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The Chronicles of the Dark One: Heart of the Beast

Chapter 7: Muscle Memory

He couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd ever been more sore than he was now; when every muscle in his body ached at the slightest movement, feeling hard and taut and yet jelly-like all at once. There was a faint memory in the back of his head of a time long since passed, when he first enlisted in the army and had gone to training camp…that might have come close. Back then they'd run him and his fellow soldiers every day, spent hours on the training field with swords and bows, they'd carried weights, worked with cannons, and his body had ached, but not like this. Training came with breaks, pep talks, and explanations to educate. Training came with an understanding from Captains that men needed time to breathe and absorb what they were learning in order to make them more effective soldiers. And they'd been sent home at the end of each night of camp to their wives to massage those tender aching muscles and their soft feather and corn husk beds that allowed for a deep, comfortable sleep. Small mercies allowed them to feel at least semi-normal as their muscles healed from the day's trauma.

Merida's version of a Hero's Training Camp was anything but merciful.

The girl was unrelenting. He could always admit that he'd had an attraction to strong women, but now he knew there were boundaries, lines that could be crossed. Merida wasn't a strong woman in the way Belle, Margery, Cora, or even Regina were strong women. She was strong in a driven, powerful sort of way that told him, if he'd been the Dark One, she easily would have succumbed to making a deal with him out of desperation and sheer stupidity.

Merida didn't want him to be a hero; she couldn't care one way or another which way his life would have taken. No, what Merida needed was a hero. Any hero. Any person willing and capable of standing up to Emma so that she could get her heart back and free her three brothers. He'd gotten that much of a story out of her. She wasn't one to initiate conversation, but once she started, she rambled on until she'd poured out everything she knew on the topic. And as they'd fought, when he'd asked her more about why she needed this, what was driving her outside of Emma's commands, she'd told him that she didn't understand where she was or how she'd gotten here, she didn't even really know how Emma had gotten her heart. Her last memory was being in Camelot on a quest for whisps after her brothers, the princes of her kingdom, had been captured by rival clans. What she needed was for this business she was caught up in to be done so that she could get back to her kingdom, find her brothers, and take her throne so she could put a stop to the warring, and for that, the only tool she'd been given was him.

He certainly wasn't her first choice of "hero," but she'd observed that Emma was allowing him to get close to her, so whether he pulled Excalibur from the stone or got close enough to kill Emma himself, she didn't care; she just needed this to be over. And so, she worked him. Hard.

There were many different definitions of what a hero was or who they could be. For Merlin and his Authors, heroes were morally good individuals aligned with Light Magic. For him, a hero was someone who did the right thing no matter the cost, even if it meant doing some bad things along the way. Given her strategy, he assumed that, if asked, Merida would think a hero was someone brave, someone strong, capable of fighting off evil and cutting it down violently. As far as he was concerned, as far as he knew, people like that had been trying to pull Excalibur from the stone ever since Merlin had put it there. They had yet to have any luck, which, of course, meant this was all useless. But she didn't understand that. Or didn't believe it. Or wouldn't.

And so on into the night she worked him, until his feet and hands were blistered, until his legs were shaking from defending off attack after attack at her sword, until his clothes were covered in sweat and his hair was damp. His chest ached as it hadn't in a good long time, not his heart, just his muscles, from the effort of raising a sword with one arm and keeping himself upright with the other. His mid-section burned from keeping the rest of him standing up strong and solid. His thighs stung from the effort of old movements he'd thought he'd forgotten, but his body hadn't. But his ankle…that was what he thought might kill him. The pain of too much weight had him tripping more and more as the night wore on.

He had no idea what time it was. And frankly, he had no idea when it was. When he'd fallen asleep, it had been mid-July; now…he hadn't a clue. All he knew was that he'd been asleep for a considerable time, but he had yet to see a calendar, so he had no idea what month it was in Storybrooke. There was a chill in the night which wasn't unusual. Maine had mild temperatures even in the summer and often had cooler nights, but it didn't feel like summer anymore. It felt like fall was coming on. There was a dryness to the leaves as the wind rustled them, making him feel it wouldn't be long before temperatures dipped to freezing. How long were they going to be out here like this? How long would this go on?

He'd only just begun considering that question as Merida fought on when a cloud of magic had appeared that had them both pausing in their fight, both fearful of Emma. But to his shock, it wasn't Emma. The magic certainly had been Emma's, but it wasn't her that appeared. It was camping gear. A bare minimum for camping. A couple of shelters, some chairs, lanterns, matches, blankets.

Merida had wanted to go on, to ignore it and keep working, but he'd convinced her that rest was the better course, especially given that they had a camp to make up. She allowed it, but only after proclaiming, "First light, we are up and working at it again! You've come a long way, Rumpelstiltskin, but there is still much more to accomplish."

If only she knew there wasn't enough time to make him the hero she wanted him to be.

