and love and--"You’re trying to figure out how to get this bed out of here, aren’t you?” “It was your idea!” “You’d probably have to use the window, right?” “Or magic.” “You want me to magic a feather bed? Where?” Killian shrugs, nudging her closer to the bed and Emma doesn’t try to temper her magic. “Be easier with a ship,” he mutters, an admission that might not be that, but her magic jumps anyway and she’s going to fix that too.

Save it, as it were.

Emma hums, flopping back on soft blankets and cloud-like pillows, half a plan and a smile that makes her cheeks ache, Killian catching her lips again as soon as he lets the jacket fall to the floor. And she’s not sure how long they spend in that bed, roaming hands and that goddamn tongue thing, but his breathing evens out eventually, her smile still there and the soft heat in the very center of her makes it feel as if her heart expands, warding off the chill in the air and the past that isn't quite as formidable anymore.

#personal space???

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#personal space???