Once Upon a Time 1. Prologue

(This is set in the Enchanted Forest and there is no curse. Rating will come into play starting with the incoming chapters. Hope you all like it!)

_**Prologue**_

'_She has to stop him.'_

_The thought repeats itself in her mind, like a mantra engraving itself across her conscious. She doesn't care about the dozen scrapes and cuts on the soles of her feet or about the pain that radiates up her knees from when she'd tripped outside while she made her way to the stables. The white nightgown that she is wearing has been soiled and torn around her feet and Emma idly thinks that her mother, always poised and graceful, would have a fit if she were to see her this way. _

_But it doesn't matter, because he's leaving. _

_She'd heard the rumors, and even witnessed the messenger from the coastal kingdom recruiting men while she'd taken a stroll through town. When she'd expressed her disbelief over why a man would be willing to leave their home for another world, her father had released a heavy sigh and explained to her that many men would dare in hopes of finding a better future or a higher rank. He'd reminded her how he himself had done as much, leaving behind his life as a shepherd, regardless of how out of his control the decision had been. And Emma, for all her youth and innocence, had understood. _

_She just never though that _he'd _be willing to leave as well. _

_No. He cannot leave, at least, not if she has anything to do with it. _

_It's what she tells herself as she slams through the stable's doors, just barely avoiding a tumble against the stacks of hay that have been piled up for the incoming winter. He turns immediately at the intrusion, and it breaks her heart to see that his beautiful black mare has been prepared for the long journey ahead and if the numerous bags loaded onto the beast's back are any indication, it is obvious that he is almost ready to go. _

_He hadn't even been planning on saying goodbye. _

"_Killian," she breathes, and the tremble in her voice is a mix of anger that he's leaving and relief that he's still here and betrayal that he won't be soon and something else that she can't explain, but feels all the same. "What are you doing?"_

_He contemplates her for a moment, allowing his gaze to trail down her developing body, outlines and hints of curbs visible with the dawn's first rays of light that illuminate her hair into a golden halo and highlight the paleness of her skin, before tearing his eyes away in self-loathing and disgust. "Your Highness," he acknowledges, avoiding her stare. _

"_What are you doing?" she repeats, clinging onto false hopes but being unable to stop herself. _

"_I am leaving, Princess," he admits, finally catching her gaze as blue meets green and Gods, how can a man have eyes so beautiful as his? "My brother and I have been offered a position in His Highness' Royal Navy and I believe it would be beneficial for us to take up the offer."_

"_But you can't leave," she exclaims, taking a few steps closer to him and placing her palm on top of the horses' muzzle There's a part of her that wants to yell at him that he is being a fool, but she stops herself. She knows in her heart that he still sees her as a child; as the royal princess he's been charged with caring and watching since he was a boy, and this may very well be her last chance to prove to him that she is growing up and becoming a reasonable woman. _

"_The Jones Family has been in service to our family for decades. Why would you leave now, when you have always had our favor? Have we ever done anything to offend either of you?"_

_The bitterness in his face returns, if only for a second, but it is enough for Emma to recognize it and it baffles her. What reason could he possibly have to be angry? She'd spent her whole life treating him and his brother as an equal, despite her parent's halfhearted complaints. _

"_Aye, we have," he relents, before turning back to his horse and beginning to secure his belongings into the large brown leather pockets hanging by its sides. "And worry not, Princess, for we leave with nothing but the deepest of gratitude, but we must go." _

"_You can't leave," she insists, raking her mind for every lesson her tutors had instilled in her regarding negotiations and diplomacy and treaties, but finding nothing useful except for her anger. "I am your Ruler and this is my kingdom and I demand that you stay," the words fall off her lips before she can stop them, regret flooding her in the same instant because she has never been one to throw her title at him or belittle his station. _