The pair of them made camp that night. Merida started a fire and left him to prepare some camping rations she didn't understand Emma had sent their way while she got the shelters up and the blankets laid out. The food was…fine, he supposed. And Merida too, as she took one taste then reminded herself, "Food is food." He was more interested in the water that Emma had left, gulping it down so greedily he knew that his body would use it rather than piss it out.

"You know," he tried to reason with her as they ate. "There is a way out of here, a place we could go together where it won't matter if Emma has your heart or not."

"More magic?" she questioned suspiciously.

"No, no, that's just it. This place is the opposite. It's a land without magic."

Merida looked at him as if he'd grown another head. He'd expected that, if he was honest. This wasn't the first time a stranger from their land had appeared in Storybrooke, and he was beginning to think it likely wouldn't be the last. But he had to start somewhere with her. Fighting with his body was not his strong suit, but words...words were his specialty.

"Look, beyond this town, beyond Storybrooke, is an entire world. In our land we call it the Land Without Magic. And if we run, if we can get across the town line, you'll be free from Emma's grasp and-"

"Become a tree."

"What? No!" he exclaimed. "Where did you get an idea like that?"

"A dwarf! Before Emma kidnapped me, everyone was going on about a dwarf who went over a town line and became a tree. There's a curse of some kind the Dark One has put on that line."

That…that wasn't possible. It was the Land Without Magic; ergo, magic shouldn't work beyond the town line!

Unless Emma had somehow figured out how to extend the border. Even if she did, he was almost certain she hadn't done it for the whole realm; that would take a massive amount of magic, and she seemed pretty intent on carrying out her plan here. She wouldn't put magic out there in the world unless she intended to use it out there.

Either way, he was certain whatever curse was there would not be one that extended the entire world, and if they stopped at his shop first, retrieved Belle, he was positive that he'd have something that could help them work around that.

"I have the solution," he tempted. This was a deal. He'd made deals all his life; he just had to do it again here, now, with her. "In my shop there is anti-transformation powder, it's very simple to take, very effective, and should ward against anything Emma has waiting over that line. If you let me go, we can both make a run for it and get over the town line. From there, we can figure out how to get you back to your brothers. We can-"

"No more talk!" Merida shouted, suddenly tossing her food into the fire. He was sickened at the way the flames grew around it so quickly. "You are a tempter and a coward, and I'll not let you make a fool out of me!"

That night Merida bound his hands and feet and took the walking stick he'd been using before retreating to her own shelter. She slept with a bow in one hand and his cane in the other. And it was tempting, so very, very tempting, to attempt an escape. But his body was feeling the effects of the work he'd put in. And Merida, with senses sharp as a tack, sleeping lightly only feet away…he wouldn't get away. Or at least not very far before she put an arrow in him. It was an inopportune time to escape. And so, against his better judgment, he huddled himself down on the cooling, hard ground and slept…until Merida woke him again at dawn, as promised, to work him some more.

"Breakfast later," she promised. "Fight first."

Sleeping on the forest floor had done very little for his aches and pains. Everything hurt, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. But with little choice, he rose when she cut his bindings away, observed that her shelter had already been torn down, and prepared to fight.

"Think I'll need this today?" she questioned as he brushed himself off, letting the teacup hang from her pinky once more. He no longer felt a panic in his belly when he saw her do it. She'd teased him with it all day yesterday, but not once had she ever dropped it. So instead, he shrugged, doing his best to appear unmoved and uncaring, before he said: "Let's just get to work."

"That's more like it!" she proclaimed, leaving the cup on the small chair by his camp.

And then they were back at it. More fighting, more swordplay, more working, more effort, more pain. There was agony in every step, every move he made, but he pushed back every bit as hard as she did. He had no choice. And while he waited for the perfect moment to come, he saw no harm in making himself a little bit stronger.

There was hardly light in the sky when they'd begun, by the time the next magical care package arrived, the birds were out and the sun was high in the sky. And Merida…Merida was so excited she was giddy.

As she moved to the campsite, she had a smile on her face. She practically pranced around him, reliving their morning sparring, highlighting her favorite moments like they were two pals out having fun rather than captives of the Dark One. Gone was the anger that she'd exhibited last night when he'd brought up the idea of making a run for it. Now, she was too wound up to care.

Emma had left them a bucket of chicken and some coffee. An odd combination but just fine for a quick bite and a bit of a pickup after a night on the ground. Judging by the sun's height in the sky, he'd say it had to be closer to noon than morning anyway.

Merida was equally as thrilled with their lunch as she was their dinner the night before. But she moved through it, once more repeating to herself "food is food" and devouring three pieces before he'd even finished one. It was only then that he realized she was quiet. Too quiet.

"I think a respite is called for," she determined, rising from her seat and picking up her bow. "And some hunting. I need some real food, not whatever you people call food in this strange kingdom."

Lies.

