I don't own OUAT
She was beautiful. He simply couldn't believe that such a beautiful girl could love someone as ugly as he. After all, the last woman who had loved him fell so quickly out of love. He had never been a handsome man, but the scaly skin he now had could not have been an advantage to his looks. He couldn't lose another love. This one was so stronger, stronger than his love for Milah had ever been. She chose him wholeheartedly, knowing the evil and the good. If he was to lose that kind of love that accepted him more than any other, he would never be able to go on. But he had learned with Milah that holding too tightly only served to drive her away. He would not use this child to replace his first, but the thought of being a father again was magnificent. He knew that his curse was the only way he could get Bae back, but there had to be a way to do it and keep his family intact. He could have his happily ever after with her. With them.
It was so simple. All they had to do was get away from King Xavier's castle. He had his own castle for his dearest Cora to live in, and if her lust for power was strong enough, they had more than enough power together to get her a kingdom of her own. She would be the Dark Queen, his bride. No doubt he would still be known as the Dark One; she was one of perhaps five alive who knew his true name. All the better for him. Power came from the unknown. The people would fear an entity they could only call by a title so ominous as 'the Dark One' infinitely more than one with a man's name. He would continue to be the most feared beast in all the realms, but he would have her with him. Her and their beautiful daughter. Regina- the name he knew would be given to the girl; Cora couldn't resist a name of power- would be the most powerful in all the realms. As beautiful as her mother with the strength of them both.
He was planning this perfect life by the tree they had agreed to meet at. His dreaming preoccupied him, but he was not blind to the passage of time that was so worrying. They had planned to meet at sunset, but the sun had vanished quite some time prior. Killing one man would not take this long, even as a novice. As he worried, he took up pacing, a habit from his humanity that slipped into him on occasion. There were only two options: she had been caught or she had changed her mind. Was it wrong of him to hope it was the former? The night crept along slowly, the only sounds coming from the rustling of leaves in the wind and the chirps of crickets. It had grown quite dark, but he could still make out shadows. Hers wasn't coming. The night faded into day and she was still not there. As he stared at the streaks of red shooting through the dark sky, he could not help but worry. It was a beautiful sunrise, but all it managed to do was make him worry at the color of it. Red. Red was never favorable for mornings, but it was an omen as well. Red symbolizes blood, something he was starting to imagine covering her body as his mind went into a panic. She would at least tell him if she simply decided not to come, would she not?
Trumpets sounded, and men's voices could be heard calling out into the night. He drew up his hood instinctively before taking off at a run toward the castle. He knew what those screams meant, but he tried to block them out. The ringing of bells denied him his ignorance. It was a tolling first for the royal- low, somber sounds sounding out in thirty-two tolls. Each toll represented one year of the dead king's life. That meant that she had succeeded, something that could either be something amazing or terrible. The power it would require was tremendous, enough to make her exhausted enough to be captured. That was the good possibility. The other was that she had been able to kill him, but not without letting the madness into her heart. It was a madness he had accepted long enough, only put off by the constant spinning that helped him to forget all of the terrible things he had done. Something so beautiful could not be made by one so horrid. Beauty was the only thing that kept his own madness at bay, but the thought of hers being destroyed shattered his soul. Why had he let her do it alone? The bells rang out again, these a higher pitched set that rung out four times. Execution bells. Cora.
He sped up as he ran to her, to the castle's gallows. She was already there, held up by two heavily armed guards. There were cuts across her cheeks that looked much like claw marks, rather than any formed by a blade in a scuffle. Her hair was destroyed, matted with strands that were so damaged they did not reach her shoulders, much less the bottom of her hair. The princess dresses he had become accustomed to seeing her in had been stripped from her, replaced with a sack of a dress. There was a fire in her expression that seemed to dare each and every person present to try to kill her. But the defiance was killed simply by glancing in her eyes. Upon further examination, it became obvious that the men truly were holding her up. She looked too weak to stand alone. This was not simply going to be a case of saving the girl and sweeping her off her feet. He had to save her from herself.
