WARNING: This is a DARK fic. This will have cussing, beatings, rough sex (though consensual) and the characters will not be canon. Belle, though I believe to be inherently good will not be meek, mild or anti-magic. She will not be altruistic, all forgiving or gentle. She will kick ass and be rather bloody cold about it. The Dark One will also be damn Dark. This is a story about revenge and retribution. However, this is still a story about good triumphing over evil and happy endings... Yeah, I know it doesn't make a lot of sense at the moment. My way of getting there isn't quite so whitewashed and pretty. Characters will die (not Belle or Rumplestiltskin though!) and not everyone will be invited to the party. This is a story about a war and burning the kingdom down. It'll be darkly romantic in places and probably corny in others. I do not apologize for this. You've been warned.
The Set Up: This more or less starts in the ending bits of Skin Deep, though I make big sprawling turns and changes. It does spoil bits of most all the episodes up to and including the recent episode Into the Deep. Though it won't be apparent til later in the story and I only mention so anyone not wanting to be spoiled won't venture further though truthfully, my story is so wildly different and the possible mentions so vague it won't really matter... But better safe than sorry since everything weaves together so awesomely in this show!
DISCLAIMER: OUaT characters are not mine. I'm playing and loving it. Florence + the Machine lyrics are used throughout this story and there will probably be others, they do not belong to me either (I'll have additional disclaimers when it's other than F+tM). I'm not making a bloody red cent so no getting sue happy, k?
Last Notes: There is a link in my profile to my pen-name Pinterest account, there you will find boards containing deviantart that in no small part inspired this story. Also, there will be music links, outfits and other crap that inspires this and my other stories. Visiting it is not at all required to enjoy the story, but if you're interested, it's there. Happy reading!
Burn the Kingdom Down
Chapter 1:
The Bastard & The Bitch
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
It took the Dark One a mere flick of the wrist and the wards keeping the small village safe from harm disintegrated in a wisp of purple smoke. Let the village fall, he thought ruefully as he snapped his fingers, dragon skin coat encasing his body as he did. He wasn't playing any more. There wasn't anything that would be stopping the Imp tonight. Damn his plans, damn the bloody fucking curse. He wasn't going to keep his horror or his hatred chained. If the Bitch enacted the curse, or if she didn't, he was done. He was done keeping his careful planning.
The bastard killed her.
He tortured her.
He let his daughter be the price and condemned her for it.
The man would feel the flesh peel from his body as the Dark One filled the wounds with acid and a liquid fire that would burn the marrow from the inside out.
Sir Maurice would die a painful, agonizing death.
If Rumplestiltskin even let the man die at all, that is.
Oh, the man had no idea what he had done. You could only push someone like the beast Rumplestiltskin so far before he snapped. Killing his True Love was that last straw, the last thing that was keeping the scales from tipping irrevocably and sending the monster into a darkness he couldn't climb from.
Or having any desire to climb from.
Rumplestiltskin might have shown restraint when he had the faint glimmer of hope of getting to Bae, of using the Bitch to work his master plan, but that all seemed to have burned red and disappeared into ashes when this bridge was crossed. He was done with prudence, with losing everything that ever meant a thing to him.
His free will as he was forced to fight in a war he wanted no part of.
His body's wholeness, a reward for his cowardice.
Milah. He had loved the whore, if in the end only for Bae.
His humanity.
Bae.
Belle.
Gods, he lost Belle.
The grief gripped him anew and fanned the flames of his anger again.
He hated the Bitch for manipulating Belle, for tricking both of them. She drove him to send Belle away. It was her fault that he threw out the girl, the girl that had no choice then but to return, disgraced, to her father's house.
Oh, but Maurice the Bastard had had a choice. Rumplestiltskin was evil, he was the Dark One it was expected that he do cruel things, but the Bastard was the girl's father! He was the keeper of his town and it was his duty to protect not only his fucking daughter but his town, of which she was one! But did the Bastard? No. He imprisoned her and tortured her, beat her, starved her... It didn't take Rumplestiltskin much to bring to mind what Belle must have went though, he was after all the Dark One, he knew all about how to take a person to the very cusp of what their body and mind could take, then push them a bit further down. Maurice the Coward pushed his daughter too far, so far that she threw herself from a window in the tower where he had kept her. Death she preferred to beatings. Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes and clenched his fists, tasting blood as his sharp pointed teeth pierced his tongue.
