Disclaimer: I'm starting my grad school now, no way can I afford Once Upon A Time. But Sir Damon is mine.
A/N: This story was initially going to be a sequel to my story Through Another's Eyes, but when A Land Without Magic aired, it ruined my plans. Instead of focusing on Charming and Rumple's relationship (nope, still no idea why I'm so fascinated by that) I created my own character. I decided to explore the idea of giving Belle a second option, one that made more sense to everyone and yet showing that her only choice really is Rumple. He is her True Love and no one else. I literally started this back in September but this turned out much longer than I intended. I hope you all like it.
NOTE: I fiddled with Maurice's title in FTL. I know he was actually supposed to be a knight, but I thought it would be too confusing with so many knights in this story so I elevated him to lord. I don't think he minds, LOL.
Her Faithful Knight
Part I: The Toiling Knight
"It is the mission of each true knight...
His duty... nay, his privilege!
To dream the impossible dream,
To fight the unbeatable foe,
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go;
To right the unrightable wrong.
To love, pure and chaste, from afar,
To try, when your arms are too weary,
To reach the unreachable star!"
—Joe Darion, Man of La Mancha
For the first time in known memory there was a funeral in Storybrooke.
No one questioned the oddity of the fact that it was impossible to remember who they had last put in the ground. Nobody even noticed that the convent had struggled to find a room to accommodate the mourners and the casket since there was no funeral parlor in the town. There had been little need of one in the past.
But Mr. Gold saw it all. He knew it had been twenty-eight years since the last death of someone in this town. The dear mayor's father, to be specific. It was his loyal, foolish heart that had been used to enact the curse that bound them all to this place. Except poor Sheriff Graham. Death had freed him.
Gold did not relish in the man's untimely death. He hardly knew the man who had once been the Huntsman but he'd never had anything personal against him. He was Regina's little pet puppy, harmless mostly and hardly useful to him. The truth of the matter was that his passing would benefit him more, upgrading Emma from deputy to sheriff.
Right now the sanctuary was mostly empty. Father Merdock was going over the eulogy, looking much like Merlin in those large reading glasses. Mother Superior and another one of her fairies turned nuns were bringing out candles. They looked at him once and then pointedly ignored him. Gold didn't care in the least. He'd much rather be rid of them completely.
He took a seat in an empty pew just as the doors burst open. Moe French had two flower wreaths on his shoulder and carrying three buckets of flowers yet to be arranged. "I'm sorry I'm late, Mother Superior," he said through panting breaths, "My truck got a flat."
"You mean my truck," Gold couldn't help but say.
French met his gaze, his blue eyes wide with sudden anxiety. "Uh, yes," he said, "Good morning, Mr. Gold."
Gold only gave him a nod of acknowledgement, but his hawkish brown eyes watched as he and that wretched Blue Fairy set up the wreaths and then the flowers. He was carefully laying flowers on the closed casket, making sure it looked perfect for the dead man he barely knew. Gold couldn't stop the memories from coming nor the way his fist tightened on the head of his cane. He laid out flowers for Graham, a man he probably only spoke two words to. He'd never even given his own daughter a funeral.
Those black thoughts stayed with him as the other mourners trickled in. They might have greeted him but he couldn't recall saying anything back. Belle hadn't had any mourners. Her wastrel of a father had dumped her into the cold earth without a word. The people she had sacrificed herself to save had scorned her, the Dark One's whore. It hadn't been true, but since when did truth really matter? Rumplestiltskin had been the only one to grieve over her loss.
No…not just him.
Someone else would have brought her flowers and watered them with his tears. One other person had shared the burden of grief. Someone who hadn't been Gold's ally but not quite even his competition. Someone far more worthy of her than he, the one she'd chosen.
Fairy Tale World
Seven Years Before The Dark Curse
Sir Damon knelt before Lord Maurice, ruler of the a small fiefdom in the Marchlands. It was the second time he'd bent a knee in service to a lord, but the words he spoke were no less true.
"I vow to serve thee with my sword, heart and blood. I will relinquish all ties the bound me before and devote myself to you. Your people are my people. Your family is my family. I will uphold this vow until my dying breath. So damn me forever if I break my word."
"May the gods bless you for your service," Lord Maurice said, coming from his throne to offer him his ring. Damon kissed the red jewel as a sign of his fidelity. "Rise, Sir Damon, and welcome."
The other knights in the service knelt as well to greet their new comrade of arms. Sir Damon drew out his sword and held it aloft. "May I fight beside you all with honor and integrity all of my days."
Sir Damon's word was always golden. Ever since he was a toddling young boy swinging a hickory branch to fight a bramble bush he'd decided was a dragon, Damon had longed to be a knight. It was a duty that was sacred and meant only for men of honor and courage. It was a hard, sometimes even lonely life, but one he never regretted.
Once the pleasantries of the ceremony were complete, Lord Maurice instructed Sir Damon to follow him out into the gardens. "I was sorry to hear of Lord Trundle's death," he said.
"It is the way of mortals," Damon said, "When someone passes we mourn and then we move on, it is how the world turns."
"An interesting philosophy."
Both men whirled around at the intrusion. Damon's hand closed on the hilt of his sword, but relaxed when he saw that there was nothing to fear. It was a beautiful young girl who had spoken with rich, sable hair that hung in curls down her back. Her pink gown brought out the rose tint to her skin and a blush to her fair cheeks. Her blue eyes blinked back at them, sparking with a mischief that matched her young age and yet filled with a wisdom that belonged to a much older person.
"But how do you feel about Tomison's theory?" the girl asked, "That the spirit is always in flux, death is but one phase and we are reborn into a new world once we pass on in this one?"
Damon was completely at a loss of what to say, but Lord Maurice let out an adoring laugh. "Forgive my daughter, Sir Damon. You see the gods couldn't grant me a son so they gave me a daughter who has the mind of a scholar and the heart of a warrior."
Lord Maurice wrapped his arms around his child and then looked back at the knight. "Sir Damon, this is my daughter the Lady Belle. Sir Damon is my newest knight."
"A pleasure to meet you, Sir Damon." Lady Belle swept into a fine curtsy while he bowed before her.
"I will endeavor to serve you, my lady," he said.
"Oh dear, I hope not."
