Author's Note: I do not own Once Upon a Time. I also don't own any of the stories or alludes to things seen in various media in this story, either.
He could smell the rain, a sign that it was going to storm. As he stood at the window of his laboratory, he gazed out over the horizon. The clouds were beginning to form. It looked vicious. It looked dangerous. He welcomed it. His hands curled around the stone windowsill, relishing in the grasp of stone.
Then, like magic, the rain began to fall. It came down, hard, and unrelenting. He closed his eyes, breathing it in. He could hear each raindrop as it bounced off stone, pavement, even the trees that surrounded the property. All it needed now was the appearance of thunder and lightning.
On cue, the lightning and thunder struck. For once, he relished in the sight of torment on the earth. It was something that did not change, something that people accepted. Yet, to some, it drew fear from their hearts. To others, they found comfort in the noise.
And then he wondered what she was doing right now. Was she enjoying the rainfall? Or was she hiding from it? He did not take her as the one to hide, nor did he take her as the one to enjoy the rain. To be honest, he knew not much about her. Yet, he was willing to learn. For the first time, he wanted to learn about someone. He wanted to learn about her.
Turning on his heel, he descended the stairs of his lab, and down to the dining room. Inspecting the area, he took notice on how the room seemed different without the shade from the curtains. It seemed friendly, despite the rain pounding on the windows. It would take time getting used to, he had told her, but he embraced the change so fast that it felt as though the curtains were never there to begin with.
He wandered through the hall adjoining the dining room, his eyes peering through the open doorways. With her urging, she had slowly started to refurbish some of the rooms in the manor. The rooms that were once covered in dust cloths now had names based on the items inside. One of them was a library, which had delighted her when he had first shown it to her months ago. Between the two of them, it had become her second room (to her bedroom), and after cleaning she would be there, curling up in one of the chairs, with a book that he did not expect would suit her interest. Yet, he did not know what her interests were.
Entering the library, he saw that a fire was lit in the fireplace, and a smell of tea told him that she was occupying the room. He looked towards the green high backed chair, which no doubt held her, deeply enthralled within a book. He stealthily made his way to her, hoping that she did not sense his presence.
"Looking for me?" Her voice came from above.
He was caught. He turned instantly and looked up. The library had a spiral staircase that lead to a second floor shelf of books. She was peering over the railing, a book in her hands. Her hair draped over her shoulder, wild and unkempt.
"I was looking for a book," he said, not willing to admit that he was looking for her.
She gave him a look, pursing her lips in such a way that made her look childish. "I did not take you as the sort of person who reads."
"I read, dearie," he said, making his way to the staircase, ascending the stairs, draping his hand along the banister. "One must take interest in the stories written about me, making sure they stay true."
"Really, I would have assumed that they are fables," she said in a laugh.
"I mean in the sense to the story I want them to tell," he said, coming to the landing. "There is some truth, but too much about me and people won't take me for the person that I am." He came closer to her. He looked at the book in her hand that she had pulled close to her chest. "Except for that one," he said quietly, noticing the title. She looked down at the book then back up at him.
He could recall the girl with the blonde hair, her eyes gazing adoringly at the shoes that were in the window of the shop. She wanted nothing more than to wear them. She wanted to be a dancer. She wanted nothing more than to dance. It just so happened he was not far away, willing to make a deal.
He was curious, he was morbid, and he was ready to give someone something that they wanted. So, he gave her a pair of red shoes, so that she could dance. What she did not know, however, that once she put them on and began to dance, that the dance would never…ever…end.
There was a time not long ago when he took pride in the story, but now that pride had turned into displeasure and he wanted nothing more than to forget about it. It was so many years ago, he was sure it was long forgotten, left untold. But the book in her hands proved otherwise.
She moved to the book shelf, placing the book back on the shelf, sliding it between two larger books. "So, this book you were looking for," she said, looking up to him, "what was it?"
"I…I have forgotten the name," he said, not preparing a title. To be honest, he hardly read. To recall a name of a book that would be of interest to him was difficult.
"And how long did you spend at the wheel today?" She was teasing him, for a smile was now playing at her lips. She moved past him, making her way down the staircase. He followed her, slowly, almost obediently.
"Perhaps I can recommend you a book," she said, moving to the bookshelf, scanning the titles before her. He made his way over to her so that they stood side by side. Her fingers brushed over a title, then plucked it from the shelf and offered it to him.
"Read this," she said confidently. He glanced down at the title that she had chosen for him to read. The Soldier and Death, was the title that the book held.
"Such a morbid title," he said, "truly, would have thought you liked…happier things."
"Have you heard the saying, 'don't judge a book by one's cover'?" She gave him a look. "It can be taken for books as well as appearances." A blush crept across her cheeks and she looked away, trying to compose herself.
"How will I know if I will like this book?" He grabbed the book from her hands, flipping through it. "There are no pictures!"
"Sometimes books don't need pictures," she snapped, grabbing the book from his hands. Her tone shocked him, since he was only trying to tease her. She looked down at the ground. "Forgive me, I've just heard that from someone else so often that… I'm just defensive over books." She moved away from him, and strode across the room towards the roaring fireplace, gracefully taking a seat before the fire. He moved over to her, his fingers dangling close to her shoulder. He did not touch it, however, since he drew back his hand, unsure of what exactly to do. He sank down to the ground beside her.
"Perhaps," he said, "you should read me the first chapter. Then I can decide."
