There was a steady flow of customers in the dining room downstairs. Ziva cleared the tables as the early diners finished their breakfasts and hurried to the mines. Several dwarves looked familiar; however, Belle did not see the dwarf with the dreamy look in his eye. She wondered if he had enjoyed his evening on Firefly Hill. As she wove her way through the dining room, several dwarves jumped quickly to their feet, removed their hats, and gave a little bow. She smiled at the unexpected courtesy. Ziva, however, turned her nose up at Belle, gave a noticeably indignant sigh, and quickly marched out the side door toward the kitchen.

Belle approached the bar where Thoughtful was scratching notes in his little ledger book. He murmured to himself throwing in the occasional triumphant snort. She tapped the counter and asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

"Hmm?" he answered distractedly.

"Ziva. She doesn't seem to like me very much."

Thoughtful did not look up from his ledger book, but waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about her. She's accustomed to being the 'fairest of them all.'" He looked up and smiled at her, "Thinks you're here to steal her crown."

Belle grinned and said, "Actually, I want to talk to you about that."

Thoughtful pushed the rim of his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose. "Ah, you've considered my offer?"

"I have," Belle nodded.

"And what's your decision?"

"I'm so sorry, but I can't." She threw up a hand apologetically.

Thoughtful sighed, closed his book, removed his glasses, and placed them on top of the book. "I figured that would be your answer. Though, I can't say I'm not disappointed."

"Oh, well, look," Belle undid the clasp of her necklace and held it out. "It isn't much, but you can take it to help cover my debt. I'm so very grateful for everything."

"No, no, no," Thoughtful shook his head. He closed Belle's hands around the small gold and pearl pendant, pushing it back toward her. He gestured to the slowly emptying dining room, "I've already seen returns on my little investment twice over, miss. You needn't worry about that. Now, I do hope you'll spend another evening with us here. Not for my sake," he said placing a hand over his heart, "But for yours."

Belle shook her head, "It's time I headed home."

As Belle spoke, a quick-footed dwarf with a black beard hurried over to the counter and handed Thoughtful a slip of paper. The bearded dwarf muttered, "Today. Ten minutes."

They exchanged a serious, knowing look before the dwarf nodded to Belle and headed out the door as quickly as he came. Thoughtful unrolled the parchment and scanned it silently.

He slid the paper across the counter to Belle with a somber expression. She saw a perfect portrait of herself in black ink staring up at her from the counter. The color dropped from Belle's face. Under her picture, in the severe block lettering used only by the royal scribes were the words, "By Order of the Queen, Wanted for Questioning." Belle folded the paper and tucked it into her pocket.

"I swear, I've done nothing wrong," she vowed.

Thoughtful nodded, "You have nothing to fear from any dwarf. We may be citizens in the Queen's kingdom, but we refuse to ally ourselves with those who practice dark magic. We do not recognize her authority." He spoke with a hurried hush, "But, as I see you're in a hurry to depart, I do hope you'll allow me to show my gratitude and accept a few traveling essentials. Come with me, quickly now."

Without a moment's hesitation Belle leapt off the stool and followed Thoughtful into the empty kitchen. He filled a sack with a few provisions: bread, cheese, some apples, and anything he could lay hands on that would not spoil. He tossed Belle a leather pouch, which he instructed her to fill with water from the first stream she met. Tossing in a few more burlap sacks he lamented, "As good of a bedroll as I can produce given the time." He scanned the room and with a quick hand grabbed a long wooden staff leaning against a corner, "A walking stick to help you find your footing on tough terrain," he mumbled.

He opened the back door and poked his head out to make sure the way was clear. He motioned for Belle to join and pointed towards the woods. He whispered, "You'll want to head that way. Follow the river. It will lead you back to the road."

