The song lyrics at the end of this chapter are from the film Anastasia. Thank you to .com for letting me use her url as a chapter title. A final thank you as well to elli.O. for spending two years working with me on this story, as well as for all her help seven years ago coming up with the idea in the first place. And thank you to all my readers who have been with me throughout this fic, supporting and enjoying. You mean so much to me.
Whoa, we're halfway there
Whoa, livin' on a prayer
Take my hand and we'll make it—I swear
Whoa, livin' on a prayer
~"Livin' On a Prayer", Bon Jovi
The cell doors clanged shut behind Belle. She landed on her hands and knees, her palms scraping on the rough stones. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
The light in the cell was dim—night was coming quickly. The guards marched back up the passage, taking their torches with them, leaving Belle and Rum only with the light of the setting sun over the water to see by. Rum scrambled to get to the bars and reach out to Belle.
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm alright," Belle assured him. She joined him at the bars, lacing their hands together. Tomorrow morning at dawn, you will be put to death… One night to live. That's all they had. Yet it wasn't fear that overtook her at the thought: it was anger. Waves of indignation that seemed to fill her throat and mouth and boil up so she felt that she was about to choke on them.
"It was a sham." Her voice was thick. "The whole trial was a sham. We never had a chance. It was decided from the start."
"I know, sweetheart, I know."
"How could they?" Belle asked in almost a whisper. "They were my friends. And they watched. They testified." Her friends had done this. Red and Regina. And if the latter wasn't truly a friend, she was at least a comrade. It was their betrayal that hurt the most. Death didn't frighten her. It hadn't for a very long time. Perhaps once, she would have feared leaving Graeme alone. But now her love would die at her side. There would be no one left to mourn her. Not after today.
"Belle?" Rum asked, his voice quiet. His accent seemed clearer than ever. Perhaps death made everything seem to have more detail. As if the senses wished to take in as much as they could with what little time they had.
"Yes?"
"Did you mean what you said? About True Love?"
Belle swallowed. Her frustration still raged, but she tried to quell it. "With all my heart," she said.
"Then we might have a chance," he said, leaning in as his voice gained urgency. "There's a powerful magic—it won't be easy, but it might give us a chance."
"Truly?" She had thought death did not scare her. The relief she felt at his words showed otherwise.
"Are you familiar with the power of True Love's Kiss?" he asked.
By the time they reached the sheriff's station, Belle had stopped struggling. Everything had drained from her. It was no use fighting. The inspiration was gone. She couldn't get to Gold.
"There, this isn't so bad, is it?" Emma asked as she locked the cell door behind Belle. It was an attempt to be friendly. At least there was that, even if Emma sounded a little as if she was talking to a small child. Or a crazy person.
Belle sat on the edge of the cot. Emma dropped her keys on her desk and picked up her phone. Only a moment later, the door to the sheriff's station opened. Graham entered, his arm still in a cast, looking as if he'd run the whole way there. Emma put the phone down and crossed to him quickly. She tried to keep her voice quiet, but in the silence of the station, Belle heard most of it anyway.
"I don't know why," Emma said once she'd finished describing recent events. "She just attacked. And before that—you should have heard it. It was strange. Like she was somewhere else. Quoting something, maybe? It was bizarre."
"Who else was there?"
"Ruby and Mary Margaret at the beginning. Then Regina, of course. But there was a whole crowd of people around."
"Have you talked with any of them yet?"
Emma shook her head. "I wanted to get Belle out of it."
Graham nodded. "You should go talk to them then," he said.
"I don't want to leave her—"
"I'll stay. You go figure out what you can. I'm not completely useless," he added with a glance to his arm.
"Thanks," she said. Raising her voice, she turned to Belle. "Sit tight. Graham is going to keep an eye on you. We'll try to get this sorted out as soon as possible."
Belle nodded, too weary to speak. She felt drained. Never before had she so clearly felt the separation of her soul. It seemed closer than ever before, but with the ability to feel it came a horrible sense of division. As if she were stretched and frayed.
Emma left with a nod. Graham sat down at the desk and gave Belle a terse smile before pulling out his phone.
Rum fell silent at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. A moment later, guards appeared, led by Lady Emma and Charming. The doors of their cells were unlocked. Not wishing to be dragged, Belle and Rum stood stiffly. The night had been another chill one, only made worse by the damp of the dungeon.