He blinked at her. "Pardon me?"
Lady Belle's rose colored lips were set into a playful smirk. "You are a knight, Sir Damon, and that would mean you would do battle for me. I rather hope our province remains in peacetime so you see why I hope your services will never be needed."
Maurice chuckled and shook his head at her affectionately. "You needn't worry about war, my dear girl, there are no prospects for combat as of late."
"Good, I would hate for you to leave me for some dusty battlefield, Papa." She stood on her toes to press a kiss to her father's cheek.
She left them soon after, clutching a leather bound book to her breast as she walked back to the castle. Damon found himself watching her from there after. She was a young girl, perhaps fifteen years old, but she had the pride and character of woman.
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About a month after he had entered the household of Lord Maurice, he was instructed to escort the Lady Belle on her afternoon ride. She was dressed in a deep blue riding habit that made the color in her eyes richer and more vibrant. She smiled when she saw him. "Good afternoon, Sir Damon."
"My lady," he greeted her with a bow.
As was courtesy, he gave her his hand to help her into her saddle before he mounted his own steed.
"Have you ever chased after the wind, Sir Damon?"
"No, my lady," he replied.
Her mischievous smile appeared on her face. "A shame, it would have given you practice."
He hadn't fully grasped her words when she kicked the flanks of her horse and shot out of the stables. He sat in his saddle dumfounded for more moments then he cared to admit before he kicked his horse into a gallop.
Sir Damon wasn't sure if he should be furious with the girl for being so impulsive, but as the chase went on he saw how playful it really was. She would bank her horse through trees, slow down long enough for him to almost reach her before flying off again. All thoughts of anger fled and he found himself smiling through the sport. She was an excellent rider and this was far from the dull chore he had expected it to be.
Eventually, Belle slowed her horse down to a trot when they reached a charming little brook. "You sit well in a saddle," she complimented him.
"Not so pretty a picture as you, my lady," he said.
"You flatter me, Sir Damon."
"I speak nothing but the truth."
He helped her down from her saddle so the horses could rest and drink from the brook. Belle picked up a white daisy and played with its petals, looking much like the young girl she was. Sometimes he had to remind himself that she was barely even a woman.
"Papa told me that you came from the Frontlands."
"Indeed, my lady."
"That is very far away," she said, "Why did you choose to come here?"
"A knight like me must serve a noble lord," Damon explained while she tossed the velvety petals into the water, "I could find no lord in my homelands of such an honorable character, and so I traveled until I found the company of your father."
"You must have seen much of the world then."
He gave her a small grin. "The world is vast, Lady Belle, it would be difficult to see much of it."
"Have you seen the dwarf mines?"
"Yes."
Her blues eyes sparkled with delight and she tossed the plucked flower away. "Tell me about them. Do they really glow with the light of the fairies? Did you see the dwarf nests? Do they really whistle as they break the earth for gems?"
He couldn't help but laugh at her curiosity. "I would hate to spoil them for you, my lady, not if you are so eager to see them yourself."
Her smile faded away. She cast her sky blue eyes to the ground, shaking her head at the daisies. "No, I will never see them. Only men can travel the world."
"I was unaware of this rule," Damon said, "I don't see why you can't travel and venture forth as you will."
"Ladies don't go on adventures," she said, "We women don't get to show our true worth like you lucky men."
"You long for the battlefield and for adventure?" he questioned her.
Belle shrugged. "Perhaps not for battle. But, oh I would love to do something more than marry well and breed children. I want to be remembered for more than my beauty. I want to be something so much more than just a wife and a mother."
Sir Damon stared at her as she bent to grab a clump of daisies, weaving them into a chain. He had never found another lady like her. The wife of Lord Trundle had been meek, hiding mostly behind her embroidery. His daughter had been spoiled and vain, despising even one speck of dust on her rich gowns. She certainly wouldn't have picked flowers in fear of dirtying her nails. Neither lady would have dreamed of adventure. Marriage and children was the only future they wanted, perhaps more jewels as well.
"Why did you leave the Frontlands?" Belle asked.
"Lord Trundle died and he had no son. I was released from my service upon his death."
"Do you miss your home?"
Lord Damon shook his head. "Even if I did, the land is dead now. It can never be restored."
She let the chain of daisies dangle in her hands as she met his gaze with a quizzical frown. "How is that possible?"
"It was done by the being called Rumplestiltskin."
That wild spark of curiosity blazed with blue fire in her eyes again. "The Dark One? You saw him?"
Damon nodded. "Once. Lord Trundle's land was in a terrible drought and nothing would grow. He called for Rumplestiltskin and who agreed to let the land be healthy and strong just as it's master was. In exchange, he was given a bottle of water from the wishing well. Powerful magic was woven into that well, the power to grant any wish."
Belle gazed at him with interest. "What happened?"
"Rumplestiltskin kept his word. The land was healthy and strong, but only as long as the lord was. When he took ill, the land became sickly and the crops all died. When Lord Trundle passed away, the once fertile land became worthless dust."
Belle's eyes were large, her pretty mouth had fallen open at the conclusion of the tale. "What powerful magic he must wield."
"Powerful evil," Damon corrected her, "A wise man would never call upon his aid. That beast is far too devious to be trifled with."
"Is he as fierce as they say?" Belle asked.
Damon recalled the monster who had walked into the Trundle court, dressed in leathers and flashing magic from his fingers. He didn't seem as frightening as other, larger and grander beasts, but that was to his advantage. One could almost believe the stories about him were false. They never were.
"It is best not to talk about him," Sir Damon said, "We wouldn't want to invite him to join us."
Belle didn't agree right away, but eventually she did nod her head. "I suppose not."
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Sir Damon's escort became a weekly event. He didn't intend for that to happen, but he found he enjoyed their conversations during the ride. She would ask about the places he'd seen while she would tell him about all of the books she'd read. Sometimes she would even bring a book with her and read to him. Damon had never had much interest in books and stories before, but listening to her voice as she talked about gallant heroes, daring ladies and monsters not even he would have the courage to face, it was a pleasure he had never realized he had wanted.
