Awakening to Dream

By: Jecir

Chapter One: A Moment Lost

Belle was running. That was her single motivation: run. Run. Run. Keep running! Do not stop!

She could hear the wolves giving chase, led by the Queen's Huntsman. She had known he would be the one to chase her.

But, she kept running. She kept forcing one bare foot in front of the other. She had to keep going. She had to! She would not go back. She would never go back!

Her breath puffed out in heated clouds against the cold air; the icy bursts burned in her lungs. Her toes stung with each step across the unfeeling earth. Tears froze on her pale cheeks. And one name passed her lips; her desperate prayer.

"Rumplestiltskin."

Her master. Her beast. Her love. She needed to keep running. She needed to find him.

Branches struck her face, leaving red welts and trails of blood in their wake. A sharp branch broke beneath her feet, cutting deep the delicate, frigid skin. Pain spiked through her body. Still, she ran; still she prayed. "Rumplestiltskin!"

She could see him in her mind—so fresh, so real. Every moment she had spent with him had been like a dream; a dream that had kept her warm in the bowels of the Queen's Castle. Belle had been coming back. She had been returning to their home. She had known even as she had left that he would regret his decision, thus, she had resolved to let him feel the consequences—let the return of loneliness break his pride—but only for a moment. Then, she would return. She had never intended to obey his final order to "Go!" She had promised him forever, and forever, she would give.

But then…the Queen. Hot anger pierced through the cold desperation of her soul, adding energy to her flight.

That treacherous old harpy had tricked her; had used her to hurt him. Belle had had plenty of time to think, to remember, and to understand that moment. That beautiful moment when hope and fear collided; when she had felt his lips—rough, cold, yielding—over hers and believed, for one moment, that they had won. But she had been so naïve. He had not been ready. What she had once thought was acceptance in his eyes in those final moments she now understood as fear. Her own words mocked her through time. "…you've never loved anyone…and no one has ever loved you." How could she have believed that, after so little time, his damaged and weary soul would be ready to love. She cursed herself, cursed her childishness, and begged her bleeding feet to move faster.

The Queen had intercepted her on the road, had laughed at her failure, and then had done the worst possible thing: she had trapped Belle in a new dungeon—one that was void of sunlight or promise and contained only a single mirror. That mirror had been the source of the Queen's wrath. It showed Belle her Beast. She watched, trapped, as he spun in silence and solitude. She ached at the hollow pain in his eyes. And, when the Queen twisted the truth of her fate and drove the cold lies deep into his broken heart, she had screamed; she had screamed, she had begged, she had cursed, and she had prayed to whomever would listen that he would see through the woman's sinister words to the truth. She was alive. She was alive! And she needed him to save her.

But, her heart and his died as he cast the Queen from his presence.

Then, even as soulful death forced her to her knees, hope blossomed strong in her chest. For, once the Queen was gone, he had reached for their cup. A trinket; a chipped china cup he had once dismissed as "Just a cup;" he now placed it in a place of honor amongst his collection. And he cried. He called her name as he sank to the floor, unable to bear the weight of his pain.

And Belle had cried with him, forced to watch and never save. Watch as he buried the pain; watch as he lost himself in deal after deal after deal, never once stopping least he be forced to feel; watch as the Princess known as Cinderella tricked and captured him. Her final image of his face was one of satisfied vengeance lined with insane glee. The price had been paid. Then, the mirror went black and all was silence.

That was when Belle decided. She would save him. Someway, somehow, she would get out. She would find him. And she would save him. If he wished to keep his powers, so be it. If he never gave into his love for her, so be it. As long as she could stay with him and offer some semblance of protection from the pain in his eyes, she would do it. She loved him. And she would save him. She just needed to bide her time.

Now, here she was, running for her life and his salvation. She did not know how much time had passed. She did not care. She had broken free. The guards of the palace had gotten sloppy. Something had distracted them. They never saw her slip away through the neglected door.

But the Huntsman had. And he was closing in.

Then, it happened.

The world around her shook beneath the force of a great evil. It struck Belle's heart even before the dark clouds consumed her view. A numbing pressure pounded her soul, demanding entry and punishing her resistance. She grasped her head and screamed, "No!" She would not give in; she would not let evil win again.

