Thank to elli.O. for her work on this chapter. I also appreciate all the reviews this story is getting. This chapter was particularly difficult to write. I hope you all enjoy it.


Bealocwealm hafadh fréone frecan forth onsended

[An evil death has set forth the noble warrior]

Giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende

[A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels]

On Meduselde thaet he ma no waere

[In Meduseld that he is no more]

His dryhtne dyrest and maga deorost.

[To his lord dearest and kinsmen most beloved.]

Baelo

[An evil death…]

~Eowyn's lament for Théodred, The Two Towers


On Monday morning, a stranger drove into Storybrooke. That was odd; it wasn't often strangers found their way to town.

The bright yellow bug clashed with the grey February day. As it drove down Main Street, people gathered in windows, paused on the street, turned their heads to stare at it passing. Even Belle paused at the library's window to watch it pass when it caught her eye.

The driver didn't seem lost or unfamiliar with the surroundings. She didn't stop to peer at each sign or glance around to make sure she was in the right place. The distance between her window and the street blurred everything but her silhouette, so Belle couldn't tell if the stranger had been here before or not. In the backseat sat the silhouette of another head—a child's—bent over a book or video game.

Belle hovered in the window until the car passed out of sight. There was something strangely familiar about it. As if she was supposed to recognize it, but didn't. Yet at the same time she knew it was new and didn't belong here. It was a pebble thrown into clear water unexpectedly. And Belle wasn't sure that the following ripples would be a good thing.


The diner was full of the buzz of hurried conversation. Belle glanced over the crowd, a faint smile coming to her face. She'd come for lunch a bit earlier than usual, landing herself right in the middle of the midday crowd. And today, the single topic of conversation seemed to be the stranger in the yellow bug.

Belle made her way to the farthest seat at the counter, out of everyone else's way. She gave Ruby a nod, happy to wait until her friend had a free minute. She had all the time she wanted. Without scheduled events, it was rare to have visitors at the library these days.

"Belle." Ruby greeted her with a smile and a bowl of soup, anticipating Belle's order. "Finally some sanity. It's a madhouse in here."

"I noticed." She accepted the soup with a nod of thanks.

"It's all because of that stranger." Ruby leaned against the counter so she was closer to Belle.

"Really?" Belle looked around. "What does the city of Storybrooke have so far?"

Ruby grinned, in her element, and recited, "Her name is Emma Swan. Her kid's name is Henry. She's got Massachusetts plates, so probably from Boston. She drove up to the sheriff's station two hours ago and no one's seen her since."

"And everyone's still finding things to discuss about that?" Belle laughed.

"Well, it's mostly speculation now." Ruby shrugged. "How are you? You ran out of here pretty fast the last week."

"I'm fine," Belle assured her.

"You don't look fine. You look upset. What happened?" Ruby studied her, trying to break through the mask Belle struggled to hold up. "Is it Mr. Gold?" she asked.

"I..." Belle swallowed. She didn't want to talk about this, but it was better than addressing what was really on her mind. "I went to see him."

Ruby was stunned. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. When she finally regained the ability to speak, she spoke slowly, looking for Belle to contradict her. "At the pawn shop. Mr. Gold. You talked to him?"

Belle nodded. A grin exploded on Ruby's face and she had to clap her hands over her mouth to restrain a shriek.

"What did he say? What did you say? What happened? Are you together? Did you kiss him?"

"Ruby. Ruby!"

"What?" she asked, breaking off her flood of questions.

"No, none of that happened. I mean, yes, we talked, but that's all."

"What'd you talk about?" Ruby asked, a glint coming into her eyes.

"Look, Ruby, it was nothing. It's fine now."

The look left Ruby's eyes, but she remained suspicious. "What did he say about Cora? You did talk about that didn't you?"

"Yes..." Belle sighed. She really hadn't meant to get into all this. "Look, it's nothing. He fed me some unspecific explanations. But I'm okay."

"You're okay?" Ruby scoffed. "The man you've spent months and months obsessing over gives you lame excuses about his affair and you're okay?"

"Look, it's not my biggest worry right now. I can deal with that later."

"Not your biggest—Belle what's wrong?"

Belle didn't know what made her say it. Stupidity, perhaps. Or the genuine concern in her friend's eyes.

"It's my story."