The guards cuffed each of them. Belle didn't resist, but flinched to watch the guards' rough treatment of Rum. They forced his arms back without warning or care if they hurt him. He caught Belle's eye, giving her a look as if to say "it's okay" and "don't forget what I told you". Belle bit the inside of her lip. She wouldn't forget.
Rum was led out first. Charming nodded to him and motioned for the guards to take him away. Turning first for one last sad smile to Belle, Charming followed.
"Come on," Lady Emma said, her voice grave. "We don't have all day."
Belle was taken up through the Castle—not along the usual corridors, but through the back stairs and spaces between the walls. She soon lost sense of where she was. Finally they arrived at the top of a tower. The stairs ended in front of a door made of bars. Within was a small, drafty cell.
"I'll return in a moment," Lady Emma said as she locked Belle in.
The cell was much larger and drier than her last one. There was a cot to the side of the room, as well as a small table with a stool. The windows were high up near the rafters, big enough to let in the first rays of dawn and too high to climb to. A bird had made a nest in one, but it had since fallen into disuse.
Belle sat on the cot, all too aware of the filth that clung to her. She could see it properly now that she was in the light. Her eyes were heavy, with the sticky feel of a sleepless night. It was all she could do not to fall back onto the cot and sleep. Yet impending execution had a way of keeping one awake. Not wanting to waste her last moments. Something of that sort.
Of course, there was always the chance that Rum's plan might work. But it was madness. Not simply in the realm of "not easy" but far beyond into that of "nigh impossible". She believed it would work, but that was not the trouble. There was simply too much up to chance. It was too likely there would not be the necessary opportunity at the precise moment it was needed.
The cell's door opened again, this time for Princess Abigail. Lady Emma was just behind her, as well as two maids carrying a tub of water. A few more maids followed, each carrying something else: a towel, a gown, a wooden box.
"Belle," Abigail said, rushing to her and grasping her hands. She paused for a moment, unsure what to say. "I'm so sorry we must meet like this."
"What are you doing here?" Belle asked. Behind Abigail, the maids were setting up the tub.
"It would be unseemly to let you appear so," Abigail said sadly. "We'll clean you up and prepare you for… the execution."
Belle nodded. So these were her last moments. The maids came and led her to the bath. Her nightgown was stripped and tossed aside to be burned later. The morning air was frigid. The water wasn't much better. If it had been heated at all, it must have been down in the kitchens with flights and flights of stairs to cool it in between.
Scrubbed and washed, she was helped from the bath and wrapped in a rough towel. One of the maids dried her hair as Abigail unfolded the gown.
It was pale grey, a sort of almost-white. It was simple to the extreme. It fell over her head and pooled at her feet where the skirt was too long. Abigail stood behind her and laced it up in the back. The dawn streamed through the windows, giving a rosy glow to everything. All she needed was a veil and she could pass as a pauper's bride.
Abigail pinned up her hair carefully, just as Snow had done when she was a child and they were too clumsy to manage their own hairpins.
"There," she said. "You look lovely." Belle nodded, knowing that her eyes were likely red and her complexion pasty. Nerves clenched in her belly. Emma unlocked the door once more. Belle lifted the front of her dress to keep from tripping and one of the maids carried the over-long back. Step by step, they descended to this macabre ceremony.
The clock on the wall of the sheriff's station was annoyingly loud. It didn't have a nice, hollow sound like a proper clock would. No, it was the mechanical, cheap sound that was most likely recorded as it ticked slightly out of sync with the motion of the red second hand.
And it was the only source of movement in the room.
Graham hadn't shifted from his position in ages and was half hidden by a coat rack anyway, so he was of no interest to Belle. There had been no sign of Emma since she'd left. Belle wished she had a book. Anything—just as long it would alleviate the boredom of sitting in the town jail. To make it worse, she could see her purse sitting on one of the desks, within it the outline of The Voyage of the "Dawn Treader", the book she was due to start reading to the children next week. It was just out of her reach.
So Belle was left to lie on the cell's cot and stare at the dots on the industrial ceiling as the clock ticked away in the background.
It was against the (somewhat) steady rhythm of the clock that another tapping sound came. Belle sat up, looking around. Graham hadn't noticed anything. He was intent on his phone. Neither did he look up when the tapping sound was joined by the softer one of footsteps and then by the figure of Mr. Gold in the doorway.
After a grave nod to Belle, Gold cleared his throat. "Sheriff?"
Graham jumped up. "Mr. Gold. How can I help you?"
"I wish to speak with Miss French."