All around her, the world shifted and changed. Cold forest floor hardened into unfeeling stone (concrete, a sudden knowledge whispered in her struggling mind). Trees disappeared into buildings; twilight blossomed into cloudy day; and cool autumn burned into humid spring. And through it all, she continued to run.

Her tatter dress had melted away into unfamiliar clothes. Her bare feet were covered by strange shoes. Her hair was bound behind her head.

And she kept running.

All around her, people she knew but did not know stood in dazed silence, starring out into the nothingness. They had given into the numbness. They were lost.

The dark magic caressed her panicked mind, whispering promises of rest in its numbing embrace.

No! she screamed. No! I won't give in!

The dark magic roared violently and slammed into her resolve; a tidal wave of evil. Tears of pain and anguish blurred her vision. She released her head, pumped her arms, and screamed the one name she refused to relinquish. "Rumplestiltskin!"

The darkness jerked as if burned.

And her vision cleared for just a moment. One moment. There was so much magic in one moment. For, in that moment, through the darkness and confusion and chaos, she looked up and saw him.

Gone was the leather; gone were the curls; and gone was the look of the demon, but she would know him anywhere. He was not looking into space. He was not struck by silence.

No, he was looking at her.

And the darkness saw him. It roared again, as if in desperation, and lunged for her soul.

Belle closed her eyes; it hurt so much!; and made a desperate leap for his arms.

She collided with his lithe form; heat immediately bled through; and the tears burst forth as she clung to him, sobbing, "I'm sorry!" She wrapped her arms around him, terrified and desperate. The darkness was coming for her. It would steal her away. It would make her forget! She didn't want to forget! She didn't want to forget the day she first met him; the feeling of his hand on her back; the rush of magic as he whisked her away; the days spent watching him spin; the quips; the laughter; the love with all its agonies. She never wanted to forget! "Please!" she begged. "Please, I don't want to forget! Don't let it take me! I'm sorry! I won't kiss you again! I won't do anything, just please, please take me back!"

The darkness was upon her.

She gripped him tighter.

And the world plunged into a numbing haze. The darkness found the cracks of her resolve and began to seep in, began to wrap around her memories and steal them away. It told her she was not a princess; she was, instead, a prisoner of her mind, locked in madness and fear to be shunned by society forever.

No! she begged.

"Belle!" That word—her name—cut through the darkness. It parted against its will for a mere second, granting her a look at his face. He was desperate; he was strong; he was holding her head in his hands and demanding her to focus. "Belle, say my name!"

His name? Images of a lonely monster spinning straw filtered through her mind. The darkness snatched it away.

"My name!" he demanded again, releasing her head to grab her left hand.

His name was...was…She blinked, focused on his angled cheeks and pointed nose. "Rumple…stiltskin."

"Again," he said. He was reaching for something behind him. They were no longer outside. They were inside. When had they come inside?

"Rumplestiltskin!" she sobbed.

"Again! Don't stop, no matter what, do not stop saying my name!" He pressed something cold and sharp against the palm of her hand.

"Rumplestiltskin!"

He sliced the object across her skin. She gasped; fire surged up her arm to collide with the darkness. "Rumplestiltskin." This time, it was a whimper as the battle of magic warred in her mind.

"Belle," he said like a prayer. He took her bleeding hand and gripped it tight in his. Blood squished between their joined hands and flowed down her arm. "Belle, Belle, my Belle."

She felt weak. The battle was overwhelming. The darkness was closing in; it was swallowing the heat. She tried to focus. She tried to speak his name. "Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestilt…Rumple…" No…no, that's wrong. "Rum…Mister…"

Pain jolted her hand; he had tightened his grip. "No! Belle, focus! Belle!"

It hurt so badly. Why was she fighting? Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed up at him, like a fever dream, and smiled. "Mister Gold?"

Despair twisted his face as her eyes slid closed once more. The darkness was closing in; its laughter sounding so familiar…like an evil witch from a story. It was cruel and unfeeling and…and driving her insane. Yes…yes, maybe I'm insane…

"Belle!"

Golden light cut through the victorious darkness, surging forth from the white hot pressure crushing her lips. The darkness reeled back. It roared in hate. And then, it came crashing down upon her…

…and all went silent.