Of all things, Ruby didn't seem to have been expecting that. Her eyes widened and she tried to phrase a kind question. "What about it?"

"It's just..." Phrasing crazy was difficult. Cause that's what it was. Crazy. "It's more complicated than I thought. I'm having trouble wrapping my head around it."

"Can't you just simplify it?"

"It's doesn't work like that."

Ruby gave her a kind smile. "Well, I'm sure you'll get through it."

"Yeah." Belle sighed.

"Look," Ruby said, "are you sure you're okay with Mr. Gold? You were pretty cut up over it and it doesn't sound like he did much to help—"

"Mr. Gold and I are fine," Belle said firmly.

"I just want you to be happy."

Belle laughed a little. "Tell that to this story."

"I wish I could."

The bell by the register rang, calling Ruby away. Belle waited until she was busy with the customers to leave a few bills on the counter for her uneaten soup and leave the diner. She'd thought that talking with Ruby and being part of a little normal life would help clear her head. Instead it only made things worse. What did she believe? Gold's story made no sense at all, but at the same time, it made too much sense. It was the only thing that fit. A part of her considered that there might be other options if she looked for them, but her mind couldn't hold any other theory.


The next morning wasn't any better. Belle's restless night hadn't sorted anything out. Her head and her story were just as big a mess as they'd been the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that as well.

Real or not real? Parallel worlds or a story? Friend or hallucination? What was she supposed to believe? A part of her couldn't believe she was even considering Gold's story. The rest of her pointed out that she'd been hanging out with Rum for months now with barely a second thought.

By the end of the morning, being alone in the library with nothing but her swirling thoughts was too much. Gathering her coat and lunch, Belle locked up and hurried down the street. She passed Granny's quickly, not wanting a repeat of the day before. Her feet took her to the sheriff's station without consciously realizing where she was headed. But it was exactly what she needed. Talking to Graham would clear her head.

The sheriff's station was quiet as always. There wasn't much crime in Storybrooke, so there were no prisoners or use for most of the rooms. The lights in the hall were kept at half power to save money. Belle was only grateful the heat wasn't under the same rule.

"Graham?" she called softly as she came around the corner to his office. "Graham?"

She stopped short in the doorway. Graham wasn't in his office. Instead, there sat a woman. A blonde in jeans and a red leather jacket. Her feet were up on the desk and a box of donuts open next to her, one in her hand. She turned towards the door at Belle's call.

Belle's breath caught in her throat. She knew that face. It was impossible. She'd never met the woman before. Not in this world, at least. It was the woman from her story. The one standing beside the king who'd wept when Graeme was brought back to the Castle.

It was impossible.

"Hey, hey you okay there?" the woman asked.

"Yeah," Belle said, smiling as best she could despite the shock running through her. "I'm looking for Graham."

"He's not here," the woman said, standing. "I'm his temporary replacement." She held out her hand. "Emma Swan."

Belle shook her hand. Her grip was firm, confident. "Where is he?"

"Well, he can't very well do his job with a broken arm," Emma said. "So he's at home resting. And I'm covering for him. Is there something you needed?"

"No, it's nothing," Belle said. "I was just looking to talk with him. He's a good friend."

"It's great to meet you then," Emma said.

"Same." Belle smiled. Emma seemed nice enough. "So how did you manage to get drafted to the small town?" she asked.

"It's a personal favor, actually," Emma said. "I'm from Boston—" one point for Ruby "—and Graham asked me to come up."

"You guys were friends?"

"Exes actually. Graham is, uh, my son's father," Emma explained, nodding. "So I brought Henry up to stay with him and I'm covering for him while he gets better."

"Right, of course," Belle said. Ruby hadn't figured that part out.

"Look," Emma said, "I know he's with someone else. And I'm not trying to create drama. I'm just helping him out and bringing his son to see him."

Belle nodded. "Well, I'd have that conversation with Ruby sooner rather than later." She took her leave quickly and hurried from the sheriff's station, her head spinning. Not from the news that Graham's ex and kid were in town, but because there was no doubt that Emma was in her story. How could she create a character based off a woman she hadn't even met yet?


Snow and Charming rose before even the faintest hint of dawn was visible over the eastern sea or forests. For the three days since their return, the whole Castle had been in mourning. It seemed you never truly knew how much you were respected until you were dead and gone. Graeme had never fit in with court life. He'd always been an oddity and an outsider. It was only Snow's attachment to him that granted him passage within the Castle walls.

