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She was born a leader and forged a queen but, even after all those years, it is still the blood of a bandit that runs through her veins, the freedom of the shepherd that blows in her hair – she’s her parents’ daughter through and through, and not even the weight of golden on her forehead can change that. She tones it down on most days, fingers tingling for the reins of her horse, legs prickling with the need to run, wander, explore.
She has her responsibilities, of course; her tutors always too eager to share their knowledge during hour-long lectures, Merlin still checking on her magic every so often. But those problems don’t matter much when she wakes up at the break of dawn, sky still grey and morn outside, and sneaks out of her chambers while the castle is still fast asleep.
Emma slips on her riding boots once she has reached the kitchen, then raids the cupboards to find some kind of breakfast. Honeyed milk and bread will do for now, with the knowledge of more consistent food awaiting her when she comes back. She’s helping herself to a mug of milk when someone coughs behind her, effectively startling her – the milk spills over the edge of the mug and on the table, and she groans at the mess it makes.
The groan dies on her lips when she turns around to face the newcomer.
“Elsa!”
Because of course it is her, hands on her hips in what is supposed to be an upset manner – it falls flat, as it always do with Elsa and authority to people who aren’t her subject. Or maybe just authority and Emma, come to think about it. Emma who smiles sweetly, the perfect smile from a childhood spent breaking the rules set by her parents.
“Can I at least know where you are going when you think I’m fast asleep?”
There is disappointment in Elsa’s voice, like she can’t believe her best friend would go behind her back without even a word of her wanderings and other shenanigans. Truth is, Emma had somewhat forgotten both princesses from Arendelle were staying at the castle, if only for a moment, all too used to sharing the castle with no one but her brother Leopold.
“I’m sorry, I just –” wanted to get away, needed a break, needed to be outside the castle’s walls if only for an hour. She knows those are excuses she can’t give, for they wouldn’t make sense to Elsa, who spent more of her life locked up inside her own bedroom. Emma can’t even begin to explain her need for open spaces, countryside and forests, because the girl standing in front of her is all to fond of staying indoors to understand such urges. Instead, a smile slowly creeps on her lips. “Come with me.”
…
She’s seen Elsa nervous a lot before – their first days under Merlin’s tutelage were tentative at best, neither of them confident enough to let their magic flow. But nothing compares to the way she keeps looking above her shoulder as they make their way to the stables, wriggling her fingers and nibbling on her bottom lip. She’s so bad at this Emma wants to laugh, but she knows better than to mock Elsa so openly. So she shakes her head and rolls her eyes instead, pressing the other blonde forwards with words of reassurance and may I remind you we’re royalty, we’ve got nothing to fear.
She presses a golden coin to the young stable boy as she puts a finger to her lips – he nods and goes to get the horses ready. It takes him less than five minutes, but it is enough for Elsa to imagine the worst scenarios possible for such an outing, and Emma truly laughs this time, a low chuckle as she shakes her head once more.
“Do you trust me?” she asks.
Elsa looks downright outraged, gaping at her with wide eyes. “You know I do!”
With a grin, Emma hands her the reins of a horse. “Then follow me.”
She does, even reluctantly, climbing on her horse with a pout thrown Emma’s way as she sits straight, with all the poise of a queen – she would ride side-saddle, given the chance, but it is not the most comfortable for a trek through the woods. Emma’s lips twist at that thought as she climbs on her own horse and spurs it softly.
Their first minutes are spent in silence, sun barely rising in the horizon and wildlife still asleep – she spots an owl at some point, its big eyes glowing yellow in the dim morning light. White clouds appears around her horse’s muzzle, and Emma lets go of the reins to stretch out her arms, fingers brushing trees and leaves with each step her mount takes. Her own lungs fill with cold morning air and she closes her eyes for a second or two, enjoying the moment she finds herself caught in.
Elsa’s soft giggle is what brings her back to earth. “You and Anna are so similar sometimes.”
Emma throws her an amused look over her shoulder. “Is that a good thing?”
“Of course it is!”
“Good.”
She says it with a sense of finality as she spurs her horse into a soft gallop, and laughs at Elsa’s indignant gasp when her own horse follows suite without much probing. Emma guides them through the forest, the maps etched in her mind by now, turning here and there, following a path, choosing another. It doesn’t take long before she arrives to her destination, tents hidden between the trees in fabrics of greens and browns, fire burning red already.
A woman, long dark hair and even longer cloak, smiles kindly at her when she sees them enter the clearing, but it is a young man who truly welcomes them, grabbing Emma by the waist as he pulls her down her horse and into his arms. She laughs as he twirls her around, even if she sees blurry for a second or two when her feet find the ground at last.
“Roland, may I introduce you Elsa of Arendelle, my friend. Elsa, this is Roland of Locksley, my – well, friend too.”
Roland takes Elsa’s hand in his and bows to her as he kisses the back of her hand, ever the gentleman when it matters. The tip of Elsa’s ears turn pink at such a welcome, and she can’t help but look around her curiously, taking in the scenery in front of her.
She gasps. “Are you the Merry Men?”
“Yes, m’lady,” Roland replies, beaming. “And you are just on time for breakfast.”
Breakfast is roasted mushrooms, porridge, and milk – a feast, for the Merry Men. Emma gulfs down her food as she sits by the fire, and smiles at Elsa’s reluctance to do the same. Ever the proper one, eating with a fork and all the propriety of her rank, as she tries not to show how spooked she is while maintaining a conversation with Marian.
Her hair shines silver in the morning light, pink high on her cheeks and glimmer in her grey eyes as her lips curl into a shy smile. Her braid moves as she nods to something Marian says, and Emma finds herself mesmerized by the sight.
Roland bumps Emma’s shoulder with his, and she looks up with a raised eyebrow. “She’s pretty,” he says in a low voice, for her ears only.
Her cheeks don’t turn red. They truly don’t.
“Shut up,” is all she replies with a bump of her own.
He laughs but indeed doesn’t say one more word on the subject, and Emma is grateful for that.
…
“Is that what you do every time you sneak out?”
They are back at the castle by now, tiptoeing their way back to their chambers before the Queen and King awake for the day. Elsa stops Emma in front of the door of her bedroom, asks the question in hushed whispers.
“Mostly, yes. Sometimes I visit Aunt Red, too, or Uncle Grumpy. Sometimes I go to the harbour and watch the ships.”
It depends of her mood of the day, but the Merry Men’s camp is always her destination of predilection – she loves the feeling of the place, loves the men and their stories, loves Marian the most. Marian, and her archery skills, her kindness and her quick wits. (She loves Roland too, the way one loves an older brother, even if she’s reluctant to admit it.)
“Why them? They – they’re thieves.”
Emma shakes her head in reply. “Marian helped my mother during the war against the Evil Queen. She’s good. She taught me archery.”
A pout appears on Elsa’s lips as she thinks this through – this part of history isn’t that well known in the Enchanted Forest, let alone Arendelle, after all so Emma isn’t surprised that her friend didn’t know.
“Well, it made for an interesting morning, at least,” she says as her fingers wrap around the door handle. “Thank you.”
She opens the door, ready to slip inside quietly as to not wake her sister up, but thinks better of it. She presses a kiss to Emma’s cheek before the other girl has time to see it coming then, with a secretive smile, finally enters her bedroom.
The princess is left staring at the closed door, finger brushing against her tingling cheek, as a smile lazily stretches on her lips.