Belle quickly became his favorite person at Lord Maurice's court. Not only was she charming and intelligent, but also kind to everyone she met. No creature was overlooked by her, literally. He learned this when she came upon a mangy, evil-tempered cat. The little beast had muddy yellow fur, only half of one ear and a crooked tail. She had found him being abused by some immature village boys and promptly took the cat in. Within a few weeks, his coat gleamed from being brushed and his cuts were all healed. He was still vicious to everyone he met, except for Belle who he happily purred and rubbed his soft body against whenever he could. She named him Sunflower though his temper never matched his name.
Sir Damon would have thought this kindness would have extended only to helpless creatures, but then she bought a terrible painting from a suffering artist. It was a hideous mess of paint, the color was far too bright and didn't match the landscape properly. The meadow it depicted was blue, the sky purple, the trees a rainbow of odd, sloppy colors. Damon had thought she'd purchased it only out of kindness, but she didn't curse it to the fire or hide it in the dregs of the castle. Not Belle. She displayed it proudly in her room, saying the artist had obviously captured the feel of the landscape instead of the look.
Lady Belle was definitely not like other women of her station. She would work in the kitchens with the staff, play ball with the village children and read every book in the library twice over. She also had the rare gift of loving the things the no one else could.
It was when she was seventeen that Sir Damon had his epiphany.
Lord Maurice had inducted a new knight to his court, a Sir Stephen. He was young with blond hair and bright green eyes. He cut a fine figure in his armor, something every lady noticed, including Belle. Damon despised how she would stare at Sir Stephen, laugh at his pathetic jokes and accept his hand for dancing during feasts. He begrudged Stephen's youth and charm, therefore being extra brutal on him during practice rounds in the fencing ring.
It was when Damon and Belle had returned from riding that they saw Stephen shouting at a new squire.
"This was my best pair of boots and you ruined them!"
"I-I-I'm s-sorry," the boy stammered out, staring at the ground.
"Your apologies won't repair leather!" Stephen hurled the stained boots to the ground. "You sniveling rodent, can you do nothing right?" He then raised his hand and boxed the boy's ears.
The child cried out, clutching his sore ear in one hand. Stephen wasn't done. He grabbed the boy by his tunic and hurled him off of the ground.
"Sir Stephen, you put that child down immediately!"
Both the boy and Stephen looked over at Belle who was perched regally on her horse. Damon saw that her blue eyes were flashing with fury, her cheeks stained pink with heat. It was a rare sight to see her so enraged.
"His insolence deserves to be punished," Stephen said.
"You do as your lady commands," Damon instructed him.
Stephen dropped the boy who fell onto his back in the mud. Belle leapt from her horse without Damon's assistance and ran to his side. "Are you all right?" she asked him, stroking his hair.
"Yes, Belle."
Stephen kicked the boy in the leg. "Address her as 'my lady' you brat!"
"Sir Stephen, leave this place immediately," Belle ordered him.
Stephen gawked at her. "My lady, the boy needed to be put in his place."
"I do not condone brutality on children. You may return to the barracks and wait for my father, don't doubt for a minute that he won't be informed."
Despite being on her knees in mud and with her hair windblown from riding across the Marchland plains, Belle had the voice and rigid back of a fierce general. Sir Stephen new better than to cross her further.
Belle used her handkerchief to clear the mud off the boy's face before sending him off to the kitchens for a sweet. Damon was certain that for now on the child would be giving her lovesick glances. Meanwhile he could see that Belle's infatuation with Stephen had withered and died.
"Oh that horrid man!" she exclaimed as they led their horses to the stables, "He may have the charm of a fox but the mind of a mule. I hope my father casts him out."
Damon shook his head. "He'll probably give him some unsavory duties and a stern warning."
"Yes," Belle agreed with a sigh, "But I will never speak to him again, you can count on that."
"Sir Stephen is no different from most men. He sees the people below him as creatures meant to serve him and if they fail then they can be squashed."
Belle handed her reins to one of the stable boy and then whirled around to face Damon. "You're not like that."
"I've seen enough to know that what is down in the dust one day can be risen to the sky the next."
Belle nodded and smiled. "Yes, you are wise and good, qualities rare and surely found in only the best of knights. You are a treasure to my father's court."
"No, my lady, the treasure is you."
She beamed back at him and then stepped forward. He felt his heart stop beating when she stood on her toes to reach his cheek with her lips. It was just a simple brush of her soft lips against his stubbled skin, hardly more than a whisper of a kiss. But it made his heart clench once before leaping into a rhythm he hadn't thought possible.
She sat back on her heels and smiled at him. "You are a true friend, Damon. I'm so lucky to have you."
Belle wandered off to the castle while Damon remained rooted to the stable floor. He stared at the space she had occupied, replaying the moment over and over again in his mind. His fingers brushed the place where her lips had touched his face. His skin felt branded by her kiss.
It was then that Sir Damon realized he was in love with Belle.
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He had never been in love before, despite the fact that women had not been scarce in his life. He'd always focused on his duties as a knight, never thinking about taking a wife and having a family. He wanted to serve his lord and that was all.
Now he knew what those blithering poems were talking about.
Damon loved to hear her speak, hear her sing, watch her dance. He even loved watching her read under the willow tree in the garden. Just seeing her was a joy he never thought possible. She was kind, intelligent, charming, witty.
And entirely above him.
She was a noble lady, bound to marry and belong to a man of her station. Damon was a cobbler's son turned knight. She was young and beautiful, not the sort of woman who belonged on the arm of a lowly knight.
But he couldn't stop dreaming of that possibility. He imagined her gazing at him with love in her blue eyes instead of a friendship. He could see her opening her arms so he could sweep her into a passionate embrace. He imagined her roaming the meadows with their children. But these were only fantasies. He knew they could never come true.
Belle never treated him as anything more than a friend. Oh she laughed and teased him, but never did her eyes sparkled with tenderness when he helped her from her horse or when he passed her in the corridors of the castle. He knew he was dear to her, but not in the way she was to him.
Sometimes he did find sparks of hope that she would come to love him. When she presented him with a book, he was certain she must be trying to say something. But the book was Tomison's A Cycle of Life and Death.
"I thought a knight who has a philosophy should study some," she had teased. He thanked her for the book and flipped through it a bit, but he cared little for books. The true gift was one she had not intended for him to have.