With a finger against his lips to call for silence, he pointed towards the village square. There, stationed in front of the very tree Belle had rested against, was a squad of black knights, Queen Regina's sentries. Standing with their hands on their hilts, their eyes searched every dwarf face for signs of weakness. The street was littered with flyers bearing her image.

Thoughtful pulled Belle back and whispered, "Oh Miss, you'll have to proceed very carefully. Very carefully, indeed."

"I'll be alright. But, what about you? Every dwarf in the village knows I was here. What will they do to you?" Belle asked with tears in her eyes.

"Don't you worry about that. As I said, dwarves do not swear allegiance to Regina. If there's something she wants, we're only too happy to see that she doesn't get it. No one will breathe a word."

Belle nodded solemnly; however, she wasn't so sure. She quickly wrapped her arms around Thoughtful and said, "I'll never be able to thank you enough."

The kind dwarf patted her back and then held her at arms' length. "I'll go talk to them and that might give you a minute to sneak out the back and take cover in the forest." He squeezed her arm gently, "Make haste!"

Belle listened as the front door opened. She heard the distinctive step-slide of Thoughtful's awkward gait as he limped across the square towards the tree where the knights were posted. She stuck her head out far enough to see him hold up a hand in greeting.

The knights handed him one of the posters and pointed towards his inn, instructing him to post the flyer on his door. Thoughtful gestured to the paper, asking what all the fuss was about. The knights took a more aggressive stance and insisted he post the flyer immediately. Several dwarves fell in line behind Thoughtful, their pickaxes slung casually over their shoulders. Some shouted sarcastic remarks at the knights. Belle thought she heard someone say something about Snow White. Angry, raised voices carried across the square.

Belle quickly slung on her pack, stepped quickly across the back alley, and headed for the cover of the woods. This would be her only chance to escape unseen.

"There she is!" The loud cry made Belle's blood freeze. It was the voice of a woman. Belle turned and saw Ziva, well water pooling around her feet beside the overturned pail, pointing in Belle's direction. Louder with lightening in her eyes, she called again "She's here!" The black knights focused their attention on the two women standing like statues in the alley.

The knights raced across the square in her direction. Belle, glad now for the boots and shorter skirt, fled quickly into the forest. She slipped through the ancient tree trunks with the agility and speed of a deer fleeing the hunter's arrow in autumn. She glanced over her shoulder. Ziva had not followed her. No one had.

Belle slowed, still picking her way deeper into the forest. She could just make out the village square between the trunks of the trees. Her hand muffled her scream. A great tangle, men and dwarves battled against each other in the small dirt road. The streets were flooded with their numbers. Four of the knights lay dead, pickaxes having pierced their armor and bit into their flesh. The other six were surrounded by no less than thirty dwarves, most of whom held pickaxes. Others had only daggers or knives. The familiar clash of metal against metal made Belle shudder. She knew the sound of war. Small, broken bodies fell into the dirt, joining the larger ones of enemies already at peace.

Suddenly, a purple cloud exploded in the center of the chaos. As the cloud dissipated into inky black smoke, it ignited the eaves of the humble wooden buildings surrounding the square. A woman stood defiantly, arms held high over her head, as the skirmish began to break apart. Belle knew this woman. She had met her on the road the day Rumplestiltskin set her free.

"The queen," she whispered. Regina.

Regina fired several bolts of lightning from the palm of her hand toward the dwarves. Most were stunned; a few were injured. The battle ceased. Her voice amplified by magic, Regina called out, "Where is she?"

Belle held her breath. Ziva was nowhere to be found. One of the knights pointed in the direction of the inn. Regina acknowledged him and said, "Bring me the innkeeper."

Two pairs of forceful hands pushed Thoughtful to his knees before the queen. Regina began her interrogation, "She was here. Where is she now?"

When he refused to answer, Regina laughed in the kind, old dwarf's face. Out of thin air, she produced a small vial and held it in front of his face. "Your loyalty is endearing. Unfortunately, it is misdirected."

