Chapter Text
Emma wanders through the walls of the castle absentmindedly, ignoring everything that’s going on around her. Servants are scurrying around, various knights are changing positions, and she can hear the faint yelling of her parents coming from the throne room.
The cream walls of the palace glow from the early morning sunlight beaming in through the line of tall, arched windows that are elegantly placed along the hall giving a perfect view of the ocean.
Summer is beginning which is bringing along the warmth and sun. Longer days and shorter nights.
Great.
Not that Emma dislikes the summer. On the contrary, she quite enjoys the warm, dry weather and the freedom that it offers. Most of her days will likely be spent outside on her horse or in the courtyard. But it’s the endless number of balls she knows her mother will be throwing that puts her off. Summer is her mother’s season of parties and banquets – that’s the part she hates most.
She walks into the throne room, the loud bang of the large oak door closing behind her signaling her arrival. She shoots her parents a smile as they turn to face her.
Her mother is a small woman, it’s pretty clear that she got more of her looks from her dad. She’s short and has a petite frame. Her black hair falls down her back in soft ringlets around her small heart-shaped face. Her big, brown, doe eyes glisten with kindness and her cherry lips stand out against her pale complexion.
She is, after all, the one and only Snow White. Fairest of them all. A title that Emma doesn’t care for much anymore.
Her father, David, on the other hand, stands a good head taller than his wife and is extremely well-built which should be expected since he was raised on a farm and grew up doing a lot of heavy labor. His life practically turned upside down the day he met Snow, Princess of the White Kingdom. He’s a humble man that Emma looks up to and has been constantly inspired by her entire life.
He looks at Emma like she is still a little girl but, in his eyes, she still is despite her being nineteen.
From him Emma gets her height, his sandy hair is only slightly darker than hers is and her blue eyes. However, her eyes have a ring of green around the pupil.
Emma places a single kiss on their cheeks. "Morning," she greets them happily.
"What has you so happy this morning?" her mother asks with a small chuckle.
Emma shrugs. "Nothing, really."
"Okay. Are you heading out, sweetheart?" her father asks gently.
Emma nods as she absentmindedly fiddles with the hem of her untucked white shirt. "Yeah, I'm going to go spar in the yard with Neal."
Her father likes that she is learning to use a sword. He started teaching her at an early age, even at her mother’s disdain and complaints about her being a lady. Emma still spars with him whenever he isn't busy but she mostly trainswith her personal knight, and dubbed best friend, Neal.
"Just be back in and washed before noon, I have a dress fitting organized for you," her mother says so quickly that Emma just about makes out what she said.
"Really? A ball? Already? Are you kidding me?” Emma groans, throwing her head back. Her mother knows how much she hates parties, yet she continues to organize them regardless. "Seriously? Why are you organizing another ball?"
"We just think you need someone, Em. Someone who can make you happy, someone-"
"Someone to help me rule the Kingdom. I've heard this a thousand times," Emma snaps, cutting her off.
Ever since Emma turned sixteen her mother has been organizing little get-togethers, balls, banquets, you name it. The last one she organized was for Emma’s nineteenth birthday in late October, her mother claimed that it was organized because it was a special occasion and not because she was trying to introduce her to as many suitors as possible.
"I want you washed and presentable,” she orders. “An old friend of mine is coming this afternoon."
Emma rolls her eyes. "Are you going to try and set me up with their son?"
Her father shifts slightly. He isn't a fan of these events either. The upscale, crowded events are something he never could get used to.
"Actually she's bringing her daughter."
Emma felt hope begin to fill up inside her that her mother had finally realised why she hasn’t been taking any interest in the men she invited to these things.
"Cora hasn't been able to get her daughter to take an interest in anyone either. I thought that if she came tomorrow night there might be someone for one of you. They’re going to be staying with us for a week."
Emma’s face falls, mentally slapping herself at how stupid she was for believing otherwise. Of course that’s the reason but she supposes she can keep the girl company. They sound like they’re in the same boat.
“I want you to talk to her, Emma. You need a friend in your life.”
“I have friends.”
“Neal and Pippin don’t count,” she snaps, ruling her only friend, and horse, from the equation.
"Okay, I'll see you both later," she responds flatly, turning quickly to leave. She wants out before she gets another lecture.
Her mother shoots her a nervous smile and her father places a sweet kiss on her forehead. "Have fun."