His prison guard was a good soldier, an immensely talented fighter, but a liar she was not. By his count, it had been about a day since Emma had forced her to bring him out here. It was time for a check-in. Whether that was something Emma was commanding or something Merida was eager to give in the hope that his work was good enough, he couldn't be sure, but he saw through the lie easily enough. Still, he let her think that he believed what she told him. He let her bind his hands and feet once more as she took his walking stick. That was the only time he challenged her.

"Won't that be cumbersome when hunting?"

"I'll leave it somewhere when I've made it far enough out. The point is to keep it from you, keep you from running, not use it m'self!"

Those words gave him hope. She thought it was truly that simple. Without a walking stick, she figured he'd be stuck. All this time he'd thought she was only taking the walking stick for good measure after binding his hands, but according to that logic, it was more like binding his hands and feet was only for good measure after taking his stick. And that was good. Because it meant that, either way, she trusted he wasn't going anywhere.

He counted to one thousand after she left. He counted to one thousand slowly and refused to let himself lie down on the blanket to relax as he did it. He couldn't risk falling asleep. Instead, he eyed several sharp-looking stones in his area, picking which ones he wanted to use first. If Merida had gone to get Emma, then he imagined he might have a decent head start before they arrived, but only if he acted quickly. This part of the Storybrooke woods was hilly but flat, with no rock formations. Whatever cavern Emma had taken up residence in would be a distance for Merida to travel. Of course, there was always the risk that she was summoning her, but why do it in private? Why not just do it at the campsite itself? No, she was going to her, wherever that was. He was willing to bet he had time, but not enough to be lazy.

The second he reached one thousand, he grabbed the first stone he'd chosen, located the sharp edge, and began to saw through the ropes at his hands. It broke only a few strokes in. He'd expected that, which was why he'd identified three other stones that would do the job, two of which he got multiple uses out of even as they snapped. One after another, they sawed and ripped through the rope's fibers, but it wasn't enough. One after another, they snapped in two, becoming unusable.

He fought the urge to growl out his frustrations and instead looked around for something else to use. Getting angry wasn't going to help him. Being smart would! The stone was sharp enough, but he needed something stronger, even sharper. He needed a knife, metal, hell, a shard of glass would work or…

His eyes landed on the teacup Merida had left resting on the edge of the camping stool. Porcelain. A unique material. While thin and delicate, it could be quite sharp and strong when broken down into smaller pieces, but to break it…

His heart twisted at the thought. Belle loved her little chipped teacup. He might not have been around her enough to know it lately, but the fact that it still existed and Merida had been so quick to find it suggested she still kept that cup close to her heart. A heart that he had already broken.

He wanted nothing more than to fix that heart. The memories he had of that night at the town line haunted him; whether he was human, a Dark One, or in a coma, the echo her heartache had left on his soul was unforgettable, a scar he'd carry with him for however long he lived. All he'd wanted since he felt her grief was to heal it. Shattering a treasured object didn't exactly seem like the way to go about doing that.

But if he didn't do it, if this was the only tool available to him and he didn't take the opportunity it presented, what would come of them then? He didn't know. His foresight was gone. And given who his captor was and what she wanted, given that she'd wanted this of him for centuries before Emma Swan was born, he didn't want to know what the future would look like if he stayed.

Emma wanted him to pull the sword from the stone and be a hero. Merida expected him to be a hero by getting her heart back for her so she could get home. Belle always wanted him to act heroically, but he…he just wanted Belle. And if he could fix things between them, now that he was no longer the Dark One, wasn't that a chance worth taking? Wouldn't shattering their beloved cup, in this case, be an act of bravery all on its own? Could it lead to a future where the two of them might sit in their home one day laughing at how scared he was to break a teacup, to trade that for all they did have?

All magic came with a cost, including magic of the heart. It was a cost he was willing to pay. Feeling suddenly determined, he shuffled over to where Merida had left the tiny cup and grabbed it. He acknowledged that it would be easiest to just take it, throw it to the ground, shatter it without a thought, and get it over with. But the second the porcelain was in his hands, he hesitated. If being out here had taught him anything, it was that muscle memory was a wonder, in so many ways. And this was one of them. After regarding the cup so tenderly for decades, it was impossible to be rough with it, impossible not to feel something when he picked it up. For years, it had been all that he'd had of her: a chipped cup and a memory that dwelt in the empty space she'd left in his heart. He looked it over now, turned it to see the chip she'd once made in it when she'd been so nervous and confused, eager to please, but never scared. Not his Belle. Shocked and put off, but never frightened of him. Though, perhaps, if her words while he'd been in the coma meant anything, she had been frightened for him. He didn't want that. He didn't want her to be scared for him, not ever. And he could only imagine that now, going missing from under her nose after however long he'd been asleep, and staying missing while Emma tormented the town, couldn't bring her much peace.

But he could. He knew he could because he always had. The man inside him had always brought her peace, and therefore he could again. He just needed to do what had to be done.

"Forgive me, Belle," he whispered before placing a sentimental kiss against its cool pattern. Then, without letting himself think about it further, he threw it down into the stones and let it shatter.

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