Dove was an ogre.

Seized by instinctive terror, Belle flung up a hand, invoking dark magic to push him away from her as fast as possible.

He didn't move. Only a slight crease on his forehead betrayed his concern. "You all right, ma'am?"

Belle laughed hysterically. Her gaze flickered around the room, never quite letting Dove out of her sight as she sought out any possible weapon. The Shears of Fate. She scrambled to pick up the golden shears from where she had dropped them and held them up like a shield. "You're an ogre!"

He nodded.

"How can that be right? What's an ogre doing in Storybrooke?"

"Work for Mr Gold. You know that."

She stared at him in disbelief. She did know that. And yet. An ogre. Ogres had killed her mother. They had nearly destroyed her homeland, and Belle had sacrificed her own future to the Dark One to save her people from them. Fear flooded through her again. Her fingers tightened on the shears. Now. Do it now. Plunge the blades into his heart. Darkness twined through her thoughts. She could feel it already, magic wrapping around her hands, strength enough to shatter bone.

Ogres killed your mother. A memory flashed through her mind, a memory of a library, a memory of crouching under a table with her mother. Then only a blank — and the next she saw of her mother was a closed coffin at the funeral. She felt again the terror of that day. The helplessness. The hate. Today, finally, she had the power to strike back.

Dove watched her, his expression unreadable. He made no move to flee or to defend himself.

He knows his guilt, hissed the darkness. Did he? The thought froze Belle in her tracks. Was he guilty at all? Until she knew — knew if he was one of the ones who had attacked her kingdom — she couldn't... Her hand shook with the effort to hold it back, and she said through gritted teeth, "Why aren't you fighting back!"

"Said already. Work for Mr Gold."

Belle gaped, the meaning of the words sliding out of her grasp. She forced herself to think through the voices urging her to protect herself, to strike first to be sure of victory. What did Dove mean? Why did he work for Rumple, and why did that matter now? What did it have to do with her?

She struggled to make the connection in her mind. She knew, she knew, she was missing something, some thought which would make everything make sense again. She forced herself to concentrate. In her confusion, her fears ebbed away, forgotten. And then it was as if a fog had lifted. Belle gasped, dropping the shears and clutching the corner of the dresser for support as she realized how much the Darkness had distorted her judgement.

This time, having taken it on consciously, it had affected her even more strongly than before. Darkness urged her to selfishness. It weighed the interests of whatever she valued against everything else, and found everything else expendable. Darkness narrowed her view, constricting the circle of her caring to herself and others only as they were extensions of herself. Any risk, however small, was intolerable.

Knowing this, she hoped that she could compensate for its malign influence. She just had to remember, and to think, about what was right. Her raw impulses could no longer be trusted. But if her own feelings could be wrong, that meant that her soul had been compromised. Belle winced. Was this the same doubt that had fed into Rumple's self-loathing for so many centuries? No wonder he hated himself, if what he wanted was shrouded in so much darkness. No. She had to have faith that somewhere beneath darkness lay a deeper truth, some shred of good that persisted in their hearts.

You can do this, she told herself. If she had lost a piece of herself, so be it. That was the price of magic, of power. It didn't matter, as long as she could use it to save her son. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then looked over at Dove. Patient and unmovable as a mountain, Dove waited for her to recover her wits. She forced herself to focus on his face, to see Dove and not a nightmare from her past. He was a person. She had to remember that. If she knew his story, she would be able to move past her fear. You don't have time for this! screamed the darkness from the back of her mind. But she needed Dove's help. So, her voice trembling, she asked him.

"Wolf war," Dove told her. The story came out haltingly, as he explained in his terse, awkward way, the words pulled out one at a time. Many, many years ago, a border dispute had escalated into full-blown war between the humans and the ogres. The balance had tipped when the human king had called down a monstrous curse:two demonic wolves that no weapons could hurt, wolves that scattered the ogres, tore apart their villages, and hunted down the strays. They had been unstoppable. In desperation, the ogres had called upon the Dark One. Dove had been chosen to pay the price.

"'Forever'," breathed Belle, remembering her own bargain with Rumplestiltskin. "You had to go with him, forever?"