Nestled inside the pages of the book was an intricate braid of deep blue, green, purple and sky blue threads. When he lifted it to his nose he could smell Belle's rose perfume and imagine her reading the book in candlelight, her knees tucked up to her chest while she was surrounded by silk covered pillows. He kept the bookmark with him at all times, fingering it sometimes as she read to him by the brook.
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Belle was nineteen when she came flying from the castle with her skirts hiked up to her knees. She didn't even notice Damon as she blew by him, but he heard a sob escape from her lips. He ran after her through the gardens, past the courtyard and to the chapel. Belle rarely ever came there because she despised the clerics. She thought them too stodgy and out to find evil in everything where she preferred logic.
She didn't run into the sanctuary, but past the building where the cemetery was kept. She stopped in front of her mother's grave. Her shoulders were shaking with her sobs as she fell to her knees in the soft grass.
"Belle?" Damon said her name softly so he wouldn't startle her.
"Damon," she said his name in a croak, "It's happened!"
"What has, my lady?"
"I'm b-b-betrothed!"
He actually felt his heart crack inside his chest. He knew it would happen eventually. Belle was beautiful and already past the early marriageable age. He was actually surprised that Maurice had waited this long to choose a suitor, though he supposed it was simply because he hadn't been willing to give her up yet.
"To who?" he asked. He already hated the man.
"Sir Gaston!" She said the name like it was poison. "It's not fair! The ogres haven't come, not yet, I don't see why I should marry him."
The threat of the ogres was more dangerous than she knew, Damon had been included on the War Council a week ago. She had no idea just how close they were coming. No wonder Maurice had chosen Sir Gaston, the son of the Duke. They would be gaining larger armies now and Belle would have a safe place to retreat to if the war should reach their fiefdom.
"Sir Gaston is a noble man." Damon had only met the man once and that was all he could say of him. He had noble blood, but lacked any character beyond that.
Belle, wise and clever Belle, had seen that as well. "But he's so rude and conceited."
"He's handsome," Damon said, hating himself for having to convince her to be happy with another man.
"What's worse is he knows it. I can't stand him!" She shook her head furiously. "Oh I would much rather marry Rumplestiltskin than Gaston."
Damon smiled at that. "I doubt that monster could make you happy."
"I know Gaston won't."
She stared at her mother's headstone, running her hands across the carvings of two lovebirds. He knew she was thinking of her parent's marriage who had the fortune of actually loving one another. It was a shame that such a thing was rare. Oh but she so deserved that gift. She should be loved and cherished by her husband, just like he would for her if she was his wife.
"I'm sorry, Belle," he said gently, "I wish there was something I could do."
She leapt to her feet in a whirlwind of motion, clasping her hands on his arm in a near bruising grip. "Take me away from here."
He blinked back at her. "What?"
"Please!" she begged, "I don't want to be a duchess, I want to see the world and have adventures. We can do it together. We'll just leave here and see all of the places I've read about. I know you'll protect me from any harm. You're my dearest friend, Damon, won't you help me?"
He felt hope flourish in his heart at his words. Yes! He could do that. He could scoop her up and place her on his horse. They would ride out of here together. He would show her the dwarf mines that gleamed almost as brightly as her eyes. They could swim in the oceans and dive for pearls so she could make a necklace with them. They could chase the unicorns in the Enchanted Forest, catch one and ask a wish from it. They could see the endless desert of Agrabah, find treasure in the Gnome Lands, live out a perfect life of adventure together in love.
Except he was a knight. She was a lady. They weren't meant to be.
He had sworn an oath to Lord Maurice. If he broke his word then his honor would forever be tarnished. And Belle, as much as she deserved adventure, she had a duty to her people. If they suffered from the ogres because of her then she would never forgive herself.
Even if none of that mattered. If he could be selfish and do everything that she had asked of him it would be wrong. "My dearest friend," she had said not "my dearest love". She didn't love him.
Damon couldn't help but cup her cheek with his hand. He let out his breath in a sigh, shaking his head. "You know we can't, my lady. Your marriage will help your people, isn't that what you want?"
"Yes," she admitted, "But I want to be happy too."
"You can be," he said, "Sir Gaston may not be as bad as you think. He will love you, I'm sure of it." No one could ever resist Belle. "You must give him a chance."
Belle ducked her head as a tear fell from her eye and rolled down the slope of her cheek. "You're right," she said, "I have to do what is right for my people."
She stepped away from him, forcing him to drop the hand that had held her lovely face. She hugged herself, her steps not as light as they normally were. She stopped just a few feet from him. "It would have been a great adventure, though."
Damon nodded, just once. He knew full well that he would be plagued with dreams forever of the things he could have shown her. She would never know his pain. He would hope that she would grow to love Gaston for her sake, but he knew that if she did then he would have no reason left to live.
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Despite the betrothal between Gaston and Belle, the ogres pushed on towards the fiefdom. Two months after her twentieth birthday, they ravaged the province next to theirs. It was then that they knew they had no choice but to go to war.
Lord Maurice readied his soldiers, but was too old to actually go to the battlefield with them. Sir Gaston was young and strong but far too important to see battle either. Damon hated Belle's fiancé, far more than he had predicted. Not only was he shallow and foolish, but he enjoyed strutting around with his sword though he suspected the blade was a virgin, never tasting blood. He had been knighted by his father but the boy knew nothing of battle and honor. He just liked how the sword hung by his side, especially with Belle at his arm.
Belle was always courteous to her betrothed, dancing with him and smiling at all the right occasions. But Damon had spent years watching every moment of her when he could. He had seen how when Gaston's attention was diverted, her smile would fade and the bright gleam to her eyes would dim. He was a simple fool, crowing on and on about her beauty and virtue without seeing the strong, vibrant woman beneath it all.
Despite her patience and her faithful kindness to her ridiculous fiancé, Belle did not love him. Damon found some odd comfort in that. Soon she would be married, have children, become a duchess and move far away from him, but her heart was still open. One day, perhaps she could love him too.
He knew it was selfish and wrong to desire such a thing. Even if Belle did come to love him she was still bound to Gaston. She would never dishonor her virtue so their love would never be truly known, but always apart. It would be a painful, terrible love, but there would be some joy in the torment. He knew it was worse to bear the burden of an unrequited love.
