Chapter 12

"Well," Maleficent said slowly, "I think she understood. Whether she can get the prince to return with her is another matter."

Snow nodded. "I wish it hadn't been so noisy," she said. "Come to think of it, it was last time, too. But I was still able to talk to David," she added, deliberately omitting the part where he hadn't been able to wake up to tell the others he'd gotten through to her until she'd returned home from the Enchanted Forest and kissed him. "There's every reason to hope that your message got through, too."

"Every reason?" Maleficent repeated archly. "A sleeping curse is meant to be a torment, not some tavern table where one sits down to share a meal and discuss business! While I'm glad we were able to connect with Lily, there's no guarantee that we'll be able to do more than that, not even if your husband is able to be present next time."

"But you sounded so certain earlier," Snow protested.

"And I will again later," the dragon retorted. Then a bit less belligerently, "Remember, that we are reaching out via magic and magic is predicated on belief. At the moment that I enter that other realm, I need to banish every shred of doubt and uncertainty, because if I believe for one moment that the spell could fail, then I assure you that it will. However, since we aren't attempting to make contact at this moment, you'll pardon me if I note the dauntingness of the task we're attempting."

Snow considered that for a moment. Then, tentatively, she asked, "Do we have any better options?"

"Unlikely," Maleficent allowed.

Snow sighed. "Then you'll pardon me if I keep hoping for success."

The dragon smiled wryly. "Actually, I think I was counting on that," she admitted.

Rumple regarded the prince thoughtfully for a moment. Then he opened a tall wooden cabinet and extracted an earthenware pot. Removing the lid, he reached inside and withdrew a number of ridged, gray, spheroid bulbs, some with a disc of dried petals—that reminded David a bit of a flattened cocktail umbrella—gracing one tip.

"What are those?" the prince asked, taking a step forward.

"While magic is frequently a solution to a problem," Rumple replied, "it would be short-sighted to think of it as the solution, at least insofar as our dilemma is concerned." He smiled. "Dried poppies. When ground to powder and mixed with a few other ingredients I should have about, they create a sleeping powder strong enough to circumvent the walls your mind has constructed to keep you from travelling to the realm where once before you sought contact with your wife."

"You don't have to remind me," David nodded. Then his eyebrows knit together in a worried frown. "There's no chance of that… place… holding onto me, right? What I mean is, I know this isn't a sleeping curse you're putting me under, but is there any chance that I'll go in too deep and not be able to get back? Because if there is, Snow and I established last time that even if our… dream-selves kiss, it won't wake up our physical bodies."

"Leave that to me," a new voice spoke up from the doorway.

Rumple looked up and smiled, as David turned his head automatically in that direction. "I must say, savior," Rumple said, "you're developing quite the knack for timing."

Emma grinned back. Then she advanced on her father, glowering with mock rage. "After all this time, do you really think Mom's the only one around who loves you?"

Belle welcomed the breeze blowing through her garments. The air atop the curtain wall had been heavy and stifling, making Belle feel as though she was back in the sauna at the Three Bears Day Spa. Now, she felt almost refreshed.

"Here," the Black Fairy handed her a tall, frosted glass. "Mustn't get dehydrated; you have to drink for two, now."

Belle could feel her face growing hotter than the day warranted, but her captor had a point; she couldn't risk her baby's health. She forced her most polite social smile onto her face and accepted the drink with a show of gratitude.

"By the way," the fairy said conversationally, "I've learned which of my son's comrades-in-arms was taken earlier. Since you seemed curious."

Belle's eyes widened. "Who?" she asked, remembering too late that she ought to be keeping her emotions in check. Still, the thought of Emma or Astrid or David or, well, whoever Rumple might have brought with him languishing in some cell—probably with far fewer amenities than she'd been granted—filled her with dread. Astrid had told her how constrained she'd felt while trapped in the Sorcerer's Hat; a dungeon cell wouldn't be much better.

The Black Fairy's eyes were almost kind as she gently replied, "I was told his name was Killian."