Dove nodded.

"And he stopped the war?"

Dove nodded again.

"What happened to the wolves?"

"He knew their names. Freki. Geri. Sent them away. On two legs, to live among the humans."

"Oh!" Recognition sparked in Belle's mind. "Wolves. Like Granny and Ruby Lucas."

"Half-bloods," Dove said. "Moon-bound. Weaker."

She looked at him again. That war must have been a century ago. How long did ogres live? Longer than wolves, apparently. For all their history of conflict, the humans of the Enchanted Forest knew little of their enemies. And for Rumplestiltskin of all people to help them — hadn't he lost as much as she had to the ogres? Belle shook her head, dismissing the question as irrelevant. Time enough to ask him after she got him back. And knowing now that she couldn't burn away Dove's life for Rumple just because the darkness demanded certainty, she steadied her thoughts and picked up the dreamcatcher. "Right. It's the Cauldron we need. I hope he remembers where it's hidden."

Memory extraction — the spell came together in her mind from the bits and pieces she had seen and read, guided by the whispering darkness in her soul. Belle swept the dreamcatcher through the air just above the black puddle that her husband had become. "Show me the Cauldron of Rebirth..." The center of the dreamcatcher misted over, a scene coalescing from a blur of sounds and images...


You're safe, Bae. Do you feel safe, son?

His son didn't feel safe. That much was obvious. He looked terrified. Rumplestiltskin's newfound confidence as the Dark One dimmed when he saw his own child shrink away from him in fear.

Was it the sight of the corpses strewn in their front yard? With a wave of his hand, the Dark One reduced the bodies to dust. If anything, Baelfire looked even more scared. With an inward sigh, Rumplestiltskin searched for some way to reassure his son. Then he remembered. He took Bae by the arm, pretending not to notice his son's terror, and led him inside their house. "Wait here, Bae."

"Where are you going?"

"I will end this war, son. I'm bringing them home, all the children. Just as I promised." He left Bae huddled on the bed and turned. Zoso, the former Dark One, stood in the doorway, his hood drawn up and his face in shadow, but Rumplestiltskin could sense his disapproval. He's not real, Rumplestiltskin reminded himself. A ghost. A memory conjured by the Darkness.

Zoso shook his head. "This is a fool's errand."

Rumplestiltskin walked through him.

"Papa! Don't go."

That stopped him. He turned, trying to smile. "It won't take long. I'll be back, Bae. Stay in the house, and you'll be safe." He had magic, now. A wave of his hand called up darkness to protect his home. Until he returned, no one would be getting in.

"Papa!"

The sound was muffled behind the protection spell. He blinked away. He would prove himself to his son, and Bae would never have to be afraid again.

Magic took him to the forest near the battlefield. Or what used to be the forest: large swathes had been cut bare, leaving only stumps and sawdust. The air reeked of smoke and blood, of rotting meat and excrement. His senses were sharper than they had ever been, yet he no longer abhorred the stench of decay. The Darkness that filled him savored the taste of death. From now on, he would be the hunter and not the prey. Magic was power. Power was life. For the first time in years, he dared to dream of a future with his son, to think of more than simply surviving another day. Once he was done here, he would have everything he had ever wanted.

He walked to the edge of the forest and surveyed the situation. The Duke's army was dug in with its back to the river at Haseford. This was miles deeper into the Frontlands than the ogres had penetrated since Rumplestiltskin's stint in the army, almost fifteen years ago. This war had to end, or there would be nothing left of his homeland.

"It won't be that easy." Zoso stood beside him, watching the battlefield with him. "Ogres have bred themselves to resist magic."

"I have the dagger." Rumplestiltskin fingered the serpentine blade, its power thrumming under his touch. "That's enough."

"You may push them back for a day, a week, or a month, but it's not enough. I killed plenty of ogres in my time. But they always come back."

"What?" Rumplestiltskin was shocked into finally giving Zoso his full attention. "How?"

Zoso told him about the Cauldron of Rebirth. The ogres possessed it, using it to create an endless undying horde that no mortal army could stand against.