Damon hated himself for wishing such a thing, but he continued search for signs from Belle that she might have feelings for him. The braided bookmark was always tucked safely into his tunic, just above his heart, until he could find the courage to tell her the truth.
With the war now before them, Damon faced the possibility that he would never get that chance. He had wrestled with telling her for the weeks after he learned he was to be deployed, but he found that the right words eluded him. It was probably for the best. If he were to die he would not want her to feel the burden of his own pain. He could continue to love her from afar if it would spare her.
Gaston was going with them as well, a fact Damon wasn't sure he wanted or abhorred. The young knight—if he could be called that—only knew battle from the pages of a book, one he'd probably only read once. Yet, there was the possibility that Belle could be freed from her betrothal thanks to the ogres. No good knight ever wished the death of a comrade, even if they were repellant, so Damon forced himself to not picture that fantasy.
Lord Maurice's entire court was there to bid the knights goodbye and pray for their safe returned. Damon reverted his eyes when Belle did her duty and placed a peck upon her fiancé's lips. "Do not fear, my lady," Gaston said, "I will return to marry you and with the head of the Ogre King to mount on the wall of our castle."
Belle smiled, but her eyes showed no interest in such a wedding gift. "I will count the days until your return."
Damon would too, if only so he could know how long until his love for her would remain pure. Once she was married it would crush him.
During her father's speech, he saw Belle's eyes flicker to him and smile. Maybe it was just his hopelessly lovesick mind, but he thought he saw the glimmer of sad tears in those bright blue depths.
He didn't think he would get to tell her goodbye in person, but Belle had always managed to surprise him. Damon was in the stables, saddling up his horse, when he heard Belle call out his name. His heart leapt at the sound of her voice.
None of his motions betrayed his elation as he turned towards her. "My lady," he said with a bow.
Belle didn't stand on ceremony with him. She stepped forward and embraced him with all the warmth and kindness that could melt even the icy heart of Rumplestiltskin. He could smell her perfume, feel the soft skin of her cheek against his neck. If he were to die now then it would be a beautiful end.
"I'm going to miss you, Damon," she said in a shaky voice. More than ever he wanted to hold her tight and never let her go.
It was her who pulled away first. He hated the loss, but saw that it wasn't his imagination. Her eyes were glassy as they blinked back at him. "Promise me you'll come back."
It wasn't a promise he was supposed to make. Ogres were deadly, unreasonable creatures. They devastated lands, slaughtered men and women and showed no remorse towards their destructive actions. This war could very well spell out his doom.
The woman he loved was begging him to come back to her. That was all that mattered.
"I promise."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo OoOoOoO
A good knight never longed for war but was always prepared for it. Sir Damon lived by that logic so when he first stepped on the battlefield he knew exactly what to expect.
Ogres didn't fight like men because they weren't men. They hurled heavy boulders, stomped through forests to skewer soldiers with logs and pulled apart their captives one limb at a time. Honor and conduct had no part in life for them. Damon had battled with ogres before. Arrows were pointless unless tipped with flame that could burn through their thick hide, and even that wasn't a guarantee. Swords did the most damage if one could get close.
Men and beasts died, more men than beasts.
Sir Stephen died on the second day. Even Damon mourned him just a little, such was the way when a rival fell on the battlefield. But that just urged Damon to fight harder. He had to keep his promise to Belle.
Gaston spoke gallantly every night before he retired to his cozy little tent. In the mornings he would ride his black horse to the field and promptly stay in the back with the other nobles. Damon knew that was the way of war, but it did rankle him that an untrained man was pretending to be a general. It was a relief that two months into the war he was forced to return on his father's orders, though it meant he was also returning to Belle. Damon knew she would see that his armor was just as shiny and pristine as the day he'd left, completely unsullied by blood.
Despite the courage of the men, the ogres continued to gain ground day after day. Five months after he had left the court, Sir Damon and what remained of the army were stationed at Avonlea. The town was just thirty miles south of Maurice's castle. If the town fell then the ogres would advance upon them.
Belle would not be left to die a merciless death at the hands of the ogres. Damon would never let that happen.
The small army struggled to keep the ogres from invading the town. The citizens who hadn't fled already were marshaled in their cellars or stationed at the front of their homes with makeshift weapons for one final stand.
The one blissfully kind thing about battle was that all other thoughts evaporated. Damon couldn't think about Belle and his fear for her safety if he failed. When battling the massive, grey beasts he could only focus on his sword finding purchase in the weak spots of their flesh. Each night he fell asleep covered in black blood, too exhausted for his mind to conjure up the usual nightmares.
He was still immersed in the welcome blackness of a dreamless sleep when a young squire nearly tripped over the cracked ground, crying out his name. "The ogres are marshaling in mass on the south side of the town! The walls can't hold much longer!"
Which is how Sir Damon found himself gathering what was left of the Calvary and riding out to fight. Even from a distance he could see they were drastically outnumbered. He knew their primary goal was to defeat them but the second plan seemed more logical: distract the ogres so they can evacuate the remaining townspeople. There was no point in pretending they could win this battle. Many would die.
Damon reached beneath his breastplate to pull out the tattered braid of threads. He tried pressing it to his nose to see if Belle's scent still lingered, but the stench of ogres was just too strong. Instead he gently kissed the threads and stuffed them back over his heart. He'd made a promise. He hoped she would forgive him if he failed to keep it.
He sent one of the squires back with specific instructions to get everyone out of Avonlea. Then he turned his horse around so he could look his comrades in the eye. "Men, this may yet be our final hour, but it will be a glorious end. We will show these ogres that we fight with honor and integrity, qualities they will never possess. They will not win this war if we all stick together. Now are you with me?"
"Aye!" all of the men shouted at once.
Sir Damon held up his sword and pointed it towards the ogre horde. "To death and glory!"
"Death and glory!"
The thunder of a hundred hooves worked to catch the ogres' attention, turning them away from their task of hurling boulders at the cracking walls. Damon charged ahead, slashing his sword at the soft skin of one ogres' neck.
The ogres bellowed and roared as they charged at their attacker. Some threw boulders, others swung clubs while some just body slammed into the horses. Damon swiped at the ogres, canting his horse left and right around the rolling boulders and grunting beasts. Horses screamed in pain, men shouted and ogres howled.