Yet now that he was gone, it seemed he was one of the finest warriors, the most respected, the most missed of the King's garrison. His position of Snow's adopted brother was no longer contested. Rather, it was accepted as absolute truth and all expressed their condolences to the princess for the loss of her last family.

She dressed slowly, letting Charming lace up the back of her black silk dress with clumsy hands. The gown didn't fit her as well as she was accustomed to. That was to be expected—there had only been a few days to make it. The fabric was a little loose around her hips and tight around her shoulders. An improper seam itched at her side. She did up her hair in a simple style—she hadn't wanted help from maids this morning. It was too personal of a time.

"The veil?" Charming asked quietly, dressed in a black suit of his own. Snow nodded. Carefully, her husband pinned the black lace to her head. Reaching up, Snow pulled it over her face. It was the veil both her mother and grandmother had worn for state funerals. Snow had only worn it twice before: once for her mother, and once for her father. And now she wore it for her brother.

She prayed she would not wear it for her husband before many decades more had passed.

While the lament went to the dead man's true love, all his female relatives would be veiled for the ceremony. And here, there would only be three in veils: Snow, Red, and Belle.


Red waited for Belle to finish getting ready. She leaned back on Belle's couch and tried to swallow the tears that already threatened to fall. She just had to wait until the beginning of the procession. Then she could cry. She was determined to make it down there dry-eyed.

Belle finished pinning on her veil and turned to Red, who reached forward and drew it down over Belle's face as the other girl did the same to her.

With a terse nod, the two girls left the room. They walked together, not holding hands or arms, but close enough that they brushed against each other every few steps. The whole Castle seemed empty and silent. As if it too had died along with Graeme.

It had been days since Red had stopped questioning why this happened. But she had by no means accepted it. Rather, she'd locked it away and tried and failed not to think of the fact that she'd never see him again. She'd loved him for a few days or weeks and that was all she'd ever have with him. There were no spells to bring back the dead.

The front doors of the Castle were opened for them onto a dark courtyard. The sky was only barely tinged with light. The torches had burnt out sometime in the night. A few smoked a little. With a nod to each other, the girls stepped outside.


Soft murmuring rippled among the crowd. Regina supposed that no group of people could remain silent, not even before a funeral. At least it was quiet, respectful. A good illustration of exactly what these same people hadn't shown to Graeme ever before. Her hatred for Graeme's closest friends didn't make Regina heartless. She had proper respect for the man, as both a comrade and friend. Enough respect to remain silent as she watched the crowd gathering along the street.

Funerals were a strange tradition. Each person's role was almost cemented more than it would be in a wedding or any other ceremony. There wasn't even reason—it was simply the way things were. Already, each person was making his way to his appointed place.

If only this ceremony weren't so familiar. Such was the effect of war.

Regina scanned the crowd of black silk and velvet. She knew each person there, their secrets, their aspirations. She made it her business to know. After all, magic could only get her so far. But the knowledge of a person? In the right circumstances it could be priceless. The man across from her was here for appearances, the woman next to him was crying tears she didn't mean in hopes to catch the sympathy (and jealousy) of her current beau. Another cared—a little, at least enough to show up. The woman in the corner actually wished to bid the Huntsman farewell, but would never admit it.

There was another: the woman from their arrival. Her blonde hair was loose again, a longer, more ceremonial sword at her side. It had taken time and a little money here and there, but Regina had learned what she could. Her name was Lady Emma of Anorien. She'd come only weeks before to replace the former Captain of the Guard. She'd known Graeme as a child, thus winning her a place in his funeral procession. She was reserved, but had the reputation as a strict and fair captain and a capable warrior.

Yet there was something… off about her. Regina let her eyes slide to the next person before her stare was noticed. Still, she would keep her eyes on this new Captain.


The former-Captain Hook stood beside Graeme's coffin, attempting to look anywhere but at it. His coat didn't hang right on his shoulders. The leather had been confiscated the day before for cleaning and had been returned stiff and without its customary layer of dust.