_But she needs him to stay, for any reason._

_His expression turns dark, and his whole demeanor stiffens at her demand and she knows that she has hurt him. He closes his eyes, as if contemplating the weight of her words, and when he speaks again his voice is cold and detached and she may not know many things or understand everything that transpires between a man and a woman but she does know that she is losing him. _

"_Be that what it may, we have your father's blessing and will be gone before day finishes breaking."_

_That's when she throws all sense of caution and procedure and expectations to the wind. Emma lunges herself at him, wrapping her arms around the beautiful man with the soulful eyes while he struggled to contain the mass of curls and limbs clutching for him. "But you cannot leave me," she sobs, wayward tears streaming down her cheeks, tightening her hold around his waist and burying her nose in the space between his shoulder and neck before her deepest secret spills from her lips and into his heart. "I love you."_

_He tenses besides her before lifting his arms to separate her from his body without losing contact completely. "Princess, it is not proper for you to throw yourself at men. Especially men like me," he admonishes her, but there is no bite to his words. "You are royalty and there is an image that you must maintain, one that does not include simple errand boys from a peasant family who serves your own."_

"_It doesn't matter to me," Emma reminds him, adamant for him to understand and reciprocate her feelings. She knows he can love her, knows it deep in her heart that he already does, if only he'd be willing to accept their inevitability. "I know that I love you."_

"_You do not love me, Emma," he sighs, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before granting himself the privilege of using her birth name instead of her title. "You are still but a child, while I am a man."_

"_You are not much older than I am, Killian," she reminds him, pleading with his rational side and allowing her anger at his imminent departure to return. "What business do you have risking your life for a man to whom you owe no loyalty? Why leave when I am asking you to stay?"_

_He separates himself completely from her then, but doesn't relinquish her gaze. _

"_Because I must, and because I have very few belongings and possessions but I do have my honor and my pride. Staying here, staying behind for a life of commodity when I have been giving the opportunity to prove my worth? That is bad form, Princess."_

"_Then promise me you will come back," she demands, curling her fingers into determined fists as her eyes shine with determination. "Promise me that once you have met your goals you will come back to me and I will wait for you."_

"_I cannot ask of you," he begins, but is cut off when she presses her lips to his own in a chaste kiss. _

"_Promise me," she demands, but it sounds like a plea and feels like an oath that he can't find in his heart to deny her. _

"_I promise that not a day will go by that I won't think of you."_

_And for the first time since the cursed messenger had set foot on her lands, Princess Emma smiles and feels hope in her soul. She leans forward to press her lips to his again, but in that moment the doors to the stables open and a man she recognizes as a knight from the palace announces himself. _

"_I am sorry to intrude, your Highness, but her Majesty wishes for you to join her in the Greeting Hall as soon as possible," he informs her, angling his body to show that he's been tasked with escorting her back onto the palace grounds and will not be leaving without her. _

_She turns back to Killian, sighing in disappointment at their interrupted goodbye, and bows for him in a completely formal and proper farewell. "Mr. Jones."_

"_Princess Emma," he replies, returning the formal courtesy. _

_It when the guard is outside the doors that she turns around for a final look and finds blue eyes waiting still for her. _

_Barely a whisper, audible to none but visible to him._

_Always him. _

"_Come back to me."_

**Don't forget to review if you liked it! And no worries, Badass Emma will be making her appearance very soon. **

**Thanks for reading! **


	2. I

"_**Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. **_

_**They're in each other all along."**_

**-Rumi**

**-.-**

Her heart is racing.

The horse picks up speed, a tall-tale sign of how often she's done this that the animal is able to easily avoid the dense tree population of their forest. She's dressed in one of her father's old riding breeches and a large brown cloak, her hair tied back into a loose braid and hidden under the too-large material. On her feet are a pair of boots she'd manage to buy off one of the local girls who helped maintain the castle spotless.

It is her favorite time of the day.