The Bastard and The Bitch would burn for this.
He contemplated simply magicking himself to the castle doors but something in him decided against it. His body, this ever changing, nearly foreign body was aching to stretch. The Dark One didn't really need to put forth a physical effort to do harm to anyone but sometimes his coiled spring, primed body itched for it. His palms would twitch for the cool balanced metal of a sword, his feet would dance in anticipation of a bloody sword ballet. Sometimes Rumplestiltskin would crave the taste of blood.
Today was one of those days. He brought forth his sword, Andúril, securing it neatly to his side. The weight of it felt good and solid it's scabbard that was traced with faint flowers; the swords most sacred name and it's famous lineage. The sword had been the prize of one his more arduous deals and the single-handed weapon was lithe and sure, balanced and all but glowed with subtle magic. This was a sword from Middle Earth.
The great King who had held it before had seen his time long past. The King's wife no longer able see her True Love's shadow in their descendants was dying of a broken heart. She called upon Rumplestiltskin. Her daughter-in-law was barren, she could not join her husband in the Beyond without seeing her only son granted an heir. So she traded the Flame of the West to the Imp in exchange for a grandchild and peace as she joined her True Love in death. Oh it had been a challenging deal and the Dark One thought of it every time he donned the blade, but the sword of Elendil was a coveted and worthy prize.
There was nothing left to keep him there, it was time to finish whatever the Ogres would leave behind.
His gait was swift, he nearly skipped feeling a dark sort of mirth bubbling up around him as he threw open the tall iron gates guarding the Dark Castle grounds. It was nearing late afternoon but any of the autumn sun was obscured by heavy, dense fog. As he crossed the threshold of the gates he heard an anguished cry.
"Rumplestiltskin!"
The voice paralyzed him. His knees nearly gave way, like lightning Andúril was in his hand and he blew out a small but mighty breath that cleared the surrounding fog with a gust of purple wind.
Before either the voice or Rumplestiltskin truly realized what was happening, he was holding down a small body with the tip of the razor sharp sword a hairsbreadth away from a pale ivory throat.
"Belle..." Rumplestiltskin's chest heaved with effort as he stared into the eyes of a ghost.
Her blue dress, the dress she had been wearing when he had thrown her out over two months ago was but rags, the hem torn jagged and filthy in places as high as her thigh. The white sleeves of the bodice were torn and hanging on by worn threads. The corset lacings along the front had been shorn then haphazardly knotted back closed. Still her breasts were nearly tumbling from the torn dress. Her skin was pale, translucent ivory, well the small bit of skin that wasn't either blotched red, purple or fading blue and green with bruises and cuts...or filthy brown from dirt and mud.
She stared at him with dark, stormy blue eyes, eyes that were still framed with lashes still sooty brown but home in sockets sunken and bruised. Her usually lush mouth was grim and her lips were cracked, dry, and chapped and opened in a startled O. Her once ravishing russet hair was tangled, hanging in nasty gnarled knots oily and dirty about her shoulders.
She wore no shoes and her feet were bloody. Her hands were outstretched on either side of her as she lay on her back. Her nails were torn to the quick, the nails that hadn't been ripped from their beds, he noted.
If the Dark One hadn't spent years schooling and training even his most automatic and instinctual reactions he just may have vomited right then and there. He knew he couldn't possibly see the full extent of her injuries but what he saw was enough.
If it wasn't that he still saw that fleck of True Love buried deep and unrelenting in those dimmed but shock bright eyes he would have doubted it was her. Would have been sure it was a play by the Bitch, but he saw it and he knew.