Thunder boomed outside, making her jump as she looked at him, surprised. The proximity of how close they were was shocking to her. She pushed a strand of her hair away from her face, and looked down at the book. "All right," she said, opening the book to the first page. After a few moments, she began to tell the story of a soldier and his encounter with a man on the side of the road. The soldier was given a sack, which if he demanded, anything could be called into it.
When she had finished the first chapter, she took notice that he had stretched out his legs now, leaning up against the chair. "Go on," he said, waving his hand, urging her to continue. So she did, and the story became much more intriguing. Now the solider had come across a castle where a pack of devils would play a game of cards every night, guarding barrels of gold. The people of the town were frightened of the castle, and the devils whose shrieks could be heard in the dead of night. The man volunteers to go in the castle. He does and waits until midnight for the devils to appear, and when they do, they are surprised but delighted to find a human. They decide to kill him and claim parts of him for their own.
He catches her looking over at him from time to time. He pretends to close his eyes, not wanting her to know that he was watching her intently as she first began to read. Her voice, taking on the tone of the devils and the man, was delightful. He decided then and now that he wanted to have her read to him as he mixed his potions.
The story went on, detailing a very unhappy life for the man. He was able to rid the castle of the devils by calling them into his sack, and tortured them until they begged for release. When he finally released them, he kept the foot of one as a reminder and to bind as a servant. When morning came, he became a king, married, and had a family. The son soon took ill, and the soldier (now king) called upon his devil servant to help him. The servant then presented him with a glass that allowed him to gaze upon the face of death. If death was near, there was nothing her could do. If death was at a distance, then he could sprinkle the water on the forehead of his son and save his life. In exchange for the glass, he gave the devil his foot back and saved his son.
From then on, he became a healer. Saving people from their countless encounters with death, until an idea came to him: he would capture death. So, he lured death into his sack, ridding the world of death. For years, people would wander the earth, ready to die but denied the chance. Feeling guilty, the man finally frees death, but death is afraid of him and vows never to take him. The man wanders the earth, alone and without an end to his life, watching others die.
The story was over, and she closed the book. He opens his eyes after keeping them closed. She is looking at him, waiting to know what he thought. He drew his knee up and balanced his hand under his chin, thinking over the story.
"Did you… enjoy it?" Her question was soft amongst the dying fire.
He shrugged a shoulder. "Why do you, Belle, enjoy the story?"
"It's different. It makes you think of the choices one makes when they have magical items or, you know, magic to assist them." He laughed his impish laugh, a little louder than he should.
"Magic gave him a life, my dear girl," he replied.
"But it also took away one as well," she offered slowly, running her hand over the cover of the book. He stared at her thoughtfully. He admitted that the part with the child pulled at him, made him yearn for his own child: Balefire. No amount of magic could ever bring him back from the dead. It was impossible. He was sure if it were possible, his son would not be the same.
"Is there someone you would like magic to bring back?" He asked her.
She became thoughtful, looking into the fire for an answer. Then after a few seconds, she replied: "My mother, if only for a moment. She died giving birth to me. I never knew her. Not even a magic glass, if one existed, could save her in time. It was all very sudden… and very quick."
He jumped up from his spot, startling her. He offered her his hand, which she took. He pulled her up from the ground, whisking her from the room in long strides. "Where are we going?" She asked, as they left the room, following the hallway that led up the stairs to his lab. Pulling her into the room, he let go of her hand and strode over to a cabinet that held an array of interesting glasses, pots, and bottles. He removed a mirror and stared at it for a moment, then held it out to her. She looked at the mirror in his hand.
Belle reached out and took the mirror into her hands, looking down at it. It was very old and very dusty. However, there was a certain beauty to it. She brushed her hand over the dust covered glass. "What is it?"
He paced around her, looking down at the mirror from over her shoulder. "Like your story, you cannot bring one back from the dead with the help of a glass. However," he gently lifted her hands so that her face was on level with the mirror, keeping himself from view, "if you speak the name of who you wish to see, you can look upon them as they once were…"
Her hand started shaking, not knowing what to exactly do now. "You mean, this mirror will show me anything I wish to see?"
"Yes," he replied, "anything." He watched her eyes focus hard on the mirror, grasping the handle firmly. She took a breath, her gaze locked and determined.
"Then, I wish to see my mother, please," she asked the mirror. Soon enough a soft pale glow came forth from the glass. An image appeared of a woman, almost the spitting image of Belle. She was beautiful in every sense of the word. She was evidently pregnant and was looking down at a bassinet, a book in her hand.
Belle gasped and continued to watch the image. All the while, he could not help but remember the elation that the mirror had brought him over the many years. How many times he would ask for the image of his son to be shown and how long he would sit, gazing at the reflection of what he once had… It became too much for him, for when the image faded away, all he could look upon was the ugly face that gazed back at him, the pale reminder of what he chose over happiness. That was why he had covered every single mirror in the house. (He also had suspicions that someone out there was using mirrors as a way of spying on him.)
They continued to watch the image of Belle's mother move across the room she was in, take a seat by the window and open a book. She then began to read out loud and brushing her hand against her swollen stomach. The image faded away not long after, allowing Belle to take in what she had seen in silence. He removed the mirror from her hands and put it back where it once was, shutting the doors of the cabinet.
"Did you use it to look at your son?"
"I did," he said, his hands tightening around the handles of the cabinet. He could hear her shoes moving across the stone floor and she slowly felt her arms encircle his torso. Awkwardly, he straightened up and turned around t see her pulling tightly against him, hugging him.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"You're welcome," he replied, closing his eyes.