There is nobody watching her; no one to scold her for losing her posture or wearing an inappropriate wardrobe or remind her of how she is a princess and there are _expectations_ and _responsibilities_ that she must meet. It doesn't matter that she has to wake herself hours before sunrise or that it is usually bitterly cold outside or that she has to be extremely careful not to be caught before she can make her routine escapes. In those moments, she stops being a royal, being a _Princess_, and all that is left once the tiara and the dresses are removed is a woman.

A woman who is _free_.

She tries not to think about the fact that her morning escapades will be coming to an end soon.

Everything about her life will be changing soon.

But it's for the best, she reminds herself, and she blocks it out of her mind until a later time when she's back inside her room, focusing instead on her current dilemma. She wonders about what other must think about or see when they look upon her. Blonde hair. Green eyes. High cheekbones. Pert nose. Pale skin with a soft glow. She's a perfect mix of her parents: the product of True Love. Beautiful, or so she's been told, first by her parents and then by every suitor who ever walked past the palace walls.

They all wanted something from her.

Some desired her kingdom and her power, desperate to improve their status through a political wedlock – who treated her as if she were nothing more than a business transaction. Other's wanted her beauty and youth, an investment for their future heirs – those appraised her as if her worth could be measured by nothing more than her ability to bear children. However, the worst kind had to be the ones who wanted neither, but craved something altogether different. Those were the ones who saw her as a challenge; the ones who could only see the infamous and indomitable Princess Emma, who refused to be wed, as a prize to be broken and won.

So she'd kept her head high, ignoring all the rumors of frivolity and frigidity that surrounded her. She'd continued on with her lessons and responsibilities, working as hard as any prince while keeping as much grace as any queen. She had her own path to pave; her own worth to prove; her own love to wait for.

And Emma had waited.

Summers had turned into winters, balls and presentation seasons and suitors had come and gone, but her devotion to _him_ had never waned; never faltered. Even as the years passed and there were no news from him, no love letters or simple greetings or messenger birds to inform her of his well-being and travels, she had not been deterred. Emma could only phantom what his life was like, figured that he was likely out at sea, and for all she knew he had no way of communicating with her without raising suspicion, so she bore him no ill-will.

Because he had promised her he'd come back, and if there was anything that could be said of him, anything that came close to defining him at all, it's that he was a man of his word; a man of honor.

A man who kept his promises.

So, she waited. Waited for him in silence, never allowing anyone, not even her own mother, to know the secrets of her heart's desires. Emma loved her mother dearly and unconditionally, knew her mother loved her just as much, but she was also well aware that Snow White would never be able to keep anything from her father, not from her Prince Charming, and Emma did not want her parents deeming her as foolish for waiting for a man below their status to return after years having been gone. A man who, for all intents and purposes, she should have never been interested in to begin with.

But then, just two days before she'd turned eighteen and after nearly five years of waiting, word of him had finally arrived.

She remembers the messenger had been wearing a beaten gray coat and had a large brown pouch with the foreign royal crest around his shoulders filled with matching envelopes. Emma had spotted him from her bedroom window, excitement and joy filling her stomach as she'd seen the man hand the Jones matriarch, who still worked in the castle, two envelopes that were no doubt filled with news of the brothers' imminent return. She could only watch as their mother thanked the man, opened the first letter, and fallen to her knees. Emma, after endless hours of torment and uncertainty, has learnt the truth as well.

Captain Liam Jones and Lieutenant Killian Jones had been pronounced dead.

Suddenly, the world got very dark.

-.-

She's not one to undermine the pain of others, but Emma doubts that anybody has felt quite like her.

She was no stranger to pain; had witnessed it countless times throughout her short life and heard as many stories from her parent's adventures, but this was different. This was numbing and excruciating and she felt _everything_. There was a pressure on her chest that made her feel as if she were suffocating and she feels a constant need to vomit and her heart aches like needlepoints were being stabbed into it incessantly. Nobody quite understands her, and she doesn't blame them. No one knew of her adoration for the man, aside from their easy friendship, so she cannot openly cry and mourn him and expect more than apathy for her broken heart.

