#( not me rereading threads when i'm supposed to be cleaning )

[hisbespokenpsychopath]

oops, time baby headcanons are abundant right now

[once-upon-a-pirate-ship]

How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam - Chapter 7: Restless

Here's an early additional update, as promised!

This is fairly close to what I suppose you'd call a "filler chapter," but we know those are necessary for any story to build properly. That is precisely why I'm updating on Friday, too.

Story summary: After the Evil Queen kidnaps and curses her family and destroys her kingdom, Princess Emma is on the run. She boards a merchant vessel with her godmother Red, and they intend to travel to Arendelle to seek magical assistance. But when Emma discovers the dark truths aboard Captain Silver's ship, she must put a stop to his cruelty and rescue the Jones brothers from their enslavement. Emma has to find her own allies and face her fears in order to save her parents, her brother Leo, and her kingdom.

Find the first chapter here on AO3, or read this one here.

tagged readers: @kmomof4 @ouatpost @ultraluckycatnd @jrob64 @teamhook @tiganasummertree @zaharadessert

DM me or reply to this or any other updates if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

(another minor thing: I'm tweaking a few very minor details in the previous chapters on ao3 to stretch out the time a bit more. Emma is on the ship for three weeks or so before they left it, and I wanted to make that clearer, but there's no reason to reread or anything just for that)

Chapter seven summary: Emma is...worn down from all of it. Things are getting to her (she's just got PTSD, but therapy really isn't an option for her). She has some conversations. Some things happen. Let's find out what.

read chapter seven: Restless below the cut:

The fire crackled, the sound of it weaving together with the others, the voices that were warm with laughter and light conversation.

Their dinner that night had practically been a feast compared to what they’d eaten the first night in the forest; Robin’s people had more than adapted to their lives beyond the comfort of a house. They didn’t simply survive in the woods, they thrived there.

Robin had opened his arms and his resources to them, given them food and protection, tended to their wounds, all without ceremony. He’d pulled her aside when the others were busy familiarizing themselves with the newcomers, and he hadn’t been shy in sharing the details of his operation.

That was how Emma was able to sit amidst them all, seemingly calm and unaffected. She knew that there were four people circling the camp at all times, hiding in trees and preparing to signal if anything suspicious came near.

But earlier that day, her nightmare had almost become her reality. When she stood with Killian in that clearing, she’d practically been able to feel the threads of his life poised and ready to be cut by the Black Knights, and it had been her fault.

Every time she blinked now, it was not darkness that she saw, but death, his death, and when she’d cleaned her hands in the rushing water of a creek, the droplets of blood didn’t feel like the enemy’s blood, it felt like his. Perhaps not now, but one day, she would find her hands covered in his blood, and that was his fate, so long as he remained close to her.

She stood, unable to linger a moment more, finding a tree far enough from the crowd but still within the bounds of their camp. She leaned against it, almost hid behind it, her arms folding across her body as her temple rested against rough bark. She allowed her eyelids to drop for a moment, her breath escaping her in a strained sigh.

The crunching of the forest floor behind her made her eyes snap open, and she spun, her hand half-retrieving her sword before she realized who it was.

Will had stilled, holding up a hand though he looked untroubled by her instinctual reaction. “Apologies, Captain,” he said, “I should’ve announced meself.”

She huffed, shaking her head and dropping her grip on her sword as she fell back against the tree. “No need to apologize, Scarlet. I’m just a bit on edge.”

“A bit?” he asked, his brows raised high, and even in the low light from the fire far away, she could see the amusement in his expression. He crossed the rest of the way to her, his other hand moving to offer her whatever he held.

Her blades rested in his open palm, flashes of silver in the darkness. “You cleaned them?” she asked, taking the first between her thumb and index finger.

“You can’t just let a blade like that sit in blood all day,” he replied, a scoff just on the edge of his voice.

Her lips pulled up at one side, even as she glanced down to find one of the hidden pockets, sliding the knife into its case until it clicked.