It was the crashing of the walls that undid it all.
The stone walls had been battered so much that the foundation had cracked. The strain of holding itself up was just too much. Damon's instinct to look and see what had happened was too strong to resist. The wreckage of broken stone, a wall that had stood for three hundred years, was proof that this battle was truly lost. Perhaps even the war. How long would the walls of Maurice's castle stand? He could already see them toppling, hear the shouts of the dying, see Belle's broken body lying amongst the wreckage.
He failed to see the club swinging towards him.
It struck his horse, killing the poor animal instantly. It didn't even have time to let out a cry of pain. The ogre wasn't finished, actually striking Damon with its mighty fist as he fell out of his saddle.
Pain. All he could feel was pain. He didn't even feel himself hit the ground. His vision was blurred in one eye and the other had something warm blinding it. Blood, he soon realized.
The sky. Belle's eyes matched the sky. He could see their vibrant blue and that was all. It wasn't a terrible final image. His arm was on fire but he didn't care. Damon reached beneath his broken armor and curled his torn fingers around Belle's bookmark. "I'm sorry, Belle," he whispered to the sky.
He was going to die without ever seeing her again. His last thoughts before darkness took him was a plea to any of the gods that his life be the price for hers. Let her live, he begged, I accept the cost, just let her live.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo OoOoOoO
It wasn't fields of endless green and buttercups that Sir Damon saw when he next opened his eyes. The white rivers of purity and golden sky painted by the gods was no where to be found. Instead he could see a tattered, green tent with streams of sunlight falling through the holes. He blinked and lifted one hand to shield his eyes, stunned to feel the stiffening ache that accompanied his movement.
He was alive.
His other hand was curled around something soft, woven and with frayed ends. Belle's bookmark. He'd actually managed to keep his promise to her.
How?
Damon let out a groan as he sat up. His whole body was sore and stiff from having been immobile for so long. It hurt to do anything, even breath, but he was whole and that was all that mattered.
He tucked Belle's threads into his tunic and slowly walked out of the tent. They were still on the battlefield on the outskirts of Avonlea. Or what had been Avonlea.
The town was mostly a pile of rubble. He could make out the arch that had led into the town and a few walls from some of now unidentifiable buildings, but little else remained. Men and women picked through the wreckage to find belongings or anything of value. The disaster wasn't surprising in the wake of the ogres. What was shocking was that the creatures were gone.
"Sir Damon, it's good to see you on your feet again."
Damon bit back a grunt of pain as he turned around to see his comrade, Sir Rupert. His armor was scratched and blackened and he had a bandage tied around his head. Judging from the location he guessed that he'd lost an ear.
"How long was I unconscious?"
"Three days."
Damon blinked in surprise. "The ogres left after only three days? Surely they would have caused more destruction."
Rupert shook his head. "They're gone, Damon."
"Where to?"
"We…we don't know."
Damon frowned at him. "What do you mean?"
"The ogres, they were destroying the town," Rupert explained, "We tried to stop them, but we were completely outnumbered. Then…they just vanished."
Damon stared at the destruction, picturing the scenario Rupert had just described. The vicious, mindless grey monster pulling apart the city brick by brick and then just ceasing to exist. There was only one explanation: magic. The question was, was it Light or Dark?
His guts churned at the idea that someone dark was involved. What price would the end of a war cost?
"Sir Damon? Are you ill?"
"Gather those who are able, station some here to help the townspeople. The rest of us ride to Lord Maurice's castle immediately."
He could feel it down to his bones that the magic used here wasn't the good kind. Something terrible had happened and now his first priority was to make sure Belle was all right.
The ride was painful and his worn body protested every mile of the journey. But Sir Damon never breathed out a word of complaint. He was tense and jittery every time they had to stop and rest the horses. He was afraid, for the first time he was afraid that something horrible had happened. His life didn't matter. His honor and integrity were pointless. He was afraid for something that he'd never had to fear for before: his heart.
Lord Maurice's castle was completely intact. The town was whole and still bustling with people. Men, women and children watched them as the rode through the cobbled streets. They didn't cry out in joy as was expected for returning troops. No, the town seemed to be in some kind of mourning. It was a familiar sight.
Lord Trundle's death had left a similar pallor on his people. Had Maurice paid the price for the war? Belle, she would be devastated.
Damon left his horse in the stable and ran into the castle as quickly as his pained gait would take him. It was obvious that they had prepared for an assault. Windows were boarded up by using most of the furniture in the castle. The halls were normally filled with servants and people seeking help from Lord Maurice, but now they echoed with silence.
"Belle!" he called out for her. She needed him. He may not have her heart, but she had told him many times that he was her dearest friend. And he needed to see her to untie the knot that now served as his insides.
"Belle!" He threw open the doors to Maurice's war room. It was where they had spent a great deal of time before Damon had left for battle. Even Belle would sit beside her father and offer her opinion. Surely it is where they would have sought refuge had they feared the ogres were at their doorstep.
The room wasn't empty. Sir Evan was there, consulting a large map with Sir Gaston. Both men looked up the minute the doors open, drawing their swords from their scabbard. Yes, something had happened.
To Damon's surprise and relief, Lord Maurice was sitting on his throne. "My lord, you're alive!"
His joy only lasted two heartbeats. Maurice seemed to have age immensely. His normally jovial and kind face was heavily lined. The blue eyes he shared with his daughter were red rimmed. "Sir Damon," he said solemnly, "It's good to see you. We feared the worst when we were told of Avonlea."
Damon nodded. "It was close, but we had a miracle. The ogres vanished."
Maurice looked over at Gaston. The look that past between them tightened the knot inside of him. "He kept his word."
"Who did?" Damon was afraid to ask. "Where is Belle? Is she well?"
"We…I don't…" Maurice couldn't finish. He buried his face into his hands and started to weep. No, he didn't start, he was continuing.
It was Sir Evan who spoke for his lord. "She is gone."
Damon felt his heart sink down to his boots. "Gone? How?"
"Taken," Gaston said, "By that miscreant Rumplestiltskin."
The name had the power to freeze the blood inside of Damon's veins. The magic that had ended the war had come from the darkest being in all of the world. And his magic always came with a terrible price.
"Why?" he asked, his broken heart filling his words with rage, "Why would you call upon him? You know how evil he is."