He was surprised that he was even standing here, in this courtyard before dawn, waiting for the final members of the procession to show up. Considering his status as a convict, he thought he would be lucky to even attend the funeral. The invitation to help bear the coffin through the city was completely unexpected. It was an honor. And not the sort of honor Hook would accept while making fun of it or planning to sell it for rum, but the true sort of honor that touched him with the reminder that perhaps not everyone wanted to lock him in the brig.

In front of him stood Charming, who was looking around pensively like most of the crowd. Snow stood a ways back, as tradition dictated. Her place would be behind Belle and Red. Of the other four men carrying the coffin, he only knew Frederick.

The Castle doors opened. Belle and Red emerged, the last to arrive. They walked in step with one another as only long-time friends and comrades could do so naturally. Hook tried to catch their eyes, but both stared resolutely forward, their gaze only truly seeing the space in front of them. Seeing was no more than an automatic necessity of walking. Behind them, the doors to the Castle shut with a hollow sound just as the sky began to lighten with the dawn.


Silence fell over the courtyard, and for a moment, it seemed that the whole world paused, leaning just over the brink of a cliff. Places had already been assumed. The coffin lifted. The murmuring ceased. In a moment, the world would un-pause and the funeral would begin, not as a fall into empty space, but a slow march on cobblestones that only felt like a free-fall because of the identity and absence of the man in the coffin.

Belle took a deep breath.

The first note stuck in her throat. Its harsh tone and sound having to cut through her body's physical resistance to letting it go. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry like honey left out so long that had begun to gel and harden. Another deep breath. Her need for a second try was understandable to the crowd, though still she could feel her neck begin to redden.

No one expected the lament to be sung well, only that it would be sung with feeling.

This time the song came:

"Bealocwealm hafadh froene…"

In time with the song, the procession stepped forward. And stepped again. Belle forced her wooden legs to move, aware of Red's presence just behind her. She focused her attention on the song, trying not to think of how it should be Red's, not hers.

The lament wasn't long. Simply the same four lines, repeated on the same cold, haunting melody. "And maga deorost, baelo." It finished for the first time just as the procession left the courtyard into the streets of the Castle's miniature town.

Just as when they'd returned home, the streets were lined with silent people, dressed in black. Their faces were solemn, but there were few tears. Graeme was not well-known among the people. He was another soldier to them—an important enough one that their appearance was warranted, but not enough for their tears. Belle tore her eyes from them. The song. Only the song.

The reason for the lament came to her as she sang, eyes fixed ahead at the wooden box in front of her. The lament was what carried her through the procession, much as the men carried the coffin. Without the song, she would have nothing to focus on. The words and melody were just tricky enough to require most of her attention—it was a distraction, a channel for her grief. It wasn't a performance, it was a handkerchief of sorts. A vessel to catch her tears.

Each step seemed an age apart, yet seemed to pass in flashes of awareness. An eternity was compressed to moments between the keep's gate and the turn before the front gate. Instead of passing through it, the procession followed the outer wall of the Castle. It sloped down, down towards the restless sea and the crashing waters.

"Giedd sculon singan gleomenn sorgiende on Meduselde…"

Belle's voice rose above the sound of the sea. The song was such that it could still be sung no matter how many tears gathered in the back of the singer's throat. The road descended from the main one, spiraling down the cliff face towards the waters. The stone path was pristine—undamaged by wagon wheels and horses and the dust swept from it by the hems of too many black gowns.

The path leveled off about a story's drop below the Castle. It came to end there. The procession turned and entered the door in the cliff face. The entrance to the King's Mausoleum.

It was an honor to be buried there. One given to the best warriors and the King's own kin. Belle didn't like to think of the various political reasons that had granted Graeme a spot here rather than in the common graveyard.

The mausoleum itself was dimly lit by torches—much like the dungeons. The difference was that these walls were lined with smooth marble rather than rough-cut stone. More care was afforded to the accommodations for the dead than the living.

Belle's voice echoed off the stone. The reverberations made her single voice seem like a chorus, full and deep. Not the choked mess it truly was.

"And maga deorost, baelo." A breath. "Bealocwealm…"

The procession came to a stop just as the lament started again. Belle clasped her hands together tightly and resisted the urge to close her eyes as Graeme was laid in one of the alcoves.

"Thaet he ma no waere his dryhtne dyrest. And maga deorost, baelo."

The last note rang in the silence of the mausoleum.

Farewell Graeme. Rest in peace.