With a violent hand, she forced Thoughtful to drink the bright blue fluid. She grabbed his chin, bent her head down to his, and repeated her questions. Belle wished she could hear his answer. She prepared to resume her flight through the woods.

Regina released Thoughtful as if casting out a rotten apple core. She called to her men, "She's going home! Scour the road from here to the Eastern Mountains. And, when you leave this village, leave nothing but ashes."

When Regina vanished the battle began anew. The knights took the upper hand quickly. Regina's magic had been decimated the dwarf militia.

Belle was about to start back down the hill and stand with her friends when she spied Thoughtful, staggering away from the battle with the help of two other dwarves. They were retreating to the mines. Thoughtful's head bobbed up and down limply as he passed in and out of consciousness. With what was certainly his last ounce of strength, he looked toward the trees where Belle stood motionless. His eyes crossed back and forth, searching for something he could not find. They made eye contact briefly. He smiled faintly before passing out again.

Most of the dwarves followed Thoughtful into the mines, fighting back the knights and grabbing as many supplies as they could. Eight broke away and headed into the forest at the southern edge of town. Belle whispered her thanks, wiped the tears from her face, and forced herself to turn away. Regina was right. She was going home. Toward the Dark Castle.

Belle followed the river for two days before she found the road. Wary of meeting strangers, especially those clad in the black armor of the Queen's guard, Belle followed the path from a safe distance. Regina had sent her men in the opposite direction, assuming Belle intended to return to the house of her father in the east. The Dark Castle was nestled securely in the Western Mountains. There were few villages in the area and small ones at that. Although she would have appreciated the anonymity of a bustling city where strange faces were nothing out of the ordinary, she was glad to accept the obscurity of solitude.

When at last she did hear the steady clopping of hooves and a squeaking wagon wheel, Belle retreated further into the trees. A handsome, yet simple-looking man drove slowly past in a cart pulled by a single, bony horse. He had the same dreamy look in his eye as her little dwarf friend on his way to Firefly Hill. The man did not see her. He was barely watching the road. She wished him well and continued walking.

Two miles later, she came upon the same cart, one of the back wheels sunk into a deep, muddy rut. Belle watched as the young man braced himself against the back of the cart and pushed until he was red in the face. He slipped and fell into the mud, soaking his clothes and getting street filth all over his face.

"You look like you could use a hand," Belle called as she stepped out of the forest. The young man jumped and clutched his hat at the unexpected sound of her voice. "Here," she said, pulling one of the burlap sacks out of her pack and handing it to the man. "It's rough, but you can use it to clean the mud off a bit."

The man accepted her offer and began to wick away as much of the mud as he could from his face. His cheeks were scrubbed red and glowing. He answered, "It's no worry, Miss. I'm a rough enough man. A little scratchy bit of cloth won't hurt me none."

"Your cart?" Belle gestured lamely.

"Stuck, I'm afraid." He kicked the back wheel which had sunk nearly eight inches into the mud, running a hand through his wheat-colored hair. "I think I could get myself out, but my mare won't pull."

"Maybe she just needs a little motivation," Belle offered.

The man nodded, "I suppose so."

"I tell you what," Belle said. "I'll see if I can't get your horse moving from the front, and maybe you can push from the back?"

The man nodded, tossed the dirty bag into the back of the cart. Belle stepped up beside the mare and stroked her nose. The horse was old and had no inclination for hard labor. Belle reached into her pack and pulled out the last apple. She held it out and called to the beast. The mare stepped closer, and Belle took another step back. The harness became taut, and she could hear the young man grunting as he pushed from the rear. Belle took another step, still holding the apple in front of the mare.

"Come on! Want a nice crunchy apple? But, before you get it you have to take a little walk. Just a few steps. Come on!"

With some reluctance, the mare stepped forward and pulled on the harness. Belle heard the driver give a great shout and saw the cart move forward a few inches, then a few feet. Belle rubbed the horse's nose and surrendered the promised treat. After snuffling Belle's hand, the mare gratefully munched the sweet fruit.