"We have been betrayed. The royal family allowed a commoner into our midst, gracious enough to allow you all a voice. She has betrayed you as she has us by rejecting this opportunity. Our King has been killed by the people's voice. She has chosen her own fate. The only question is whether you all must pay for your representative's actions. Turn against your kingdom or turn against her. Make your choice!"
The crowd roared, screaming "Kill her", throwing whatever was nearest. She didn't flinch at the onslaught of things thrown at her, ranging from tomatoes to glass and stones. He tried to keep the worst from hitting her, but a large stone got past him, hitting her just above her right right. She kept on staring with her haunted eyes. They were not the eyes of a living woman, rather those of a living corpse. They were the most terrifying part of this entire encounter. Her guards dragged her forward as the herald raised his hand.
"Very well. You have made your choice." It seemed they were done with torturing her. Now was the time they would give her a simple death. She had already been disgraced; death was all they had left to do to her. She was pushed down to her knees, head to the ground. It was hardly something they needed to be so rough with her with. Her body was slack enough to have fallen into position in its own. The executioner sharpened his blade, preparing for a clean blow. That was the kindest thing they had ever offered Cora. It was not enough. The brutes holding his lover tightened their grips, expecting her to struggle; he knew better. She wanted them to kill her. This was the only desire of his he would ever deny. He strode up to the platform, unnoticed due to his glamour. As he took it down, the executioner's blade vanished. The people screamed. It seemed his reputation preceded him. He sent the guards into a particularly hot volcano in a land known for its desolation and horror. They had hurt her. He took Cora into his arms, but she didn't seem to recognize him.
"This is Cora. My bride. You who have hurt her will suffer. You who have betrayed her will die. Anyone who attempts to hurt the Dark Queen again will suffer far worse. Are there any questions?" The typical playful, mocking tone in his voice was gone, replaced with pure fury. They hurt his Cora, and he was nothing if not possessive. They had hurt his property; that was unacceptable. He flicked his hand at the crowd, drinking in the chorus of screams that came from them. Their blood was being turned into burning oil, flowing through their veins and tearing them apart. Some even caught fire, forced to burn alive. It was a beautiful display of agony. They had hurt her. That was all she could think. They had hurt her, they had hurt her... He had hurt them.
The royal family had been dragged out of the castle by invisible bindings. He smiled as pure exhilaration flowed through him. What could he do to hurt them? So many things... Surely Cora would appreciate anything he did to them once she was back in her typical state of mind. A whip's crack against flesh rang out through the air, but there was no whip. There was blood, however. He liked the sound of it drip-dropping onto the platform. He breathed in the scent, letting out a giggle. This was becoming fun. The drops of blood became pools as deep gashes showed up on each and every royal. He'd bleed them dry. The screams began to quiet as the body count rose. The royals fell down as they died, bones breaking and snapping as they hit the ground. He knew Cora would have appreciated the sounds not from bending, as she had once wished for, but he made certain each and every neck broke in its fall. Henry was the last to fall, his eyes still on Cora.
There would be no ceremony to these deaths. He left them all where they were, pulling Cora back into his arms. She hadn't seemed to notice his attack on those who'd hurt her, but she had known he was protecting her. She nuzzled her head against his chest, seeking comfort. He just held her closer, infusing a touch of magic to lull her to sleep. It was not a peaceful sleep, but it had to be better than reality. There was nothing he could do for her until he got back to his castle. So long as he could get her there intact, everything would be alright. He hated the thought of using magic to transport her to his castle, but there was no choice. It would take weeks to get there on horseback, months on foot. She needed to be there as soon as possible. It was not smart for anyone to transport while unconscious, but he doubted much more harm could come to her. Reluctantly, he transported them, holding her against him as though she was likely to disappear.