"Oh," Belle murmured, almost embarrassed at the wave of relief that washed over her. Killian could probably handle himself. And…

"Well. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were almost happy about it."

"No!" Belle exclaimed at once. "No, of course not! I don't like thinking of anyone being…"

"But it's less painful thinking of him in captivity?" the fairy suggested. She shook her head, but she was smiling sympathetically. "Oh, Belle, we can control our actions, but not our thoughts or feelings. There's no reason to be ashamed if you're less pained than you believe you ought to be." She shook her head. "And here I thought I was helping you. I'm sorry, dear. I didn't want to cause you such distress."

Belle shook her head. "It…it's fine," she said heavily. "I mean, he did try to kill me. Twice," she added after a pause. "But I mean, that wasn't recent."

The fairy nodded. "So. He threatened both you and my son, then," she murmured. "Perhaps, those who took him did you a favor."

"Oh, but that was also a long time ago," Belle protested. "A-and they've become friends since then."

"Ah," the fairy nodded once more. "Well, I suppose that's good, isn't it?" She gave Belle a sidelong glance. "Unless you feel as though Rumple ought to maintain more of a distance, in light of your history with the pirate. I mean, nobody could fault you for feeling a bit resentful that my son seems to be disregarding a slight to his True Love."

"No, not at all!" Belle said, a bit too quickly. "I've never thought anything like that! Never!" At least, not consciously, she realized. But her captor's words had struck a chord deep inside that resonated with a truth Belle had never admitted to herself. Until now. Where was Rumple's loyalty in all this?

"Of course not," the Black Fairy reassured her, touching her shoulder in a friendly fashion. "Dear," she said in an even kindlier tone, "you're really not used to this heat, are you? I'm sorry; I think I've kept you up here long enough for today, you're positively sweltering. Come back inside. We can walk here again tomorrow, if you like."

"Could we?" Belle asked, almost shocked by the eagerness in her request. "Please?"

"Well, as long as you're well-rested. And you ought to drink something beforehand; I'll arrange that," the fairy said thoughtfully. Without warning, she pressed the palm of her hand to Belle's flat belly. Belle stiffened and opened her mouth to protest, but her captor had already withdrawn her hand as she beamed, "…And he's doing just fine! Oh, it's early days yet, but so far, everything's as it ought to be."

"Is it?" Belle asked automatically. "You can tell?"

"I am a fairy, my dear," the Black Fairy reminded her. "I know these things. Fear not. I'll do everything in my power to ensure you're delivered of a strong, healthy child." She rested her hand lightly on Belle's abdomen again, and while Belle tensed once more, she endured the contact with an uneasy smile.

Good, the Black Fairy thought. She doesn't trust me, but her defiance is crumbling fast. A few more sessions like this one and when the time comes, she should be up to the task.

"You know, Belle," she said, removing her hand once more and resting it this time on the nervous woman's shoulder, "I do have a name as well as a title. Fiona," she added brightly. "Since we are family, after all, I'd be honored if you were to use it."

"Fiona," Belle repeated dutifully.

"Come along, Dear. I'll have a cool drink awaiting you in your quarters. And you must let me know if there's anything else you're lacking…"

"I really don't like this," Snow said. "The last time Henry went into that netherworld, he came back with second-degree burns!"

Henry rolled his eyes. "Grandma," he protested, "first of all, I was eleven! Second, they healed."

"Thanks to Regina," Snow pointed out. "Who is not here to do it again."

"Please," Maleficent said in a tone sharp enough to slice through the argument before it could fully develop. "Should it become necessary, I can work a healing spell, too. But time grows short. We may only have one opportunity to get a message through. And since Henry knows the Black Fairy's plan best, he must be the one to deliver it."

Snow shook her head. "Surely, he can tell us and we can relay the message."