Will watched her replace each blade, his face a mixture of awe and fascination. “Where can I get one of those?”

She laughed, straightening once the last one was secured. “I made it myself about two months ago,” she told him, “when Red and I found an abandoned village with quite the armory, amongst other things. We stayed there a week—wouldn’t risk longer than that, even though we knew the Evil Queen wasn’t able to track us anymore.”

“It’s bloody brilliant,” he said.

Emma glanced away from him, away from the camp, and into the darkness. “Yes, well,” she shrugged. “It certainly saved some lives today.”

Will was quiet for a long moment, and when she looked back, he was watching her with knowing eyes. “I s’pose that explains the solitude, then,” he muttered, moving until his back was against the wide trunk of the tree beside her, though he was angled more towards the others.

She tensed—she was always so damn tense—though she tried not to show it. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He leant casually against the tree, one foot crossed over the other with the toe pointed into the ground. “You know, I blamed myself, too. When the Black Knights killed my sister.”

Emma turned, eyes wide and questions on her lips that she was too afraid to ask. “What was her name?”

“Penelope,” he replied. She could hear that the name was nearly too heavy for him to say aloud, that the grief of it threatened to turn his tongue—and possibly his heart—to stone.

“I’m sorry.”

Will shook his head, his chest rising with the deep breath he took. “I hope you’re not convincing yourself that her death was somehow your fault.”

Emma’s lips pressed together, and her eyes trailed towards the camp, the faces of those she cared about. “Isn’t it?” she asked at last, quieter than she expected to be.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I spent a few months bitter with your parents for not killing the Evil Queen when they had the chance, but I hardly had me head on straight back then.”

Her arms moved once more to fold over her chest, and she had to turn away from him, her eyes finding the treetops instead. “I’m bitter,” she confessed, “more than bitter, sometimes. Sometimes I hate them for it.”

“It’s not as though they’re responsible,” he said, and he wasn’t correcting her, or scolding her, he just spoke as if he were following along the same line of thought that she was. “They had power, at one time, to prevent it. Their kind hearts didn’t let them. But they are not the ones whose hands are pulling hearts out of bodies to kill mercilessly across the land. That’s the Evil Queen, and her alone.”

“You’re right,” Emma replied, though her voice caught at the end.

“But,” Will continued, saying the word she hadn’t, “that doesn’t stop the guilt.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

They listened to the buzz of insects that needled into the air, growing louder with the approach of summer, and it accompanied the low chatter humming from the middle of their camp. She’d been cold, so cold, when she’d first set out into the woods with Red a few months before, and it had permeated her bones, sent cutting shivers through her that some fires hadn’t been enough to stave off. It certainly wasn’t cold now, but sometimes her skin still tingled as though it were.

“I thought being on me own would help,” Will said abruptly, “that it would minimize the risk.” He paused to shift against the tree, as if the need to scan their surroundings had overpowered him. “Needless to say, it didn’t work.”

“We need people,” she added, knowing it was true.

“Even more, I think,” he said, “when we’re carrying around all that guilt. Gets too heavy.”

Emma sighed, long and weary. “Right now, it just feels selfish.”

“Selfish?” he repeated, glancing at her with furrowed brows. “We must have different definitions of the word, Captain, if you think what you’re doing is selfish.”

She looked away, her jaw tightening involuntarily. “I’m allowing people to put themselves in danger so that I have a better chance of survival.”

“No,” he snapped, though it lacked anger, “that’s not what this is. You’re fighting to take down a mass murderer, and every choice you’ve made on the way has been to further that cause. Selfish would be hiding, it would be cowardice. What you’re doing, it’s not selfish—it’s leadership. And when we save your kingdom and the others of this realm, you will understand that.”

She had no reply, because she knew he was right. Even if she didn’t feel it yet, it was true. How many times had her mother explained the sacrifices that came with ruling? How many times had she warned about difficult choices and the weight upon every decision?

Will pushed himself off the tree, his feet angled towards camp though he looked back at her over his shoulder. “That’s all I’ve to say,” he told her. “Don’t let that mind of yours keep you from your beauty sleep, Captain,” he said, heading back.