"Why didn't the Duke order you to capture it for him?" Rumplestiltskin asked, but he saw the answer before Zoso could reply. "The Duke doesn't know. You never told him!"

"It didn't serve my best interest."

"You wanted to die." Rumplestiltskin thought about how the former Dark One had manipulated a desperate crippled spinner into arson, theft, and murder — succeeding only because the Duke's resources were so strained that his castle had been left practically empty. If Zoso had ended the war too soon, he might still be a slave. Besides, he had wanted the Duke to suffer for his temerity in daring to command the Dark One, and never mind everyone else that suffered, too. Fury filled Rumplestiltskin at Zoso's heartlessness, and he spat at the ghost, "You don't have any interests now, sunshine. Now tell me what I need to know..."

The cauldron was hidden by mist — the same magical mist, Zoso told him, that had once protected Misthaven before it became splintered into the multitude of human kingdoms of the Enchanted Forest. The Frontlands was at the border of those kingdoms, abutting the mountainous territory occupied by the ogres.

A spell took him to the source of the mist: a gaunt, starved creature chained inside an iron cage. Scarred and mutilated, it gripped the bars of the cage, staring at Rumplestiltskin in a mute plea. Chains dragged from its ankles, rattling softly when it moved, but no sound came out of its mouth — it exhaled a haze of befuddlement with each breath. Only Zoso's guidance enabled Rumplestiltskin to see the prisoner.

"Cages again," he muttered, remembering the Seer once held by the Duke's army. A tormented child, she had begged for his help while frightening him with her prophecies. At least this one didn't speak. "Always cages. What is this magic?"

"Illusion," Zoso told him. "Glamour. The cauldron is here, but you won't be able to find it unless he permits it."

"Why is he in a cage? All this magic. Can't he escape?"

"He's an elf. Iron binds him to this place," Zoso said with a malicious smirk. He flickered out of existence, then reappeared inside the cage behind the prisoner, a ghostly hand indicating the chains running to a ring fixed to the floor.

"An elf? I thought... they say elves are extinct." Rumplestiltskin studied the prisoner more closely. It could have been human, except for the sparks of magic that infused its aura. He moved up to the cage and reached through the bars, grabbing the creature by the collar and pulling him close. "You're an elf? Where is the cauldron? Show me!"

The elf glared back at him, panting. Magic washed over Rumplestiltskin, a wave of confusion that nearly made him forget why he was there.

He shook off the spell, blinking the fog away. Then his hand twisted, his grip tightening. "How about a little deal? Show me the cauldron and I'll get you out of this cage."

"There's only one way out for this one." Zoso's eyes glittered as he explained, "He's one of the walking dead — one of the cauldron-born."

"In that case..." Rumplestiltskin brought up his dagger with his other hand and thrust it between the bars of the cage, slipping it easily under the prisoner's ribs and straight into the heart. The spell ended with the elf's death. Mist dissipated, revealing...

...an enormous black cauldron, standing on three massive iron legs. Half a dozen ogres attended it, keeping the fire underneath fed and stirring the contents with a wooden spoon the size of a young tree. Firewood was stacked on one side, dead ogres on the other. As Rumplestiltskin watched, a long gray limb emerged from the cauldron, gripping the lip and pulling itself up. Another hand joined the first, and then a corpse-pale ogre climbed out. Its skin glistened with traces of magical broth.

Rumplestiltskin gasped. Seven pairs of eyes turned towards him at the sound, and he realized that just as he could see them now, they could see him.

Or perhaps not. While two remained by the cauldron, the others shuffled towards him, their gazes unfocused as they sniffed the air, heads cocked as they listened.

"Do you know why ogres have such bad vision?" Zoso said conversationally. "It's because they've blinded themselves rather than be fooled by elven glamours."

The ogres growled and grumbled to each other, fanning out as they approached. They were talking. Ogres could talk? The soldiers had told Rumplestiltskin and the other conscripts that ogres were mute beasts, cunning and savage, but barely more than animals. He stared at them in appalled fascination, having never seen them so close before. They were even bigger than he had imagined. And the Duke sent children to fight them? One hit with an ogre's club would have turned Bae to paste!