"The act of writing helps to ensure that a message is retained," the Apprentice spoke up. "All the more so when one is an author. When one is the Author, the quill becomes an extension of themselves. Any of the rest of you might be able, in the short time available, to commit portions of young Henry's pages to memory. But dreams are, invariably, a blend of factual and imaginary information. Not one of you will be able to sift through them as well and as thoroughly as Henry will. And it's almost certain that he'll be able to retain most—if not all—of the information he's scribed, even in the Netherworld."

Henry didn't smile. A year ago, he might have shown a measure of excitement. But today, he only nodded. "I can do this, Grandma. It's their best chance. It might be their only chance. And if I get burned, it'll still be worth it. We have to warn them."

Snow bit her lip. "I know," she admitted. "But if anything happens to you—"

"It won't. Nothing permanent will, anyway."

"If it does," Snow repeated, "not only will I not forgive myself, but neither of your mothers will either." She took another breath. And then, with hope in her voice and a solemn expression on her face, she added, "So be careful."

The Black Fairy stepped out of Belle's slumber with a satisfied smirk. The young woman might have the power of True Love on her side, but she was so riddled with fears and insecurities that she didn't recognize her own strength. Before Belle could, Fiona had every confidence that she would be able to subvert her captive's will, bending it to her own.

Still smiling, but now gliding toward her mirror with businesslike purpose, she waved her hand at the glass and her reflection vanished, to be replaced with that of one of her hooded mining heads. "Well?" she demanded. "How fares your newest recruit?"

Her minion lowered his eyes respectfully. "He still has some spirit in him, though that's to be expected. He may be trying to rally some of the others, though."

Fiona absorbed that. "Should we be concerned?"

"He's new-arrived," the mine commander replied with a shrug. "The others have lived long enough to know better. He won't convince them."

"All the same," Fiona said, "he ought not to have the leisure to foment rebellion. Nor the others to listen. I think that the time allotted for meals ought to be halved. And increase the newcomer's quota by five percent. If his work gang tries to ease the burden, increase theirs as well."

"As you command, my lady."

The Black Fairy raised an eyebrow. "But you have doubts."

Her minion swallowed. "It's hardly my place to question your orders; only to carry them out."

Fiona laughed warmly. "Relax, Kadrin; I'm not displeased with your service. Nor your loyalty. Times are fast approaching when I shall need at my disposal every speck of dust that your works crews can mine. Weighed against that imperative, making an example of the youngster would be counter-productive. Best to squeeze as much labor as you can out of him instead." A hint of steel crept into her voice, as she added, "And the same applies to those who would listen to his prattle."

Kadrin nodded at once. "As you command, my lady, so shall it be done."

Zelena regarded Rumple thoughtfully for a moment and when she spoke, it was without her usual smug condescension. "Would fresh be better?" she asked. "Because if I could get back to Oz, I could find some easily enough; they're fairly common there."

Rumple shook his head and held up the wooden mortar, now containing several dried poppy seed heads. "I think that these will suffice for our needs," he remarked. "And I'll remind you once more that time in this realm won't necessarily align with time in any other."

"If it comes to that," Lily said, "are we sure that this is going to work? I mean, what if it's ten years later back there and they gave up on getting through to us?"

"It is a risk," Rumple admitted heavily. "It would be short-sighted to pretend otherwise. But if there's nobody waiting to talk to you in that netherworld, well, you'll awaken of your own accord ere long and at least we'll be no worse off. And if necessary," Rumple held up a small drawstring bag and loosened its ties, "this fragrance would likely awaken a dead stick. Should the poppy dust prove more effective than planned, I've no doubt it will break through any non-magical slumber."

Lily squinted. Then, curiously she lowered her head toward the pouch. Her nose was more than six inches away when she recoiled, clapping a hand to her mouth. "Gah!" she groaned. "That's vile! What the hell is that?"

"Amophophallus titanum," Rumple replied with a smirk. "Also known as corpse flower. Sadly, subjecting it to a preservation spell seems to have an adverse effect: in its natural habitat, its scent has been known to carry for up to half a mile."

Lily tilted her head. "You're using a different definition of 'sadly' from any one I know," she deadpanned. "But if it gets me out of that room with the fire jets, you won't catch me complaining. Let's do this."

