roseofvalor

Rumplestiltskin woke up to a throbbing headache. His vision stayed bleary for a good long minute before the ceiling of his shop came into focus. His shop. Wait. He was . . . this couldn’t be real, could it? A hand tried to move, but it felt as heavy as a boulder. Even so he focused what little energy he had raising the leaded limb until he could see it. Well, he seemed to be alive. And human. What about--?

The hand dropped his to chest with much less effort. He couldn’t do anything else. But under the layers of clothes he’d been wearing at the time he lost consciousness, a weak heart fluttered. He was alive. How?

“Grandpa?”

Henry’s voice provided a little jolt to make his head roll to the side. The boy helped him by getting up from the table and kneeling beside the bed. “You’re awake!” He actually smiled. After everything that had happened, the sight of his grandson’s smile moved him more than he could have anticipated.

Rumple croaked in trying to speak. Somehow he managed to say, “H-henry? What h-happened?”

The boy took a deep breath. “A lot. Long story short, we’re back in Storybrooke. The Sorcerer’s Apprentice took the darkness out of you, so . . . you’re not the Dark One anymore.”

What breath he’d had fled for a moment. His brain couldn’t decide if this was a good or a bad thing. At least he wasn’t dying, but if his curse was gone . . .

“W-where is it now?”

“You mean the darkness?”

Rumple barely nodded.

Henry frowned, like he didn’t want to say. “I . . . don’t know how to tell you this. My mom--Emma, I mean--tried to stop it, but it got loose. It was about to destroy the town. Then Belle--”

No. Oh gods no. Please no.

“N-no. She didn’t!”

He made the lunge without thinking first. His back made it about four inches off the bed before he collapsed back down. “Grandpa, no!” Henry pressed a hand on his shoulder. Rumple couldn’t help flinching. “Everyone’s looking for her. We’ll find a way to help her.”

Beautiful Beasts || roseofvalor

Tales of the Dark One had lived in these lands for centuries. Though the details varied with each generation, the same feeling of menace and fear bled through every story, every encounter with the creature. Rumplestiltskin had grown up knowing about as much as anyone did: the Dark One possessed great power, but rather than use that power for good, it sought to inflict pain and sorrow on any that crossed its path. Why? There was never a why. And until now, the machinations of such an evil were not his concern.

But the Ogres Wars were getting out of hand. In all his years of knightly service, Rumplestiltskin had not dreamed of seeing the Frontlands reduced to this level of desperation. Despite the efforts of older soldiers, the Duke had demanded that the army start recruiting younger people. Boys, girls, anyone able-bodied, never mind if they’d ever swung or picked up a sword. The age dropped year by year until children barely fifteen were being pulled into the bloody fray between man and monster. It had to stop, before there was nothing left of the peasant population. This wasn’t a war. It was unending sacrifice.

There was a wandering cleric named Zoso known for traversing through the realm, having taken a vow of poverty as part of his vocation. He was also well-versed in the old wisdom of magic. Rumplestiltskin found him and asked about the Dark One. After accepting an offer of food and shelter, the cleric divulged what he knew: the Dark One lived in a castle just beyond the border of the Frontlands, and in the creature’s possession was a dagger. The dagger was the only thing that could control or kill the Dark One. However, even if a man could lay hands on the dagger and use it toward good, it would come at a price. All magic did.

Be that as it may, Sir Rumplestiltskin made the journey to discover the Dark One’s residence. Days and nights of travel left him sore from nearly constant riding, but the horrors back home kept him going. Inquiries became more difficult as a different fear from what the ogres inspired grew town by town. At last, he learned of a mountain pass that could take him to the castle he sought. It took a full day, but he made it to the road that led right to the gates of the estate.

reginaqueenmills

It was another one of those lovely, unimportant days so many people take for granted. They spend them on strolling, gardening, wooing a lover—all very unproductive things (unless a person was trying to grow rare herbs for a potion). Horseback riding also came to mind, mostly because that was what the Dark One was watching his apprentice do at this very moment—time wasted on equestrian antics when there was work to do.

It was like watching his whole world plunge back into suffocating darkness. The fragile lifeline he'd been holding onto these last six weeks had just been ripped from his fingers. A distant voice in his mind made vows to get it back, because even if he'd been warning himself that this would happen--that someday Belle would no longer be his, that she'd find happiness elsewhere--what else did he have left? With Bae gone, this was his last chance. He couldn't go back to floating in this black ocean alone.

But that voice was a long way away, detached from the agony engulfing him. Rumplestiltskin barely thought about anything as he stumbled down the street. Where was he headed? Anywhere away from the shop. Anywhere where he could forget for a moment, or at least get his bearings. As much of a mess his rational thoughts were, his feet knew the place to take him. After starting at the cold concrete sidewalk for some time, he glanced up and saw a small but familiar residence. It was an apartment building, not his grand salmon-pink mansion. There were lights in the windows on the floor he knew belonged to his sister. Would she answer the door? Would she say he got what he deserved and lock him out? Or just ignore him?

You've Got Mail || mybravedarlingbelle

Not many people would argue that being a linguistics professor who specialized in ancient languages could contribute to a lonely existence. Even in his own department at Oxford, Rumford Gold found himself more in the company of books than colleagues. His days largely consisted of silent study and diligent note-taking; the rest were spent keeping his students on task with high standards, merciless deadlines and lots of red ink. A night on the town was a visit to a coffee house to feed his caffeine addiction. If he spoke to anyone, the subject had to be at least tangentially related to his work. In a way, his sabbatical in Ireland last year had provided the only outlet for his scholarly interests. He'd joined an archaeological team who had discovered very old texts predating anything yet found. A very exciting prospect, and for once he had people to actually talk about it. One of his former team members, Jefferson, kept in touch about developments on his end. Lucky bastard got to stay, a natural traveler, while Gold relied on his academic work for paid employment.