The roar that ripped from Rumplestiltskin's chest was inhuman, like the cry of a wounded great beast. It shook the trees and echoed off the stone, stark mountains like thunder. It shook the very ground. With a ferocious lunge Rumplestiltskin sent Andúril into the packed dirt beside Belle, he then was scooping her into his arms and with a thought they were inside the Dark Castle once again.
Holy water cannot help you now
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out
I'm gonna raise the stakes, I'm gonna smoke you out
She doesn't speak, if it wasn't that he had heard her call his name he might have wondered if they had cut out her tongue. He hesitates to let her go, but he does and lays her on the massive table where he for a moment thinks about the first time she brought him tea. His eyes dart unbidden to the chipped cup on the pedestal then back to the apparition he has just laid spread out like a supplication.
She's obviously dazed, obviously in mental and physical shock. How was she alive? How did she get here? Why hadn't she called out to him sooner?
His hands traveled over her, sensing the magic that caused most the wounds. It was indeed magic, not physical action that had caused most of the grievous wounds. He knew the magic. Magic left fingerprints you know, traceable and as unique as snowflakes. This was the work of the Bitch.
Rumplestiltskin bit back another terrifying shout as he mended and repaired the damage. It was something of a miracle, if Rumplestiltskin believed in those, that she hadn't of died before reaching his gate. No human remedy would have mended the dark magic and no other magician could have countered the work of the Bitch, well there was one...but that wasn't even in the realm of possibility. No, the only being that could save Belle was the most power of them all, he, the Dark One.
He finished the physical mending of the wounds plainly visible knowing that nothing, save a curse of eternal haze, would rid her of the mental abuse she had surely suffered along with the beatings. She had still yet to speak, her eyes remained opened and dazed, unfixed on any point, yet she was attuned to his movements as they did seem to somewhat follow him.
Though he could with a little more than flick of a finger remove her clothes and clean her body he didn't. Instead he summoned a bucket of hot water, a pad of gentle scentless soap and rags of the softest material he could conjure.
With a needle sharp dagger he slit what little left there was of her dress and peeled it away til she only lay in her dirty, dingy chemise. He would have liked to remove that too, as it was hardly a barrier now as it was, but he refrained. Maybe there was something still of the gentle man in him yet.
A shrill, small high pitched giggle escaped sardonically at the thought.
Removing the clothes he found more bruises. More cuts, more burns and more singes that could only be the result of magic insinuated into the marrow, like niggling maggots sent into the body to eat their way to the outside.
Oh the Bitch was going suffer. What of the Bastard? Did he play the part she had alleged? For the first time the Dark One begun to doubt. He had been played. The injuries upon Belle were indisputably the work of Regina, did that mean her entire story had been farce? Was some of it true? Any of it?
As Rumplestiltskin dipped invisible fingers into the flesh of the inert woman before him to scoop out the inching cursed midges he reconstructed the wards around Belle's little town. It wouldn't do to go back on a deal without cause, he still had his reputation after all. There would be time, if needed, to tear it all down again.
He rung the soapy, hot cloth out and began to wash her, starting with her brow. The Imp had been alone quite a long time, he hadn't even tried to pretend he knew what being around another person meant – until he had brought her home.
He rinsed the cloth and tried not to stare into her fathomless eyes as he cleaned away the mire, rubbed away the stains. She was so thin. How had she dwindled so much so fast? He could restore blood to lesh, he could regrow nails and he could set bones but magic couldn't immediately give back healthy weight, couldn't restore lost sleep to take away the dark sleepless bruises under her eyes.
He clenched his hands choking again on hatred for the Bitch, she wouldn't be allowed another painless breath. No, he would make sure she suffered for eternity for that which she had done. No one screwed with the Dark One, or that which belonged to him. The pain of seven hells would be befalling her, and soon.
Slowly, methodically Rumplestiltskin restored to rights the body of Belle and he reclothed her in a sleeping gown of flannel. It would be soft against her skin, it would not chafe of trouble her. He wished it would hide from him her curves a little better though. It covered modestly her body practically tip to toe but it didn't erase the curves, even if the abuse had sharpened them to unhealthy angles. Rumplestiltskin was stoic and unattached as he tended her, but after the deeds had been finished he still couldn't deny the pull of her.