"As you like," Rumple nodded. His expression turned thoughtful. "Since you've recently awakened, you might find it difficult to fall back to sleep now. I think I had best dose you both."

David nodded. He walked over to one of the sleeping bags and sat down on it, positioning himself so that, should he fall backwards, his head would land on the pillow. After a moment, Lily moved another sleeping bag beside his and followed suit.

"Okay," David said. "We're ready. Fire away."

Rumple did. And after a moment of coughing, both torsos fell back, heads landing hard enough on the pillows that Rumple wondered whether he oughtn't to ready some aspirin against the subsequent awakening.

Interlude

Tia had always been able to communicate with animals. She couldn't control them, but she could make her desires understood. Often, the animals in question were so elated to be in contact with someone who understood them that they were more than happy to oblige. And Tia was always careful not to send them into danger without explaining to them exactly what she was asking.

So, when she'd asked the little snake to seek out the captain in a room full of captives, she'd been sure to point out that it might be difficult to find him, and that the adder's appearance might trigger loud cries, and possibly, attempts to crush it. The snake had still been willing, trusting to her speed and her venom to protect herself. She had even found it amusing to slither about the ground in the pattern that Tia had projected into her brain.

And when the task was done and Tia had thanked her and ended the telepathic link, that should have been the end of it. And would have been, had Tia only inserted her own consciousness into the snakes…

…And not thrust out someone else's consciousness in the process.

There were many reptiles and rodents in the mines and some of them had never been anything else. But others—including the little death adder—had once been workers, much like the child she'd sought out at Tia's behest. Once, long ago, a young girl-child had committed some offense, what she no longer recalled. Perhaps, there had been no offense; just the whim of an overseer to make an example of someone. However it was, the slave had found herself on the wrong end of a pinch of Dark fairy dust. Girl had become serpent and given a new charge: to guard the caverns and attack any worker fool enough to flee. Until today, the Black Fairy's will had been the snake's own. The creature had retained no memory of who she'd been or how she'd come to this state. Had anyone been able to ask her, she would have replied that she'd always been this way… at least, for ages and ages… and no, she couldn't remember a life before the one she now lived. And because the creature had no memory of ever having been something other than a snake, because after so long in her current form her thoughts and feelings had become snakelike in all respects, even Tia's power hadn't told her differently. For all intents and purposes, the fact that the little serpent had once, ever so long ago, been human hadn't had any relevance for ages...

Not until today.

Not until Tia's presence in her mind had blotted out the memories that the Dark fairy dust had cursed her with.

And while the serpent—perhaps a more uncommon death adder than her appearance suggested—still didn't know who she was, she did know her enemy. And though she didn't have the words to articulate it, she could tell that while many served that enemy out of terror, there were those who did so out of malice. Those who enjoyed the pain they inflicted and were all too eager to find a reason to inflict more.

The little serpent knew something about suffering herself. And while the pain she might inflict would be fleeting, its impact would last.

The death adder slithered her way through the tunnels in search of new prey.

The place hadn't changed much since the last time David had been there. Visually, it was exactly what he might have expected to find, had he ever had reason to charge into a burning building: smoky, and eerily dark, except for where bright orange flames licked at walls and sprouted from between floorboards. It was hot and dry and the prince could feel his lips crack and bleed. The very air seemed to crackle and sputter about him. Strangely, though, there was no smell of smoke in the air and while he perspired in the heat, he had no difficulty in breathing.

He looked beside him at Lily and noted that she seemed to bear the environment far better than he did. Still she gripped the sleeve of his jacket fiercely in one hand and despite the determined set of her jaw, he read trepidation in her eyes. "How are you holding up?" he asked, just as a tower of flame spurted from the floor not two feet in front of them. Lily flung up a hand to shield her eyes as she quickly stepped back.

"Just dandy!" she snapped. Then she blinked. "It's… it's not hot," she said. "Hotter, I mean."