"It was Belle," Maurice explained. He didn't even blink at the way Damon had overstepped his bounds. He was already mourning his lost daughter. "It was her idea. She thought that by promising him gold he would accept the cost and help us. But he refused."
"He wanted her from the beginning," Gaston hissed, "It was all a plan. I don't care what he says, he can't possibly want her just as his caretaker. He'll abuse her in the worst way possible."
Even Sir Damon feared he was correct.
"We tried to stop her," Maurice continued, "I begged her, but she agreed to the deal to save our lives. There was nothing we could do."
Damon couldn't blame him. He was right, once Rumplestiltskin wanted something there was no way to stop him from getting it.
But why Belle? Why not some hearty peasant girl, perhaps not as lovely or educated, but far more capable for his needs?
Because Belle was precious and rare. He didn't want her to be his caretaker. She was his prize, something he could admire and crow about how he'd managed to acquire. It wasn't the sort of life Belle could ever be happy with. Only the gods knew what Rumplestiltskin did with his possessions. Did he put them on some lonely shelf to stare at and be utterly forgotten? When in a rage, did he take whatever his vicious clawed hands could grab and smash it into bits? Perhaps both. Where did Belle fit in? Was she something to be admired or something to be broken?
"You needn't worry, Lord Maurice," Gaston said, "I will rescue your daughter from that monster."
"How? You don't even know where his lair is," Damon pointed out. This foolish puppy couldn't rescue Belle, not from something like Rumplestiltskin. He'd only stood outside of battle. He knew nothing about slaying monsters.
"And you do?"
"Yes."
Maurice frowned at him and finally found the strength to stand up from his throne. "You do?"
Damon nodded. "When Lord Trundle realized what Rumplestiltskin had cursed him with, he took several of us with him to the Dark Castle to beg for another deal. He was refused."
"Where is the castle?" Gaston demanded.
Damon pointed to a spot nestled in West Mountains. "His castle is at the top of the Black Peak."
"Excellent," Gaston said, "We'll gather our forces and you will lead us there. We ride out tomorrow."
Damon almost let him get away with that. Sure his bones were aching, he was slightly dizzy from the ride and he still hadn't recovered from only catching the occasional hour or so of sleep on the battlefield. But Belle was in trouble. He would gladly walk to the ends of the earth to save her.
But he had to think of the men. They were still wounded and their numbers were few. Gaston was hearty and strong, but he was the only man there who was.
"We can't," he said reluctantly, "Our forces are still weak from the battle."
"Then I will go alone."
Damon shook his head. The boy was either brave or stupid…definitely stupid. "The West Mountains are in the north. It is winter there. You would never make a mile up those mountains before you froze to death."
He stared at the spot on the map where Belle now was. She was in that frozen place, perhaps freezing to death herself. Had the beast provided her any comforts? "We have no choice but to wait until spring. We would never survive the journey otherwise."
"But Belle…" Maurice started to say.
"She'll be safe," Damon lied since he had no other choice, "He may be a beast, but Rumplestiltskin has always kept his word. Come spring, we'll go to the Dark Castle and get her back."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo OoOoOoO
It was the longest four months of his life.
Damon barely slept, hardly ate. At night he just clutched Belle's threads in both of his hands and prayed fervently that she was all right. He tried not to imagine what the Dark One could be doing to her, but his nightmares filled in those gaps. He imagined her screams, could hear Rumplestiltskin's merciless cackles, see the way she walked through the castle as a pale and listless ghost. It always ended with her staring out the window, seeing the snow covered mountains and dreaming of rescue but believing it would never come with each passing day. He hated to leave her there, hated himself most of all for having to put aside his heart in order to do what was right.
And then the spring finally came.
Gaston had spent the entire winter polishing his sword. Now he held it aloft, swearing he would stain it with Rumplestiltskin's blood. Damon was too heartsick to even bother setting the boy straight.
Lord Maurice wanted to send what remained of his army with them, but Damon convinced him that a large force was pointless. The men had to protect the province first of all. Besides, Rumplestiltskin had magicked away an entire ogre army, he would gladly do the same for them.
So it was to be Gaston and Damon who would ride out to save Belle from the beast.
The only problem was that Gaston didn't have an idea of what he was facing. "He wasn't so fierce as they make him out to believe," he said, "He trembled at the sight of my sword."
Damon rolled his eyes as he readied his saddle. Rumplestiltksin hadn't batted an eye when he'd faced down Lord Trundle and his twelve men, had actually laughed at the sight before transforming all of their blades into vipers with just a snap of his fingers.
"I have it all planned out," Gaston said. Damon couldn't wait to hear this. "We'll ride up to the castle and knock on the door. When Rumplestiltskin appears, I'll thrust my sword under his chin and say," He cleared his throat and deepened his voice, "I am Sir Gaston, and you, beast, have taken my betrothed, the most perfect Lady Belle. Release her to me now or suffer the dire consequences."
Belle would have found that funny, but since she was being held captive Damon rarely found humor in anything. "How gallant," he said dryly, "If you survive, I'll be sure to commend your bravery."
"How dare you say such to me!"
"I dare because you are a fool if you think a plain sword will defeat Rumplestiltskin," Damon said.
"Then how do you propose we rescue Belle?" Gaston asked, "Would you make another deal with that monster?"
"No." Damon knew that deals with Rumplestiltskin were never a good idea. He also knew that bows must be fought with bows, sword with sword and magic with magic. "We must get help from magic," Damon said, "It's the only way."
"So we don't ride for the Dark Castle?"
"Not yet."
Gaston stared down at him from his black horse. "Fine. I'll go alone. You go find a magician to help you, but Belle is my future bride. She belongs to me and I won't let that disgusting demon put one more finger on her."
With that, he kicked the flanks of his horse and rode out of the stables. Damon shook his head as he watched him go. He would be surprised if he ever saw him again.
Damon left soon after Gaston, but he didn't follow his hoof prints. Damon took the road back to his homeland, the Frontlands. He bypassed Lord Trundle's barren lands, instead heading into the lush forest. The journey had taken two weeks, but hopefully it would be worth it.