Whatever they were, whatever had passed, whatever still remained, perhaps more importantly still, that which they had lost would be addressed later on. Those wounds he had caused personally weren't erased but he would mend them soon enough.
He had learned a lot in the weeks she had been gone. He was in love with her. He hadn't needed True Love's kiss to tell him that. It had been part of why he had freed her, it was right to let that which you loved go, if you had to capture it to keep it, it was never really yours, but it was also that he knew love was a weakness. The Dark One could have no weakness so he released her, even if he had been overjoyed that she had come back. He wanted to keep her.
Of course the Bitch had stripped him of that too, when Belle came in all aglow and kissed him. Belle breaking the curse he had no desire to break... The seeping hatred for the Bitch that robbed him of being able to keep the one thing in his life that was bright.
He grieved that loss anew now, he wasn't sure that he could return those feelings even as Belle had been returned to him. Some bridges, some things couldn't be rebuilt from ashes. He couldn't have his curse broken, not yet. He learned then that some things once lost were lost for good. The Bitch robbed him.
There were other things he had learned too, in the searing flames that had engulfed as the weight of gaining Belle and losing Belle fell on him. After the Bitch had told him the story, told him of how Belle had died he had been ready to exact retribution on the Bastard for what he had done on the innocence that was Belle but he had known too that he had escaped a precarious fate with her being dead. He had thrown her out because he had believed her a spy and hand of the Bitch sent to destroy him with his own foolish heart. He had told Belle, dishonestly of course, that he didn't love her, never had that she was nothing... but of course she was something, and of course she did mean everything. She'd always mean something to the shell and scraps of the man Rumplestiltskin, and that was precisely what made Belle alive so very dangerous.
Even exiled from him she could have been used against him, no matter how he might have tried to lie to her. If she had ever been in danger or captured he would have saved her, no matter the cost and that was dangerous. After sanity had returned to him in those few days after the Bitch told him of Belle's fate, and he plotted his revenge the rational, reasonable and diabolical part of Rumplestiltskin realized that actually his best scenario was Belle dying. Oh he hated himself for thinking that, loathed himself, but if he couldn't keep her she and he were safest if she wasn't alive. Gods why hadn't he seen it! She was the perfect pawn to the Bitch. No one could protect her but him. She couldn't be used against him nor he against her, when she was dead.
Throwing Belle out of the castle door had sealed her fate, had signed her death warrant! He handed the one thing that the Bitch could use to hurt him on a silver platter. He also might as well had beaten Belle himself, he had caused her fate. She had been beaten to prove something to him.
Bloody fucking hell.
He hadn't considered that True Love would, could, break the Dark Curse. Truthfully he hadn't even considered that she was his True Love and he had certainly never considered that he might be hers. Love and True Love were very different things, which the Bitch well knew, she had been lucky with Belle. Love was a very common thing, more common than he figured most realized. That wasn't to say simply because it was common it wasn't worth something, certainly not, even the Dark One knew – perhaps more hypothetically and abstractly than some – about love and it's importance, but he truly knew that most didn't and couldn't fathom the power and rarity of True Love.
It was, after all, the greatest and most powerful magic of all. The Bitch had been counting on that.
Another scream was threatening to rent Rumplestiltskin's body, he was one step from taking apart the castle brick by brick, if only to ease the overwhelming rage that boiled through him. He was a carefully reigned in man nearly all the time, time had taught him that lesson well, but when he was finally pushed over the precipice it was a raging inferno of hell that was unleashed. The Bitch had no idea what was coming.
Seven devils all around me!
Seven devils in my house!
See they were there when I woke up this morning
I'll be dead before the day is done
Seven devils all around you
Seven devils in your house
See I was dead when I woke up this morning
I'll be dead before the day is done
Before the day is done
Belle's eyes fell in sleep sometime in the late hours of the night, Rumplestiltskin had quit looking at the clock. He had not moved her from the table though he had added pillows and thick blankets all around, under and over her. He kept the fire roaring and at one point resorted to curling his body spoon fashion over the layers of blankets around her to stave off the chills of shock as they racked her body. People assumed he was cold blooded and chilled like the Crocodile some likened him to. Fact was nothing could be further from the truth. The magic running through his very veins meant he burned hotter. The sheen of his green-gold skin came from the reflecting heat in his body, he just simply never allowed anyone near enough to find out otherwise.