"Of course they can talk. It's just that their voices are below the range of human hearing — it frightens people even when they don't know why. But as a Dark One, your senses extend a bit farther." Zoso paused for a moment, then added, "If you don't want to be an ex-Dark One, I suggest you get out of their way. Now would be good."

Rumplestiltskin shook himself out of his daze, using a whisper of magic to transport himself behind one of the ogres left guarding the cauldron. Kill them. They all have to die, or Bae will never be safe. Anger and blood lust filled him, and he buried his dagger in the ogre. Darkness gave him inhuman strength and stamina to strike over and over, pulling his opponent to the ground. One fell, and then the other. At the sound of their death cries, the other ogres raced back.

At five against one, it was a close thing, even with dark magic. When it was over, the weight of the bodies crushing him was nearly suffocating. He crawled out, all his limbs shaking from the effort and the memory of having the dagger knocked out of his hand. He had barely snatched it off the ground in time. Shutting his eyes, trying to banish the thought, he said hoarsely, "Is that how you lost the dagger?"

"Me? I wasn't stupid enough get into a brawl with five ogres at once," Zoso scoffed. "One slip in your defenses and they would have torn off your whole damned arm, never mind holding onto the dagger then!"

Rumplestiltskin shuddered. He pushed himself into a sitting position and stared at the blood-stained blade that now held his name. "Yet the Duke got it off you somehow."

"Not him. It was a gods-cursed elf," said Zoso. "Worse than ogres, elves."

"No one's ever seen any elves, not for centuries."

"Not that they know about, you mean. But no, it's true that they mostly stay under the Hollow Hills," said Zoso, seating his ghostly form next to Rumplestiltskin. "Except when they come out to meddle. How do you think this war started?"

Rumplestiltskin frowned, shrugged. "The ogres attacked the Frontlands."

"And why did they do that?" Zoso answered his own question, "Because some bastard fey-spawn told the ogres that the Duke controlled the Dark One, so they'd better get the magic dagger away from the Duke first."

"The dagger... that the elf gave to him?" Rumplestiltskin pieced it together slowly. "And that the Duke used... to make you fight the ogres?"

"And the more success I had, the more threatened they felt, and the harder they fought," said Zoso.

"For fifteen years?" Rumplestiltskin leaped to his feet, fueled by new outrage. "Oh, this has to end. Now."

He turned all his fury on the cauldron, but it was as Zoso had said: it was immune to his magic. Even with his enhanced strength, he only managed to tip it over, smothering the fire in a rush of bubbling broth. He cursed and beat at the sides with his fists, bruising himself but not even denting the iron.

"Stop it," Zoso said in his ear. "You're out of time."

Rumplestiltskin leaped back with a snarl, slashing his dagger futilely at the ghost. Then he looked past Zoso and his breath caught as fear choked him. Ogres. Even more than last time, all of them headed towards the toppled cauldron, with Rumplestiltskin trapped in between. He wanted badly to run, to flicker out of existence and be simply elsewhere.

No. He swallowed his fear and forced himself to stand his ground. He had to do something about the cauldron. Even if he couldn't destroy it by magic — he summoned darkness and sent himself inside the cauldron. He knelt on the curved metal surface; it was so heavy that it didn't even wobble under his weight. He wrapped both hands around the hilt of his dagger and stabbed it into the cauldron, yelling wordlessly as he forced all his power into the point.

Contact.

Time froze. Rumplestiltskin found himself adrift in darkness. Words and meaning passed through him in soundless voices.

So it's you, said one.

Only in part, said the other. The rest of me still sleeps in a bed of stone.

You've changed. You let them do this to you...

I put myself in their hands. So did you, yet you remain as you were. Will you not go home? You are missed.

Not until HE is gone.

And when will that be? He is immortal.

I can wait. Enough of that. What of you? Did you find the ones you sought? The instruments of your purpose?

I thought I had. I was wrong.

This one, then? How frightened he is, this desperate soul you've found.

We shall see. He's come to put a stop to your miracles.

He can try. It doesn't matter what form you've taken — you have no power over me, little brother.