Graham stepped back, clearing the way for Gold to go ahead.
"Alone."
"Ah," Graham said. "I'm sorry. I can't let you do that."
"I have private business to discuss with her," Gold said curtly. "She was on her way to meet me this afternoon before her arrest delayed our appointment. I'm afraid the matter truly cannot wait."
Graham sighed, battling with himself. "Alright," he said. "But only because it's Belle. I'll give you twenty minutes." Gold nodded. Graham slid his phone in his pocket and grabbed his coat. "Don't make me regret this."
As soon as the door shut, Gold hurried to Belle's side. Up close, he looked awful. His limp was more pronounced than Belle had ever seen it. He looked like he hadn't slept or eaten in days.
"What happened?" Belle asked. She came to stand by him, hands curling around the bars.
"It's nothing," he said, his voice urgent.
"No, you're sick—"
"Belle, there's no time," he interrupted. "Listen. You're about to die. You and I were sentenced to death in the other world. If the execution goes through, there will be no chance of breaking the curse. I'll be gone and you won't have a soul to heal."
"What?" Her mind struggled to piece together the information. "How? I haven't been writing—"
"You think that matters? The curse exists whether you're recording it or not. Time goes on there as it does here." He cringed and gripped his cane tighter.
"What's wrong?"
"I split my soul," he said. His voice was strained. "It was the only way to talk to you. I'm chained up there. But the magic isn't holding well. I don't have much time."
"Until what?"
"My soul rejoins the rest of me. Or I die."
"What can we do?" She reached her hand through the bars to cover Gold's.
"We have to break the curse."
"Is that even possible?" Of course, he'd mentioned such a thing before, but she'd assumed it would be time consuming. Something that would involve serious magic and weeks of preparation. Not something that could be done quickly while his soul was torn apart.
"Yes. There is one magic powerful enough to break any curse," he said. He took a deep breath, struggling not to cough. "True Love. A kiss should be enough."
"A kiss?" Belle echoed. All at once it didn't seem real anymore. She was locked in a jail cell. The man she'd liked for months was standing in front of her, saying crazy things about fairy tales and true love. Did she really believe this? Did she love him? Had she ever?
"A True Love's Kiss with belief in the truth behind it should be enough to break the curse," Gold said.
"Should?"
"Nothing can be for certain, dearie. 'Should' is the best we have."
The stone walls of the courtyard rose hundreds of feet towards a vaulted sky painted with gold-tinged clouds. The sunlight sparkled off the outside of the stained glass window above the Castle's entrance hall. It seemed to give life to the angels pictured there. Under the angels' watch, the people stood, separated by an aisle that led down to the platform. There, a pole had been erected, two chains hanging from its top. The King sat to the side of the platform. The Prince's company stood behind him along with Sir Gaston and Lady Emma.
At the bottom of the steps leading up to the platform stood Belle's lover. No one knew who he was, only that he would die. A guard stood at his side, keeping him facing the platform. His shoulders were slumped and he seemed to be struggling to stand. Nearby, a group of soldiers talked quietly among themselves.
The doors to the Castle opened.
The crowd turned to watch as Belle emerged. Her gown trailed behind her on the steps, the hem rippling over them. Even her lover found the strength to turn around, his defeated eyes brightening at the sight of her. She was led down the steps by the guard she was chained to at the wrist. The courtyard was quiet. The only sound was the song of a nightingale that had made its home in the stones.
All turned as Belle passed. The nightingale's song echoed around the stones, sounding like a whole choir instead of one tiny bird.
The princess reached the platform. Her face was impassive as she shared a glace with her lover, but there was a hint of softness in her eyes. She was unchained from her guard and her hands bound together, then the two prisoners were led up onto the platform. As they did, the nightingale decided to end its song and the courtyard fell into complete silence.
A man followed them. Lady Emma also ascended, a scroll in her hand. With a steady voice, she read it aloud.
"Princess Belle of Avonlea, you have committed the crime of adultery against your betrothed, Sir Gaston of Firthana. For such a crime as this, you and your lover have been sentenced to death in a public execution. May God have mercy on your soul."
The guards chained both prisoners to the pole. The locks slid home and their faint sound echoed off the stones.
It turned out Graham kept a set of keys in his desk. Belle was sure this counted as things that would make him regret leaving them alone. Gold locked the door to the hall first. Belle watched, trying to keep her breaths steady as she mentally panicked. A kiss with belief and love and truth—could she do that? She willed herself to love enough, to believe the impossible. Forcing her mind didn't seem to do much.