David blinked. "It feels plenty hot to me," he replied.

"It does? Wait." Her expression hardened and she took a quick step forward. Then, before David could cry out, she thrust her hand deliberately into a column of flame. She held it there for nearly a full minute. Then, grinning, she drew it back. The skin was unmarked. Not only were there no blisters or burns; it wasn't even the slightest bit red. "Well, whaddaya know?" she breathed. "It looks like being a dragon has a few perks."

David smiled back. Then he tilted his head, frowning a bit. "Listen. You hear that?"

"Lily? David? Are you here? Lily? David?"

Lily nodded. "Kind of hard not to."

"Come on." He motioned for her to follow, but she was already on his heels, as they headed for the voice.

"Snow!"

His wife was standing behind a fiery curtain, Maleficent regal beside her and Henry between them.

"Grandpa!" Henry exclaimed.

"David! Lily!" Snow beamed at them both and started forward. The flames rose higher and she groaned.

"Snow!" David cried. "Henry!"

"Mom!"

Snow took a deep breath. "Henry saw something." She patted her grandson's shoulder and nudged him slightly forward. "He… he's the Author, now."

"The Author?" David repeated blankly. "You mean… the guy Regina was looking for? Isn't Henry a little too young?"

"He's the new Author," Snow said quickly. "Regina was looking for the old one. It's a long story and I'll explain later. But for now, you need to know that Henry's able to… know things about what's going on. About what you're facing."

"Our story," David said, comprehension dawning in his eyes.

"Wait, so he's getting the whole picture?" Lily interjected. "Not just what we're up to, but what the Black Fairy is, too?"

Henry nodded excitedly.

"Well," Maleficent sniffed, I don't know whether it's the whole picture, but he's seen more pieces of it than you probably have. He'll tell you the rest as succinctly as he can." She nodded to Snow. "We're here only because I'm told he ran into some difficulties on his last visit here alone…"

"You don't have to explain that part," David nodded back. "I saw those burns. But…" he looked directly at Henry.

"Henry, if you know something that might help us…"

Henry smiled. And then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two folded sheets of paper. He tried to hand them through the flames, but when David reached for them, his fingers passed through them as though they were no more than an illusion.

"We were afraid of that," Snow groaned. "Just like we couldn't touch last time, it looks like you can't touch anything we bring with us either."

Henry, however, was already smoothing out the pages. "It's okay," he said. "It just means I'll have to read it to you and hope nobody wakes up in the middle."

"No fear of that," Maleficent retorted. "I perfected the sleeping curse; I learned something of this world in the process. I can keep us all here long enough…"

Despite Maleficent's assurances, the strain was beginning to show by the time she was satisfied that her daughter and the prince had committed the information on Henry's pages to memory.

"Stop gazing soulfully at each other," she snapped, giving Snow a bit of a shake and David a glower. "They need to wake up and we need to leave. Unless you want to awaken with burns to rival those your grandson brought back last time."

Snow blinked. "I never had those before."

"I'll warrant you've never been here this long before either. The less this feels like a dream, the more your mind accepts it as reality, the greater the likelihood of your sustaining an injury here that you'll retain on waking. A child's sense of reality versus fantasy is generally more fluid, so they tend to be more susceptible, but given sufficient time, anyone can get caught up in their dreams here."

Snow nodded. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

"Just for a little while," David smiled, but there was a catch in his voice. "Much as I'd love to do this again, if it's as dangerous as Maleficent says…"

"I know."

"Mom?" Lily interjected. "The fire doesn't seem to affect me. At least… well, it feels warmer, but not as hot as it should. Is that…"

"You're a dragon," Maleficent nodded. "Fire is your element. You aren't precisely impervious, but you can withstand levels of exposure greater than their kind," she jerked her head toward Snow and David.

"So, we could talk again?"

"Perhaps. But you do realize that time's ebbs and flows do not necessarily synchronize between Storybrooke and the Dark Realm. It's quite likely that if we should speak again, it would be to find that hours had passed in one realm and years in the other."