“Scarlet,” she called, and when he paused, looking at her expectantly, she added, “Thank you.”

Emma lingered only a few minutes more in her solitude, and when she slept that night, she was not haunted by dreams of the real or otherwise. It was far from a good sleep, but it was as close as she’d gotten in a while.

—

The dawn had only just broken when Emma gathered with some of the others in the largest tent just off center of their camp. The large table in the middle was covered with maps of the land, and they circled around it, the six of them joined by Robin, Little John, and Mulan.

“Now that you have had time to rest and receive treatment for your wounds,” Robin began, “I’d like to discuss how we might move forward. Emma, you mentioned that you had been seeking magical aid from Arendelle before the Evil Queen ransacked the kingdom?”

“Yes,” Emma replied. “We’ve been allies with Arendelle for years, even before we discovered that Queen Elsa had magic. We had hoped for her assistance, and we were heading towards the Dark One’s castle to find a looking glass in order to locate her.”

Robin nodded thoughtfully, considering the map before him. “What is your objective in finding Queen Elsa?” he asked. “What specific magical service might she provide?”

Her eyes flicked to Red, and a moment passed before Emma stepped around the table in search of another map. She found it partially concealed beneath some others, pulling it out so it lay where they could see.

“Nearly two months ago, Red and I found where my father had been taken,” she told them. “He is secured here—” she pointed to the place on the map, “—in a dungeon at the base of this mountain. Three outposts feed into guards outside the prison doors and within. Dozens of Black Knights walk the perimeter in a circuit from the dungeon to the western-most outpost, moving east and then returning to the dungeon.”

“Dozens?” Mulan asked, “Do you have a more specific number than that?”

Red joined Emma in front of the map, her hand moving to where Emma had indicated the center outpost to be. “This one holds the most, at least fifty at any given time. The others seem to have fewer, but not by much. Thirty, perhaps more. But there’s barracks here,” she paused, drawing a circle with her fingertip southwest of the dungeon. “It’s large, and they sleep in shifts, so it need only be half the size of the available knights.”

Killian’s hands braced on the table, his eyes narrowing at the map. “Round up, to be safe. Say the middle has sixty men, each side plus the prison has forty. That’s nearly two hundred men, not considering the ones off-duty.”

“No wonder you need magic,” Will grumbled.

“As talented of fighters as we may be, our numbers cannot withstand that kind of force,” Robin agreed.

“Queen Elsa has sufficient power for such a task,” Tink said.

Emma sighed, stepping back from the table and looking at her godmother. “If she’s in any position to help us.”

“It’s a risk, to be sure,” Robin said.

“Anyone else know of any benevolent magic users who could lend us their assistance?” Liam asked, and though his humor attempted to lighten the gravity of their situation, Emma was left with less hope than before.

Killian straightened, glancing at Emma. “You said it yourself, Captain. You’ve been allies for years. If this queen has magic that could help us, I believe it’s worth the risk. She is facing, I believe, a similar predicament to the one you find yourself in. I’m sure there could be no one more willing to fight for this cause than another who has faced its violence and lived to tell the tale.”

“He’s right,” Mulan said, “she’s invaluable. With the right forces behind her, she alone could turn this war in our favor.”

Emma hesitated, rolling it through her mind. More decisions. What sacrifices would they hold? Time? Resources? Lives?

She relaxed into her royal posture, trusting her gut. “I think we should find her. As her ally, it is my duty to ensure that she is protected and supported in times of need, even if she is unwilling to help us. However,” she said, her gaze locking with Killian’s, “if she has been thrown out by the Evil Queen, it’s likely that she will be prepared for a fight. Since she took her parents�� place, I’ve heard of Queen Elsa’s intense loyalty and the responsibility she feels for her people. I doubt she would allow this to remain unchecked.”

“You, Emma, will make an exceptional ruler,” Robin said, his eyes glimmering with fatherly pride.