It was another late evening in his office, door locked, one desk lamp on, two empty cups of coffee standing next to a half-empty one, when Rumford received yet another email from Jefferson. Rumford grunted, sipped his cup again and minimized the document for his next book. He clicked on the email.

Hey, much as I know you love being a hermit, you should check out this site. There's a forum for people interested in linguistics. Couldn't hurt to make at least one friend. ;)

Hmph. The idea seemed suspect. Weren't such sites cesspools for perverts and annoying adolescents? But his brain begged for a small respite. Rumford clicked on the link (if this gave his computer a virus, he would make Jefferson pay dearly). Sure enough, the homepage appeared, and its professional, polished design drew him in. Some casual exploration brought him to the forums. From there he browsed through the topics. One topic stated someone needed translation help for a personal project.

Come Look at the Freaks || mybravedarlingbelle

"Come one, come all to the Sideshow! Get your thrills and chills right here at our exotic managerie of the sublime and macabre!"

Jefferson was really working his lungs today, Gold thought as he finished getting ready. The young man's voice carried even past the droning murmurs of circus patrons filling into the sideshow tent. Players in the other exhibitions were also making a ruckus pulling themselves together. Widow Lucas was snapping at stagehands, demanding to know who had misplaced her granddaughter's cloak this time. Mrs. Lucas was also the manager of the "wolf girl" who made a spectacular reveal of her furry appearance after roaming the stage covered in her trademark red cloak.

Ah, but could the Wolf Girl, or Anton the Giant or the troupe of acrobatic dwarves compare to the Lizard Wizard? Gold grinned, adding the last few touches to his makeup. He didn't need to do much except accentuate his skin condition with a bit of green paint and some gold flecks, giving him a truly reptilian appearance. His skin deformity provided most of the effect, though.

The kingdom was under pressure. Queen Cora spent many an hour mulling over affairs of the state. Crops had suffered this year. Peasant morale didn’t look any better. The major concern, however, lay in the relationship with other dominions. King George was seeking opportunity to extend his realm; King Midas, thanks to his peculiar gift, had diplomats falling on their knees before him. And King Leopold—well, he wasn’t a threat, unless his popularity among the people should be considered a threatening trait.

There was another trait the kings did share, and Cora was seeking to take advantage of it. They were all widowers.

They also all had children. But that was no great obstacle. Not if she dealt her cards right. As this was a delicate matter, she did not share her thoughts on the subject with her husband. King Henry was king more in name than action. He preferred keeping their daughter company and being a sweet-hearted fool. In a way, Cora preferred that. It granted her more control. Yet it was important to have at least one like-minded individual to offer advice.

That’s where Rumplestiltskin came in. One particular morning she called him for a private meeting and revisited what they had discussed for many months now. “I am inclined to favor Leopold,” she explained, “if only because he will be least difficult to handle. But Midas—with that much wealth, we’d never have to worry about another kingdom overpowering us.”

The royal adviser was decked in a dragon leather coat and a fox’s smile. “Wealth is nice, I’ll grant you. But Midas is addicted to it. His courtiers are gluttonous and lazy. Besides, marriage will not guarantee Regina control of the wealth when he is the direct source.”

“She will if she can woo him,” Cora pointed out.

Rumple shrugged. “If he’s a fool.”

The queen glared. “I trust that’s not a reflection on my daughter’s charms.”

“Not at all. But she’s not exactly the . . . wooing type. If you’ll forgive me.”

Her stern expression unraveled into resigned frustration. He was right. Regina was soft, spoiled, tender like her useless father. “I have not even broached the subject with her. I should have done so sooner.”

They would have to, now. Today a royal decree was going out that a ball would be held in a month’s time to honor the kingdom’s anniversary, and all distinguished persons were invited. That included George, Leopold and Midas, among other potential suitors.

“Leave it to me, your majesty,” Rumple said. “I have a way of spinning unpleasant things into something more appealing.”

Trying to Forget || mybravedarlingbelle

Regina’s account seemed to be the end of it. What else was there to say, or do? It was too painful to dwell on. Rumple sat at his wheel as he did every day, now with one more thing to forget. If only the chipped cup he’d placed on the pedestal would let him. His actions enjoyed contradicting themselves.

Today his glances at the cup and his spinning were interrupted—not by shepherds or vengeful princesses, but a dove knocking at one of the great hall’s windows. Rumple turned to it, furrowed his brows, and got up to let it in. The dove had a small scroll lashed to its ankle. Another deal request, he guessed, though he had not foreseen any. He freed the paper and read it. The message was short. Upon the last word his fingers numbed, and the little paper fell to the floor.

Belle. She was alive. And Regina had her.

He dearly wanted to go right to the queen and strangle her until she let Belle free. If he faced her now, though, he might not have the restraint to not kill. That couldn’t happen. Instead he made the journey to the Dark Palace with a thought and some magic. He needed to find the person who sent the letter.

Rumple searched the castle unseen. Sure enough, he located the man emerging from Regina’s bedchambers, looking empty-eyed. He waited until the man was far enough from the room to suddenly appear before him.

“You’re the Huntsman, I take it.” Rumplestiltskin’s mouth was stuck between an open smile and a grimace.