Gold unlocked the cell and stepped inside, just in front of Belle. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Is this really all it takes?" she asked. He rested a hand on her cheek and she covered it with her own, gripping it.
"You have to believe, Belle," he said, looking right at her, through her eyes into the deepest parts of her. "You can't just decide to believe, you have to give in completely. No holding back. You have to kill your doubts and believe with your heart, not your head."
"How do I do that?" she asked, her voice very small indeed.
He smiled gently. "You stop thinking about it so hard."
"That's like saying 'don't think of a spotted dragon'."
"Not quite." His fingers were smooth as they brushed against her cheek. "You have to want it. You have to be willing to take nothing that is not the truth. You have to recognize that longing to be whole and let it fill you."
"That's not so easy."
"Nothing good ever is."
The sound of fists pounding on the door. "Belle! Gold! Open this door!"
Belle jumped and turned. "It's Emma," she gasped.
"And Cora's behind her," Gold said. "Her magic is close." He pulled Belle back to face him. "I love you," he said, taking each of her hands in his.
"And I love you." That, she was sure of. She could feel the power in those words. The door slammed opened and Emma rushed in, shouting. Gold leaned down and Belle met his lips with hers.
"Arrows!" Lady Emma called. The soldiers raised their bows.
Belle turned to look at Rum. Their eyes met.
"Take aim!"
Now. She could make the gap. There was no other moment.
"Fire!"
The twang of arrows.
Belle lunged forward just as Rum did the same. The softness of his lips mixed with the pain as the arrows pierced her body.
The last thing she knew was the sound of many someones screaming.
Gold pulled back from the kiss gently, his hands still tangled in Belle's hair. Her breath came in heaving gasps. She felt as if someone had filled her veins with soda. Her skin prickled all over.
She turned, wondering why Emma had not pulled them apart. But the sheriff's station was gone and all she saw was purple smoke rushing towards them.
Pain. All she knew was blackness and pain. It felt as though she was being ripped apart. She screamed, but she had no mouth with which to scream. She cried, but she had no eyes to leak tears. She was swirling, tumbling, falling. There was no sound yet there was thunder in her ears. No up and no down—no directions at all—yet she was moving without a body to move.
Her mind was jumbled. It felt too full as if it would burst at any moment. Memories conflicted, some familiar, some not. It was as if she'd been smashed together and was being sewn in place in no particular order. Her mind desperately tried to make sense of itself, of existence. But each second brought new confusion and new sensation.
Perhaps this was death.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
The clock had a hollow, rich sound. Behind the stately count of each second was the faint whir of the gears as they turned and turned.
Belle's eyes opened. She stood in the main hall of the Dark Castle. The setting sun shone through the open windows, catching on their gold fringes. She stood by the table, a china teacup set in front of her. A fire crackled in the hearth, the sweet scent of wood smoke filling the room. Around her were the familiar trophies of Rumpelstiltskin's collection. And in the corner, his most prized one: the spinning wheel surrounded by baskets of straw.
She felt rather dizzy, so she leaned against the table, taking a few deep breaths. In her mind, there were two extra sets of memories, but they seemed distant, as if they had been dreamed or happened years ago. They didn't bother or confuse her now. She simply realized that this was what wholeness felt like. She remembered an ache in those other worlds, one so subtle she hadn't even noticed it. But only now that it was gone could she truly appreciate its absence.
Idly, she ran her finger over the chipped rim of one of the teacups. On closer inspection, all the pieces of the set were different than she recalled. They were covered in spiderweb cracks, as if they'd been shattered and nearly perfectly repaired.
The doors opened. Belle turned, a smile growing on her face, as Rumpelstiltskin entered. He was dressed as ever in silk and leather, with the addition of a grin on his face and another in his eyes.
"Rumpelstiltskin," she said as a greeting. The name was sweet on her tongue. Unfamiliar and familiar at the same time, like a book she'd read often, but not picked up in several years.
"Belle." He came to her and took her hands, just as he had in another world.
"We're home. We made it," she gasped.
"Welcome back, sweetheart."
She grinned, and, throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him.
Life is a road
And I wanna keep going
Love is a river
I wanna keep flowing
Life is a road now and forever—
Wonderful journey
I'll be there when the world stops turning
I'll be there when the storm is through
In the end, I wanna be standing
At the beginning
With you
THE END