“Let’s save my family and my kingdom, and then hopefully we can discover if that’s true in a decade or so when my parents step down,” she replied, bristling beneath the compliment.

“I’ll drink to that,” Will said.

Tink smacked his arm, “It’s barely past dawn.”

“Oi!” he cried, swatting her hand away.

Emma cleared her throat to silence them before turning back to Robin. “So we continue to the Dark One’s castle as planned?”

“Unless there are any objections,” he replied. “I will join you, and Little John will remain here in my absence. And I’m sure we’d never dream of keeping Mulan from the chance of a fight,” he teased, but there was no doubt of her abilities, of her skill with the sword strapped to her back.

“I should stay behind,” Tink said, curious eyes finding her. “While the injury I sustained yesterday is not life threatening, I could use more time to heal. I’d risk slowing you down.”

Emma frowned at the thought of leaving one of her own, even for a night or two. She didn’t like being separated from the ones she trusted, and though she hadn’t had the time or opportunity to grow as close to Tink as some of the others, she cared about her.

“A few days of rest will serve you well,” Robin said, turning to Emma. “She will be protected here, you have my word.”

“Of course,” Emma replied, nodding to Tink, “take the time you need.”

Robin patted Little John on the shoulder. “Good, now that’s all settled. I propose that we depart just as soon as we’ve eaten a hearty meal.”

—

The hearty meal had dragged into late morning, and Emma thought it was close to noon before they made any progress into their journey. Mulan had led the way, though Robin joined Emma just behind, and his good humor never ceased to amaze her.

“We will find all manner of magical objects in this castle, I’m sure,” he told her, anticipation alive in his voice.

“Then it may take some time for us to find what we’re looking for,” she replied, working hard not to be frustrated by the thought of another setback.

Robin hummed, unconcerned or trying to seem so. Instead of dwelling on that, he launched into a story about another magical object he’d come across in his days, and Emma didn’t mind the distraction.

When they stopped at a stream to refill canteens and waterskins a few hours later, Robin insisted that they take some time to rest and prepare for the rest of their hike until night fell. His stories had calmed her slightly, she’d found it comforting, but now that they’d stopped moving, her skin prickled with unprompted panic that she couldn’t control.

She felt as though they were targets, standing out in the open in the daylight, and the knights would descend at any moment. Every snap of a twig nearly made her flinch, and though she’d seen Robin approaching her from the corner of her eye, she still jumped when he spoke.

“You seem troubled by our pace,” he commented, keeping his voice below its usual volume. The others sat by the stream—with the exception of Mulan who stood guard—but Emma had found a log within view that kept her apart from them. Robin joined her, his eyes scanning their surroundings habitually.

“I’ll admit, I was hoping to have gotten an earlier start,” she said.

“As much as you’d like to, you cannot run ahead without ever stopping. You need time to rest, too.”

Emma shifted, crossing and uncrossing her legs. “I know. I just can’t stand not moving,” she told him.

Robin’s eyes found the ground in front of him for a long moment before he turned his gaze back to her. “I understand what you mean.”

“You think about him all the time, don’t you?” she nearly blurted, unable to stop herself from asking. “I miss my parents so much, but with Leo, it’s—”

“It’s different when you’re their protector,” he finished for her. “You feel responsible for it all, but more for your brother.”

She let out a shaky breath, feeling like she would crumble right there, shatter into bits and pieces that could never return to make a whole. “Waking up every day, knowing I failed him,” she murmured, “it makes it hard to breathe. Moving is better; it feels like progress.”

“It can’t always be,” Robin said sadly. “There is progress in rest, because it propels us forward once we’ve started again. Running at full speed without a break will only lead to exhaustion, and it will make you vulnerable to attack.”

Emma sighed, “You’re right.”

“I often am,” he replied, a playful smile on his lips. “Now, drink up, try to relax for a few more minutes, and then we will keep on till dark.”

—

She stared up at the stars, the ones she could make out between the leaves that rustled in the gentle breeze. Her mother had tried more than once to teach her all the stories, but Leo had been more interested, and she could only recall a few of the constellations. She saw one now, one that glowed steadily in the bigger opening several feet from where she lay, and it was the one of the dragon.