They slept until the sun streamed bright and relentless through the windows he had never bothered to recover. She actually stirred first, turning around to come face to face with the Dark One himself.
"Are you awake?" she tested her voice. It came out like a croak, raspy and creaking.
Rumplestiltskin's eyes opened slowly to meet hers, "Yes dearie, indeed I am."
He watched her bite her lip and nod.
"Um, is there a reason we're sleeping on the table?" she asked quietly.
Rumplestiltskin found it odd that of all the things to comment on she chose the table. He didn't really have a good reason for sleeping on the table, other than moving her seem out of the question and if he had chosen to move her the logical place would have been her old room and it would have been inappropriate in some profound way to sleep in her bed with her, even if it would have been chaste with so many layers and clothes and pillows between them.
No, he had no logical answer for why they were sleeping on the table so he simply twirled his hand in an absent gesture. He was the Dark One, he didn't need a reason, logical or otherwise.
Silence hung, he didn't know what to say and it was clear she didn't either. They were going to have to talk at some point and he, though somewhat still in a state of lethargy was quickly becoming alert. He figured he would think better away from her. There was so much to say, to discuss. Where to even begin?
Before he had the chance to extract himself from the trap of blankets she spoke.
"Regina...the Queen...she kidnapped me soon as I had crossed through your gates."
He said nothing.
"She imprisoned me in her castle...in her dungeon..."
Rumplestiltskin removed himself from the cocoon of the their table, seeking a chair near the fire, away from the temptation to touch her.
Belle rose to a sitting position, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders she continued, eyes going back distant, like they had last night Rumplestiltskin noticed with a shutter.
"She tortured me Rumplestiltskin...she wouldn't stop... I tried to call for you..."
Rumplestiltskin's knuckles went white as he gripped the arms of his chair.
Gods help the Bitch, no one else was going to. He was going to burn her fucking kingdom to the ground.
Notes: Okay, I just hate the first chapter of a story, always feel like I want to explain and ramble at you guys... I know our Rumple seems out of Dark One character here a bit...he's not going to be quite so...um whimsical as in the show, if you can really call him that. He's gonna cuss and he's going to emote a bit more lol... And I blame a lot of this on fact I'm writing from his POV a lot (though I think I wove out there a couple times...my bad). I am trying to keep the essence of these characters in tact...but taking them a bit darker, a bit more sinister. This isn't Disney/ABC friendly territory lol.
This story will not be updated daily...it will probably be weekly or bi-weekly, but as consolation I will try and make sure that the chapters are nice and long...generally longer than this one. I don't promise to stick to this, they could be more frequently...or more infrequent.
This story does not mean I'm abandoning Something Wicked This Way Comes. This story, like Our Tale, Is a Tale Old as Time is simply another outlet. I have my Storybrooke AU story; my mostly canon gooey romantic Storybrooke story; and now with Burn the Kingdom Down a dark AU Enchanted Forest M rated story... I need all three too keep me balanced lol.
Oh! Did y'all follow the LotR references there regarding where Rumple got Andúril? It's okay if ya didn't, it holds no pertinence to the story, I just like like Rumple as a badass sword fighter and thought he needed a badass blade. LotR isn't mine, didn't want to tip my hand in the first disclaimer...so consider it disclaimed now... And now I think that's it... I hope you keep a little faith and follow we down this rabbit hole, I do think it's going to be fun, or at the least it will get smutty! Oh and don't forget, reviews are magic too ;-)
Oh and I dedicate this story to the god that is Robert Carlyle. I was just so madly in love with him in Into the Deep this week I was displaying some Imp like giggles, trills and hand gestures. He IS that amazing and I seriously, seriously love him like a fat kid loves cake.