Until her mother comes into her room in the middle of that same night, armed with a sad smile and a comforting embrace.

"It's okay, Emma," she coos at her, arms wrapped around her sobbing daughter while her fingertips ran down the golden strands, just the way they used to when she small and afraid and a single word from her beautiful and wise mother was enough to make all her fears go away. "It's going to be okay, honey."

"No, it's not," Emma cried, tightening her hold and gasping for breaths that seemed to be avoiding her since she'd found out the awful faith of her almost lover.

"He's gone," she tells her mother, who's intent and focused on her but still remaining quiet, allowing her daughter to set the pace. "He was away for so long and I waited for him and he promised he'd come back and now he never will," she spills out, not caring that all her secrets are being revealed or what she will think or if her father will find out and it's not as if anything she says will have a backlash on him because he is _dead_. And because this is her mother and she loves her and her heart is broken and she needs her to make it all better.

She needs her mother's endless hope, and her father's infinite courage.

"I loved him," Emma whispers, looking up at her mother, and it's the last thing she can take before every single part of her feels broken and lost.

Snow White's bright green eyes tear at her revelation, sadness for her daughter consuming her. "Oh, Emma," she murmurs, lifting a hand to brush stray curls away from her face before pulling her back into her embrace and the familiar scent of strawberries is a heaven-sent that lets her steal a breath. "I know," she confesses. "I've always known."

Emma's mouth drops open, not expecting her mother's own confession. "How?"

"Because you are my daughter and I know you, Emma," she explains, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And because you used to look at that boy like if he was the only thing that mattered in the world, and when he left, a part of you left with him and it never came back."

"Mom, I…" she tries to deny it. Tries to find anyway to excuse herself because her parents did not raise her to fall apart for love and a side of her is ashamed she let herself fall that much. It's the same one that wants to be angry at him for leaving in the start, but her mother cuts her off before she can go down that path.

"No, Emma," she interrupts, fingers twirling between her own and rubbing soothing circles in her palms. "It's okay. I don't know everything that happened, but I know that you loved him and when you love someone, reason doesn't always fit into the equation. Now, I know you gave him a piece of your heart, and he can't bring it back anymore. He is gone and that piece is gone and you will never be the same again."

She pauses when Emma gasps, the air scratching harshly against her lungs and throat as more tears cascade down her cheeks.

"But you listen to me, Emma, and you never forget this," she continues, wiping her own tears away to show her daughter just how important her next message is. "You can't give him the rest. You can't do that. You can't give the part that's left to someone who won't be there to catch it and cherish it the way it's meant to be loved. If you do that to yourself, you will never be happy and there will be a hole in you that will never be filled. You have to let him go, so that one day you can let somebody new in."

Emma could only stare at her, the mere thought of loving someone new making her want to scream and cry and lock herself inside a tower so she would never have to feel this pain again. "How could I ever give my heart to anybody else?"

"Not today, or tomorrow, or maybe not in a year," her mother grants her, "but you _will_ one day. So you cry right now, take all that pain inside of you and feel it and let it do what it must so that they day love comes back into your life, you will be ready. And it will be amazing and beautiful and painful and that part of you that feels so empty and broken right now will be mended and fixed and you will be so happy that you won't believe it sometimes, but it will be true. I promise you this."

Emma doesn't think she can quite believe her, but her mother seems so sure of herself that it makes her think that maybe there might still be hope.

Time had seemed to pass slower, hazy, as if just short of reality, after that night.

She still attended all her duties and took on extra responsibilities. She worked hard and remained in contact with the people of their kingdom and she presented a perfect exterior and kind smile to all those who graced their home, but that was the end. There was no motivation in her; the spark that lighted her was dim and low and it broke her parent's hearts, regardless of how hard she's tried as the first two years passed by.

And then Prince Graham, from a faraway kingdom, had waltzed into her life.