"We've been here about a day," Lily said. "Give or take."

"It's been nearly twice that long in Storybrooke," Maleficent replied. "But we can't expect that ratio to hold. I don't have a great deal of information about the Dark Realm but one thing that I do know is that the normal rules of time don't apply."

"Yeah," Lily nodded. "We knew that going in."

"Yes, but if you're talking about repeated contact, I have to wonder whether you fully understand the ramifications. We can't count on communicating again," she said. "We can't know how the times will align if we make another attempt even a moment from now. We need to proceed as though this contact is the only one we'll have. Do you understand?"

Lily nodded again. "Yeah." She took another breath. "Mom?" And then, before she could second-guess herself, she flung herself forward and, heedless of the flames that popped and crackled about her, wrapped her arms about Maleficent in a fierce embrace. For the briefest instance, she felt her mother tense and she wondered whether she hadn't made a mistake after all. Then Maleficent hugged her back fiercely.

"You will succeed," Maleficent assured her. And then, a bit more coolly, "After all, you are my daughter."

"Damned right." She shook her head and looked over to Snow and David, who were trying to reach out to one another, but glowering in frustration jets of flame that shot up from the ground, forcing them apart, even as Henry seemed to be trying to find gaps in the fire that might allow the two to touch. "Crud. I think we'd better wake up before this gets any angstier."

Maleficent smiled. "I believe you're right." Still, she kept a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You're certain you'll remember."

Lily nodded. "Every word."

"I wish I could be there with you, you know."

"You're here with me now. That's enough." She shook her head. "I mean, it's not, but it is. For now. I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"There's always some nonsense in any dream," Maleficent informed her with a gentle smile. "But now, it's time for you, for all of us, to wake…"

"…up."

Lily's eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright in her sleeping bag. She looked around to see the others clustered close by, regarding her and David expectantly. She caught the prince's eye and, at his quick nod, took a deep breath. "It worked," she said, nearly whispering. "It worked."

It took a little longer than it should have for Lily and David to give over Henry's information; at times, they both spoke over each other or interrupted one another, but once Regina stepped in to coordinate, things went more smoothly.

Emma couldn't help noticing that Rumple grew visibly paler nearly with each sentence. When Lily started to explain what it would mean if Belle crushed his heart, though, he staggered backwards, nearly doubling over, as he clutched at his chest with a low cry. "Gold!" she exclaimed, starting forward. "What is it? She didn't just…?" It suddenly occurred to her that they didn't know exactly what would happen to Rumple if the half-heart that wasn't currently residing where it was supposed to were crushed. They'd assumed that as long as he had one functioning half, he'd be fine, but they didn't actually know.

Rumple shook his head. "Not yet," he managed. "Not yet. But one way or another…"

"What?"

Rumple closed his eyes. "If Belle does become the Dark One, there will be a brief window when she'll be vulnerable. Before the power truly takes hold, you'll have to strike, Savior. We may not be able to stop my mother from casting the Dark Curse, but if we're to have our best…" He stopped. "No," he said so steadily that Emma wasn't sure that she actually saw tears struggling to break free of his closed eyelids. "If we're to have any chance of defeating her, she cannot have the Dark One at her side. You'll…" He stopped and took another breath.

"I-I know what I'm asking of you," he said heavily. "And if it were anyone else she was grooming, I'd spare you and take the task on myself. B-but I love her. And that love will prove our greatest liability."

"Gold," Emma said urgently. "Please tell me you're not asking me to—"

"If Belle becomes the Dark One," Rumple said, his voice turning ragged as he fought for control, "then the woman I love will truly be dust. But though my head might believe it, my heart—the remnant that remains to me—might balk. But you… You do the right thing. Always. No matter how hard it might be. You are the Savior. And if my mother succeeds in raising a new Dark One, then…" he buried his face in his hands and for a moment, he couldn't continue. But even through his muffled sobs, his words were clear enough to understand.

"…It will fall to you to destroy her."