I know.

Time restarted with a jolt of lightning that ran up Rumplestiltskin's arm right through his bones. He stumbled backwards with a grunt of pain, shaking his head to clear it of the alien voices. His scattered thoughts came back together, converging into a plan of action. He laid his palm flat on the side of the cauldron, reaching through it to the ground beneath. Even if he couldn't affect the cauldron itself, he could still take it away from the ogres.

Dark magic struck the earth with enough force to crack it open. The cauldron tipped, then plunged downwards. Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth and sent magic down, down, and further down, burrowing deep into the bedrock. The sudden crevasse shook closed above them, debris falling onto the cauldron in a thunderous din. He diverted just enough power to shield himself while the cauldron tumbled into the passage he had opened. If magic couldn't move it, gravity could.

They came to a stop at last, the magic ebbing away through Rumplestiltskin's fingers. Buried under a mile of rock, he imagined he could feel the weight pressing down on them. The air was stale and thick with dust, irritating his lungs and making his eyes water.

"Don't breathe," Zoso advised. He stuck out a ghostly hand into the surrounding rocks. "In fact, there's not much point to staying here, unless you enjoy small confined spaces."

Rumplestiltskin shuddered violently. No. "I still have to stop the war."

"Do you have a plan? Or are you just going to stand on the battlefield and shout?"

By that point, he was exhausted and deranged enough to do exactly that. The transport spell took him to the surface, where the ogres, shocked by the loss of their secret weapon, had come out with an all-out assault on the Duke's forces. Rumplestiltskin materialized in a billowing cloud of darkness and a shout backed by enough magic to set the ground to shaking, hard enough to knock even the ogres off their feet. "STOP!"

Stunned by surprise, both sides retreated to regroup and assess this new threat. Rumplestiltskin didn't give them any more time to think. His magic worked well enough on humans, so he collected the Duke and his war council and transported them to the hillside where the ogre leader was camped.

"The war is over," he told them. Then he reached out for Zoso. The former Dark One sank into his skin, letting Rumplestiltskin borrow his fluency with the ogre language. He repeated his words to the ogres, his voice sounding strange in his ears.

Humans and ogres glared at him in disbelief. The Duke seemed shocked at his Dark One's sudden rebellious turn.

A knife through the heart cured him of his skepticism.

After Rumplestiltskin had done the same to the ogre leader, everyone else was suddenly eager to negotiate a truce.

Hours later, he was weary but triumphant. The children of the Frontlands were going home. Imagining Bae's joyful appreciation was about all that kept him on his feet. He had won this time, but the narrowness of his victory had shaken him. There would be other battles, with enemies more subtle, more dangerous than ogres and dukes. He would never be safe, and his son would never be safe, unless he had more power.

More power than anyone.


"Damn it, Rumple... nothing ever changes, does it?" Belle sighed at the dream-catcher as the images faded. She shook her head. This was not the memory she needed. She tried again, summoning more recent recollections. "Show me where the cauldron is now, not where it used to be."

She scooped up more memories and watched as another scene unfolded inside the circular frame...


A voice called him inside his mind: a warning, or an omen. He followed it underground, into a section of the mines sealed away by a rockfall. The Cauldron of Rebirth had made its own space, carving a hollow out of the tunnels to squat there in the darkness like a giant three-legged spider, although in this realm, it was only about half the size it had been when he had first encountered it.

"So. You followed us here." Rumplestiltskin approached it warily, knowing that the Dark Curse couldn't have moved an artifact of such power unless it had chosen to move. It had remained in the Enchanted Forest before, but something had changed this time around. "Was it because Excalibur was awake?"

When it didn't answer, he closed his eyes and let his cheek rest against the rough iron of the cauldron, the chill seeping into his skin. He drew the dagger from his jacket and touched its tip to the side. This time, the response slipped soundlessly into his head.

His time is coming.

"Whose time?"

You travel to the Underworld. A dangerous proposition.

"I have my reasons," he said, and he didn't mean Emma Swan's blackmail attempt. His son might be there. He had to know...had to be sure that Bae's soul had found peace at last.