Covered in mud once again, the young man reclaimed the bag and began to clean off his face and hands. "I thank you, miss—"

"Belle."

"John," he answered as he extended a dry but dirty hand. Belle, who was in no better shape after two days in the forest, gladly shook his hand.

"It was my pleasure, John."

"Can I offer you a ride, Miss? I know this country, and there isn't another town or village for miles."

Belle paused to consider. Her tired body was ready to ease into the back of the cart. He didn't look like a cutthroat, but looks could be deceiving. She glanced in his empty cart then back to his face. There was honesty there. Belle trusted her instincts and said, "That would be wonderful."

John beamed as he helped Belle up into the seat and threw her pack into the back of the cart. He flicked the reins against the mare's back, and she began her steady walk down the winding path. John asked, "Where are you headed, Miss Belle?"

"West to Odenhad. Do you know it?"

"Know it? I live just before the crossroads. I can drop you off at the corner, Miss."

Belle patted his arm, "I'm very glad to hear it. And, I appreciate the ride."

"I appreciate your help back there. Awful thing getting stuck in the mud. My own fault, really. I wasn't paying attention to the road."

"Your mind was elsewhere?" Belle asked knowingly.

John nodded, "Back in Brigham."

Brigham was a village about 20 miles south of the dwarf mines. His road would not have brought him close to the now demolished village. He likely had not heard about the queen's recent visit to the area. "Where you there on business, John?"

John laughed, "No, no business. Family. At least, I hope so anyway."

"Oh, I see. A sweetheart?" Belle smirked.

"Yes," John blushed. "She visits her aunt in Odenhad every summer. We used to play together when we were little."

"And, I bet last summer she wasn't so little anymore, was she?"

"No. No, she was not. I went to Brigham to ask her father for her hand. He plans to come with her to visit Odenhad. He wants to make sure I can provide. Wants to see the farm and everything."

"Oh, well, I should think you'll have very little to do to convince him."

"Let's cross our fingers shall we?"

Belle sat beside John in the cart for the rest of the day, chatting pleasantly and dodging most of his questions. In the evening they made camp in a wide open field. John urged her to make her bed under the wagon. There she created a fair little nest with the bedroll John insisted she use. He moved closer to the fire, tipped his hat over his eyes, and mumbled something about camping with his father as a child before drifting off to sleep.

The dreams returned. Only, now as Rumplestiltskin spun throughout eternity, she could see herself standing in the background, watching over his shoulder. Sometimes she called out to him, but he never turned away from the great spinning wheel.

They reached the crossroads at noon the next day. John pointed toward each path, "Straight on will take you towards Hartlet, about ten miles from here. Down there," he pointed to the path on the left, "Is how you get to Odenhad. Do you see that bit of chimney?"

Belle nodded, taking note of the quaint red-brick chimney just above the brush not 100 yards from the road. There were a few scrubby acres in front of the house and a faded barn off to the right.

"That's my farm. In a couple of weeks you'll have to come and say hello to Anna. That is, if you're still in town."

If Belle ever ventured to Odenhad, she would have to pass right by John's farm. They were almost neighbors.

"I'll do that. If I can," Belle promised. She pointed toward the path leading to the right. She knew where its shadowed turns led, but she asked anyway, "And, if I follow that road?"

"Oh, miss," John began, "You don't want to go that way. Only one who lives down there is that Rumple feller. I'm sure you've heard of him. If not, trust me, you don't want to bump into him on the road all by yourself. He's very truthful, but he ain't honest, if you catch my meaning."

"Got it," she said and stuck out her hand in thanks. They said farewell and Belle headed towards Odenhad. When she was quite certain John would not see her, she double-backed through the brush and quietly slipped down the long path which she knew would eventually wind through the foothills of the mountains toward the Dark Castle.