There was a small, barely noticeable path in the forest. It was too small for him to take his horse so he tied him to a tree and began the hike. The sun sank through the trees, turning the forest alive with silver moonbeams and the chatter of night creatures. This forest was the only one where no dangerous animals lurked because the ultimate being of goodness had long ago claimed this place. He didn't fear here, quite the opposite. Here he had hope.
The path led him an altar that was carved out of tree. Flowers grew in clumps around the clearing and he picked a few to place there. Others had come and put similar gifts on that altar, but his was the only fresh bouquet.
"Reul Ghorm," he said to the night sky, "Magnificent Blue Star. Hear, this humble knight's plea. Let me beg for your help if you are so willing to grant it."
There was a long silent moment where he feared his words had only been heard by the forest creatures. Then there was a gentle jingle, like tiny bells that whispered from the trees. He looked and saw and beautiful blue glow descending from the heavens, gently wafting down towards him. Once it was at eye level, the glow receded to show a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. She had four, transparent blue wings that fluttered at her back. She smiled when she saw him, alighting on a small branch. "I hear you, Sir Damon, and I am glad to help you. Tell me what troubles you."
"It is my lady," he said.
The Blue Fairy smiled. "Ah love," she said with a sigh, "the best and worst of afflictions."
Damon nodded in perfect agreement. "Belle is her name and I love her with all of my heart."
She let out a light laugh in delight. "Of course you do. I can see it in your eyes how much you care for her. Is it True Love?"
"I-I don't know," he admitted, ducking his eyes, "I am her friend, but I don't know if she loves me."
"Don't be so sad, good knight, I'm sure your lady will come to love you in time," she said, "but if you've come to ask for help in getting her to love you, I'm afraid it can't be done."
"No," he said quickly, "That's not why I'm here. She's been taken from me."
"How?"
"By Rumplestiltskin."
The Blue Fairy gasped at the name, covering her mouth in one tiny hand. "Oh dear," she said, "I never dreamed he would take a woman like this."
"I've heard of his deals with infants," Damon said.
"Yes, but he's never kept the children for himself. I fear to think of what he wants with her."
"As do I." A wealth of images came to him, all of his nightmares for what Belle could be enduring at the hands of the Dark One washed over him. "Please," he begged, "You must help me free her."
"Did you make this deal?"
Damon shook his head. "Never. I would never give Belle to a monster for anything. She agreed to this deal because he promised to spare the lives of her family and friends from the ogres."
The Blue Fairy nodded. "Oh," she said, "So she made this deal willingly."
"She felt she had no choice," Damon insisted.
"You are probably right," the fairy said, her normally cheerful voice now solemn, "I'm sorry, Sir Damon, but there is nothing I can do."
This couldn't be right. She couldn't refuse him, she was the oldest power in the world. She had to help him. "But, there has to be something—."
"I cannot break his deals," she said, "not unless the other party comes to me for help. You live by a code, Sir Damon, as so do my kind. That is the difference between Light and Dark magic. We follow the rules and never use our magic for ourselves, Rumplestiltskin doesn't. I want to help you, but I can't use my magic to break his deals. His magic always comes with a price and the debt has to be paid, no matter what."
She alighted from her branch to hang in the air before his disappointed face. "I'm sorry," she said, "I wish I could do more, but do not give up, good knight. There is always a way, but it will take more searching."
She smiled at him. "You have a noble heart, Sir Damon. I have no doubt that you will find that way. I promise to keep searching for a way to defeat him. Rumplestiltskin must be stopped, his plans could one day destroy this very world. Good luck to you."
"And to you," Damon said. Then she drifted back into the sky and disappeared, leaving him hollow with uncertainty.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo OoOoOoO
Despite his disappointment with his answer from the Blue Fairy, Sir Damon continued to seek aid. But he found that magic was elusive and can only be found when it wants to be. The few dealers of Light magic he did find agreed with the Blue Fairy's assessment: they could not provide aid unless Belle asked for it herself and she had not. Clearly Rumplestiltskin had deafened her pleas somehow. She truly was alone.
He had no choice but to return to Lord Maurice's court. They would rally the forces and storm Rumplestiltskin's castle. It might just be enough to get the beast's attention. Then Damon would ask for his own deal with him: anything he desired in exchange for Belle's freedom.
He was only gone for three weeks, but it was enough for everything to change once again.
Black was everywhere as he rode his horse into the village. The flags had been replaced by black mourning cloth, markets were closed and lilies hung on the door of every home. It might have been simply mourning those lost in the war, but Sir Damon's blood froze in his veins at the sight of it all. He could feel it in his bones once again. Something was wrong.
The castle was shrouded in mourning cloth. All of the guards were cloaked in black. The drapes kept the sunlight out in every room. It was best for all of those inside to forget the promise of a bright future.
For a moment, Damon hoped that he would find his lord dead. It was guilt he was bound to carry with him for the rest of his life.
Maurice lived.
He sat in his mourning robes, pale and listless as he plucked a lily free from it's petals and mashed them into wet lumps in his shaking hands. Sir Damon stopped before him. He cleared his throat to announce his presence and the sound echoed in the room. "My quest was in vain," he said, "I could find no one to help us."
"It doesn't matter," Maurice said, "She is beyond our aid now."
Damon's heart stopped. "My lord…do you mean…?"
"Belle is dead."
Time stopped. The world ceased to turn. Everything went still and silent as those three words consumed every bit of joy and goodness that had ever existed for one humble knight. Dreams, beautiful dreams he had kept hidden inside his heart, were snuffed out one by one like candles in a dark church.
He said no more to Lord Maurice. He spoke nothing to no one. He hadn't even realized he'd left the room until he was already outside of it. His feet commanded him now, led by the hollow beating of his heart. They brought him to the chapel where Sir Damon had seen Belle mourning her fate to be the wife of Sir Gaston. Her mother's gravestone now had a companion.
It was simply white stone etched with Belle's name. "Beauty in life, gentle in soul," it read beneath that. The only embellishment was the carving of a perfect rose in full bloom, the symbol of eternal love. Belle's favorite flower.
Then Sir Damon did a thing he'd never done before. He fell to his knees and wept.
NOTE: I started this before The Crocodile and decided not to change my original plan. Basically, Maurice was told by Regina somehow that Belle was dead, hence why he made a grave for her. She is not actually dead, they just think she is.