And I have mine, whispered the cauldron. Excalibur, is it? That name comes with a price.

This isn't Camelot, and that isn't my name now. The dagger had its own voice, purified now that Rumplestiltskin had filtered out the imprints of the previous Dark Ones when he had taken the Darkness back. I doubt we'll be able to kill Hades for you.

I don't ask it of you.

Then why did you summon us?

Curiosity. This soul you've bound yourself to again. It's been a long time.

He's endured longer than all the others.

"What does it matter?" Rumplestiltskin asked tiredly. "What's done is done."

Indeed, said the cauldron.

"Don't start anything, or you'll be swimming in magma."

I'll be sure to await your return, then. Take care, little brother.

"What touching concern," said Rumplestiltskin, troubled by the cauldron's presence in this realm, but it was a lesser concern than the journey looming ahead of him. Time enough to worry about the cauldron later...


"That's it. Right there." Belle reached through the memory to pinpoint the location, a form of divination that would allow her to magically transport herself there. As for Rumple, she would need some kind of container to carry him in.

Dove found an empty plastic trash can in the garage and helped mop up the black goo into it.

"Sorry, Rumple." Belle tried not to think about the unfortunate symbolism. She clutched the can by the handles and tested its weight. She could carry it. Barely.

Tick tock, time's running out...

She tapped on the fear that ran underneath all her thoughts, the fear that she might be too late to save her son, and rode that wave of panic deep into the mines where the cauldron was hidden. She poured the remains of her husband into the cauldron into a "broth" made from the water of the wishing well, as Rumple's notes had suggested.

It has the power to return that which one has lost, he had once told her.

The cauldron hissed and sparked with magical energy. Then, like the beginning of a zombie apocalypse, the haggard form of her husband surfaced, hands clawing over the rim. He hauled himself up, then threw himself over the side.

Belle rushed to catch him, but his weight sent both of them tumbling to the ground. "Rumple!"

He opened his eyes and stared blankly at her, with no recognition in his face. His clothes, soaked through, clung heavily to him, water running off in little rivulets as he twisted in her grasp. If this sharply-tailored suit was what he imagined himself wearing, that was all he seemed to remember of himself.

"Rumple, please." She gripped him more tightly, willing him to wake up. And then he did. Belle knew the moment when his memories returned by the sudden tension in his body and the devastated look of guilt that contorted his face before he could hide it.

"Belle," he gasped. "Belle, I'm so sorry. I...I failed..."

"Rumple, she took our baby!" All the fear and anxiety she had been holding at bay came crashing back into her consciousness, and Belle crumpled, sobbing, into her husband's embrace.

"I know," he said softly, into her hair. He held her close, offering what comfort he could. "We'll get him back."


Author's notes: So I read some spoilers for season 6b, and I'm not feeling the hope. 6a was bad enough already with a bunch of plots that went nowhere and new characters wasted. Still not liking this "Savior" thing. CaptainSwan was boring and annoying, Snowing ditto, and RumBelle was a painful infuriating clusterfuck (even worse than s4 and s5). As for the squick of EQ/Gold... ugh, I'm gonna drink a forgetting potion. The only remotely positive development was in SwanQueen, but I doubt the show has the guts to make it endgame in canon. And I hope they don't do that thing where they bring back Robin Hood, have him possessed by evil, then end up killed by Emma.

Thinking back, what with the pregnancy and the Underworld plot, they could have done it as a version of "Tam Lin" (which even has a rose! and a tithe owed to hell!) Tam Lin!Janet knew what she was getting into, and had the strength to hold onto her lover and pull him free of the darkness. It could even have worked with a bookworm with a hero complex, as was done in the novel "Fire and Hemlock". But the show gave us the anti-Janet who ran away/rejected Rumple at every turn and sent her baby straight into "hell"! Gah.

So yeah. I may end up going with my own plot/backstories (I mean, I already have notes and outlines sketched out) and ditch canon even more than I have already. Hence the random flights of fancy in this chapter. The degree of my canon-compliance will depend on if they come up with anything interesting for the Black Fairy. I don't want a Peter Pan repeat.