Emma steps out into the fresh morning air and takes a deep breath, holding it until her lungs start to burn. She prefers being outside. She hates being cooped up in the castle. It doesn’t matter what she’s doing. She could be training in the yard or running through the forest on her horse, it doesn’t matter so long as she was outside.
She heads off to find Neal. He’s always up and about somewhere around the courtyard at this time. She spots him lacing up his boots at the edge of the yard.
The scruffy brunet looks up at her and smiles. "What bit you, Swan? You look like someone just kicked Pippin."
He presented her with the nickname Swan when they first met because he insisted that Emma reminded him of the elegant creatures who lived on the lake. This was before he knew properly got to know her, and he now knows that Emma is nowhere near as graceful or elegant and those magnificent creatures, but the name stuck.
Emma sighs, leaning against the hard, grey stone wall. "Guess who has to attend yet another ball tomorrow night?"
Glenn laughs. "Are your parents really that desperate to get rid of you?" he jokes light-heartedly, handing Emma her sword.
She scowls as she takes the blade from him and examines the blade from the plain silver hilt to the sharp tip. It’s clear that it was sharpened the night before. “You'll be there, right? To steal me away if I get bored. Which is inevitable."
"Of course. I am your personal guard, aren't I? It is my duty to serve you, your Highness." He shoots her a playful wink and bows in an obnoxious manner.
Emma shoves him gently.
Neal is a few years older than Emma – he’s twenty-five. He arrived at the castle at the age of seventeen to be trained up to be a knight. He wanted to fight and protect his kingdom. He learned quickly and it wasn't long before he became one of the best soldiers in their ranks. He’s only slightly taller and is quite muscular. His brown hair is cut in short to his head with a dark layer of stubble covering his chin and his playful brown eyes are always full of mischief.
Emma started to become good friends with him when she was fifteen. She had just started to spend more time down in the yard watching the soldiers train. It had always intrigued her and it inspired her to do the same. When she was old enough, she started her own training.
When Emma turned seventeen she was expected to choose someone to be her personal guard to accompany her her if she ever wanted to go somewhere outside the castle grounds. She didn’t think she needed it, her parents knew exactly where she went every time she left the castle grounds, but she offered the position to Neal and he gladly accepted.
They step out into the open, grassy field. Emma gets herself into a basic starting stance with her knees bent and her feet at shoulder width apart.
"Watch your footing, one wrong step and you'll lose your balance," he instructs.
She quickly shifts her weight, placing one foot slightly in front of the other before he came at her with his blade. Emma’s reflexes are good and reasonably quick, she’s been building them up throughout the years and has almost perfected them.
"So, tell me more about this ball that your mother has organized," he says as they slip around the small section of the courtyard with ease, swords clashing together.
Emma scowls, turning her blade to a horizontal position to block causing a loud clatter of metal. "It’ll probably be the same as usual. She’s probably found some new men to bring in. She has an old friend bringing her daughter along." She ducks to avoid Neal’s swing.
Neal lowers his blade giving her a chance to straighten. "Oh, has your mother finally realized that you prefer the finer things that nature has to offer?" He wiggles his eyebrows.
She shoves him and he laughs. "No," she snaps, failing at covering the disappointment in her tone. "Her daughter hasn't taken an interest in anyone either, they think it'll be easier if Cora brings her daughter over and we have all the suitors in one place. Or at least, that's the reason I was given."
They continue their sparring match for a while longer before Neal moves on to teach Emma other things – little tips on keeping balance, grip between your boots and the ground, keeping a grip on your sword.
Rule number 15: a hero's only as good as his weapon, you drop it. You're dead. As he so eloquently puts it.
Emma watches as the sun reaches its midpoint in the sky, signaling that it’s time for her to go and meet her mother for the dress fitting. She drains the flask of water that Neal provided her with. She sighs in contentment as the cold liquid slides down her throat with ease, quenching her thirst. Her shirt is clinging to her body with a thick layer of sweat. It makes her squirm a little.
She hands the flask back to Neal with a frown. "I won't be here tomorrow. Mom wants me to keep this mystery girl company. Apparently, I need more friends.”
Neal puts his hand on his chest and lets out a gasp. “I’m offended that Snow doesn’t think I’m enough for you,” he jokes. “I miss the days of her asking if I was going to court you.”
Emma lets out a soft bark of laughter. “You wouldn’t be able to handle me.”
“Oh, I know I wouldn’t.” He smiles. “I’ll see you later, Swan."
Emma nods and makes her way swiftly back towards the castle.