He was only a few years older than her and he was handsome and brave and there was something about him that called out to her; made her want to know more about him. He was always polite to her and honest and when she made a snobby comment, just to test how he would react, he'd called her out on her ruse and proved he was not playing games.

When he spoke with her, he actually _listened_, often times surprising her with his own input or by giving her a gift that reminded her of their conversations. A page from a poem, a lilac from his own garden, a painting bought from the townsfolk. She knew enough about his own kingdom to know that he was wealthy and could have easily filled her with jewels and finery, but appreciated her enough to do something meaningful and thoughtful for her instead.

He made her feel as if he could see her for _her_; not as a princess, but as Emma.

His kingdom was negotiation a trading route with her own, so for more than a year he was always coming in and out of her life. He would arrive, speak to her father, and then seek her out for a stroll or a cup of tea. Graham spoke to her about his travels and his discoveries and she told him about her life and what she'd learned since he was gone. Sometimes he'd explain to her an issue he was having with his other trading partners and would ask for her opinion and actually _take_ it, and when he returned he'd tell her all about how her wisdom helped save his day.

It was nice and comfortable and he made her feel safe and important.

But then he had to go. The negotiations with her father had been completed, and the trading route had been firmly established. Prince Graham had informed her that his presence would no longer be constantly required in the Enchanted Forest and so his frequent visits would be coming to an ending soon, unless he had another reason to return. With a start, Emma realized that she didn't want him to leave.

She wanted him to stay, or take her with him.

Because he made her feel things when they were together. He made her stomach flutter in a way it hadn't since she was thirteen and falling in love for the very first time. He made her smile and laugh and giggle when they danced. Emma knew it wasn't True Love yet, but there was a voice in the back of her mind that whispered to her that maybe one day it _could_ be.

It was Hope, and it felt like everything she never thought it could be.

So she'd asked him to stay; not for her father or for a business or for a friendship or a possible romance. She'd asked him to stay for _her_, and unlike the first boy she'd loved, Graham listened.

And now she was going to marry him.

Emma is shaken out of her thoughts when her horse comes to harsh stop, lifting itself on its two rear legs to avoid stepping on the dark pile of rags and what appears to be a man splayed on the floor. Once the animal settles, she quickly pets his head in soothing strokes before jumping off its back and checking her surroundings. She'd been so lost in her own thoughts that she'd managed to wander into the deeper parts of the forest, easily an hour's ride away from the nearest village and she is completely alone.

She can see sun's light beginning to peak out from between the trees, but it's still too dark out for her to check the man on the floor without stepping closer to him. His face is turned towards the ground and she knows that she must turn him to verify that he is not in need of immediate medical help, or even alive for that matter.

When she notices that he seems to not be moving at all, she quickly kneels beside him, carefully rolling him over onto his back and his face is so completely covered with dirt and blood and grime that she wishes it was lighter outside so she could properly help this man. She lifts her hand up to reach for his eyes, wanting to lift the eyelids and check for a response, but then there is a hand on her throat and the next thing she knows she is on her back and this man whom she was attempting to help is straddling her hips and his hands are still on her neck and she cannot breathe.

His gaze is scanning her, checking her body for any possible hidden weapons and she thinks he must have a dagger in his hand because something sharp just grazed her thigh. But then his gaze reaches her face, and his eyes full of anger and resentment and vengeance meet hers and it doesn't matter how much dirt is on his face or how little oxygen is going to her brain because she would know those too-blue eyes anywhere in the world

"You," she manages to rasp out, full of awe and pain and confusion and an overwhelming sense of relief, and something seems to snap inside of him because he just looks angrier. Tortured.

The man on top of her was Killian Jones, and he was likely about to kill her.

**-.-**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorite and followed the prologue! Feedback meant a lot!**

**Also, I know some of these sentences seemed to just be grumbled together but I did it on purpose, to kind of capture how Emma feels all these contradicting and overwhelming emotions she doesn't really know how to deal with. Hope that makes sense. **

**Up Next: a very angry Mr. Jones. **


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