He laid her out on his bed, pulling the covers over her freezing figure. He doubted they could help much, but he had to do something for her while he tried to figure out what best to use to cure her damaged mind. Only purity could purify the soul, and he was the antithesis of purity. He could not help her this way, with the form of magic whose only price was attachment to another's soul already so closely linked to his own. Dark magic would have to do the trick. The herbs were all there in his lair, but he hesitated. No one had ever made such a potion before, but the herb's properties ought to be enough to do the proper thing when combined. He knew that he could do it, and if it would help her, he had to. Bloodroot, cypress, fennel, linden... he crushed the herbs with a mortar and pestle, adding a bit of salt into the mix. Salt was the purest element in the world as well as an extremely good conductor of magic. He would make a tea out of it to give to her. She could surely never drink the mixture on its own.
The water was set above the fire to boil, and he went in to check on her. She was still in her magically-induced slumber, but it seemed that she had finally entered into good dreams, for she was less fitful. That was good at least. Perhaps he had overestimated her trauma. There was no need for him to use all of his ingredients unless she truly needed it. She may well need it more later. We woke her up, releasing the magic's hold on her and gently shaking her. She stirred, but did not wake. His fervor increased until she opened her eyes.
"Rumple." She clung to him, tears pouring out of her eyes. This onslaught of emotion was welcome, far better than the vacancy she had displayed before. The problem was that it never seemed to stop. Her tears kept coming, even as her breathing grew ragged. He feared she would make herself sick. He couldn't stand seeing her like this, and he knew he would have to give her the potion. Even if he'd rather not. He pulled himself out of her firm grip, gently separating their bodies. "I'm going to fix tea."
His voice was peculiar as he said it, so abrupt yet so definitive. He moved away from her, trying to ignore the pain that had come across her face as he pulled away. Soon, none of that pain would be able to hurt her anymore. His head filled with the screams of thousands, desperately pleading for the Dark One to make a deal, but he could not afford to listen to them right now. The water had been boiling for some time before he returned to it, and quite a lot had simply boiled off. There was enough left to serve his purposes, however. He added the mixed herbs to the water, using magic to adjust the texture. Then came the hard part. He sat down before beginning, knowing this would be horribly draining. What he was about to do took more magic than he had used in total in perhaps two centuries. But for her... he would do anything.
The combination of things he had to use in order to infuse the proper spell in the tea was vast and diverse. Happy memories, terrible memories... a spell like that which he planned to enact required sacrifice. He thought of the first time he had held his son, the child's little hand wrapping around his own larger one. He cherished it as it entered his mind and then cast it away. He was struck with a moment of blinding misery for a loss he could not remember and then it was gone. He didn't even notice the loss once it was gone. Thoughts of torment entered his mind, torturing others, piles of bodies, and yet the memory that echoed through his mind, torturing his every waking moment was one of his son. His hand losing its grip on Bae's, refusing to follow him. This one he needed, but without it, Cora would most assuredly find a way to end her own life. He couldn't lose her. He'd already lost Bae, and he could not lose his one true love for the sake of a slim possibility of finding his son once more. Without her, there was no possibility. A cry from the bedroom was enough to push him over the edge, banishing the memory from his mind, into the mixture. The final ingredient was always the hardest to give. His most enduring love. With this final ingredient, his son would simply be an object he'd had one day and lost the next. A brief disappointment easily forgotten. His mind was at war, his son or his bride. Part of him argued that he was Bae's father, but he looked at it with his heart. He remembered each and every first with Cora. Their first meeting, their first kiss, her first night with a man. He couldn't even summon up a single memory of holding Baelfire as a child. His memories had clearly already chosen his beloved Cora. Cora would not live without this potion, but his son had no need of him any longer. He had simply left one day, disappearing for no reason. Clearly the boy had cared nothing for his father; why should his father care for him? Bae had left him. Cora would never do such a thing to him. That was the final straw in the battle. The potion was complete.
It took some goading to get her to drink the 'tea', but she got it down. He had added a drop of sleeping drought that was strong enough to put her to sleep for a full day, maybe two. She dropped off immediately, and the intricately decorated tea cup shattered on the floor. Too exhausted by his overuse of magic to bother cleaning it up, he decided to rest instead. He pulled her limp form to him, resting her head on his chest. Fatigue was starting to take over, and he let out a single yawn before falling asleep alongside her, head filled with dreams of his beloved Cora.