She’d been eleven or twelve, perhaps, when she’d stood on the balcony with her mother who had crouched down so their eyes were at the same level, and Emma could see the design in the stars that she spoke about.

It was a classic tale, one of love and loss, but it ended with victory, with True Love, with a dragon captured and displayed in the heavens. Emma wished she could remember the details now, as she lay at their camp for the night, unable to sleep yet again.

Robin and Mulan had claimed the watch, insisting that they were better rested than the others, and Emma had no energy left to fight it.

But now the tension returned to all of her muscles, and no matter how many stories she attempted to tell herself, she found no reprieve. She rose from her bedroll, snatching her canteen before meeting Mulan’s questioning gaze. Emma lifted it to signal her intent, and Mulan nodded, returning to her perusal of the forest.

Fresh water was one of the things that had drawn them to this particular spot, the stream that trickled two minutes away offered much needed replenishment of their supply. The air had been drier than usual for the time of year, and canteens had emptied quicker than they expected.

She knelt at the edge when she arrived, filling the water and taking a slow drink. When she was finished, she filled it once more, sealing it and tossing it onto the ground beside her. Her hands dipped into the rushing water, cupping to bring some up to her face. The cold did its job, grounding her, momentarily stalling the ever-present flicker of fear that lived within her.

Until movement rustled behind her.

Emma drew her dagger, cursing herself for leaving behind her sword, but when she spun, it was no one she’d ever want to hold a blade against.

Killian froze, meeting her gaze in the moonlight. He, at least, had remembered his sword. “You were gone a few minutes too long,” he told her, his voice soft. “I wanted to make sure you hadn’t come across any knights.”

She slid the blade back into her boot, pushing herself up to stand, though she did not close the space between them. Her feet were rooted to the ground, and she found no way to move them any closer.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded once, a single, controlled movement, and then he turned back in the direction of camp.

Disappointment rose in her chest, a bitter and ugly sensation, but she ignored it, bending instead to retrieve her canteen where she’d left it on the ground.

Fast, thudding footsteps barrelled towards her in the same direction as the stream, frantic cries pulling at her heart.

“No, no!” the voice called, “Please, no!”

A woman came into view, an oversized sword held in her hands, and she skidded to a stop twenty feet or so from Emma. Tears dampened her cheeks, and now that she was closer, Emma could see that her hands were smeared and dark—blood.

The woman’s distress turned sharply into anger fueled by fear, and she moved forward with purpose, her sword pointed to Emma. “Who are you?” she demanded, desperation in her voice while her hands trembled.

Emma wanted to take a step back, but the stream kept her from it, and turning her back to a sword was never something she would do. She swallowed, raising her hands in surrender. “My name is Emma.”

“Did you see them? Are you working with them? Tell me where they went!” she snapped, creeping towards Emma.

“Who?”

Her response was prevented by the arm that wrapped around her from behind, a blade pressing against her throat. “Drop your weapon,” Killian ordered, and the woman obeyed immediately.

“Please,” she begged, almost a sob, “please, they took my sister. Or—at least, I think they took her. They tried to take her, and she ran to keep me safe, but they attacked us anyway, and he…” She had gotten more and more emotional as she went on, and she could no longer form words.

Killian released her instantly, quick to pick up the fallen sword and pass it to Emma before he put himself between them. “Who attacked you?” he asked. Gone was the anger, the threat from when he’d first spoken to her, replaced by urgency and compassion.

“The Black Knights!”

Emma’s world shuddered, and she spun, searching for the danger, for any sign of them nearby. “Killian,” she said, her voice low in warning.

“Aye,” he agreed, not needing to hear the rest. “We’ll help you,” he told the woman. “What’s your name? Your sister’s?”

She reached up to swipe a few tears from her cheek, blood painting her face. “I’m Anna,” she said. “And Elsa—my sister’s name is Elsa.”