So the Oz plot twist has so far been received well, thank you for the kind words. I can really use them extra, since this is my first AU of this kind. It's taking me a bit longer to feel my way around this part of the story, so bear with me - my current goal is to finish the story before S4 starts. In this chapter, the focus shifts to Robin, his story in this alternate universe, and, naturally, the Scarecrow makes a notable appearance. Enjoy!
The forest was different here than any he had ever seen. Not that it looked any different, for it had trees and bushes and tangled undergrowth alright, which for most people was all a forest amounted to. Not so for Robin, who'd been living it, breathing it, for several years now. This forest was eerie in its unnatural silence. No birdsong, no scurrying of animal feet, not even the rustle of leaves in the breeze resounded in the deafening stillness.
All the worse for him, for there was nothing to drown out his thoughts.
As he trudged through the thickets in an unwavering straight line rather than following winding paths, Robin of Locksley thought about his wife.
Theirs was a young marriage, preceded by a series of mishaps. It had started out like a scene cut out of a chivalric romance, except the actual reality of arranged marriages was anything but romantic. Marian had been promised to a man she despised, and Robin had happened to chance upon her at a crucial, life-changing moment as she was literally fleeing from the altar. Like the chivalrous knight he hadn't been, he'd decided to step up and save the supposed damsel in distress. Little had he known she'd be the one saving him in the end.
A smile tugged at his pursed lips as he remembered how…
…very shortly after the 'rescue', she'd called him out on on his cocksure bravado. For the next few weeks, Marian had travelled with Robin and his band of thugs - for in all fairness, they hadn't merited any kinder naming - and had come into the habit of ceaselessly pointing out his follies and lack of direction. Even then she'd had a strong sense of social justice, while Robin's, though he'd known he possessed it, had lain dormant by his own choice as a result of past disillusionment. Then one day her patience had run out and she was gone, and Robin, out of some silly defiance, did what he had never done before: he decided to steal from the queen.
Not any queen, either. In this kingdom, they called her the Wretched Queen - but only the brave or reckless, and even those only in hushed whispers. Rumour had it her skin was green underneath the face powder, but if anyone had actually seen it, they didn't live to tell the tale. When Robin had first entered this kingdom, every mile travelled had brought more chills and cringes upon him. That was still true today, the shock had never really worn off. What houses, villages and towns there had been during King Leopold's reign had fallen into a state of disarray and disrepair. Mud cottages and straw huts were rising in hidden corners of forests, far from the highroads and the Green Knights' eyes. The thicker the forest, the better, for it offered more protection from simian air attacks. Robin had never believed the far-fetched tales of winged monkeys, tyrannical knights and a beggar folk, until he experienced the reign of terror firsthand.
Now he understood what misery was. Now he understood fear. What he didn't understand, however, was the utter resignation, the apathy, the stoic acceptance of their fate everyone had succumbed to. No one fought back. No one even entertained such a notion, not even in their wildest dreams. They said this queen was a sorceress, and even if that was untrue, she most definitely rubbed shoulders with the Dark One. The two together were a recipe for disaster.
This was the woman Robin of Locksley had set his mind on stealing from. Her knights were easy to bypass, great oafish ruffians with a commander that was quite the opposite, scruffy but cunning. Robin was strong and had a good head on his shoulders, so they were still no match for his stealthy approach. The magic was a different matter. It was everywhere, and despite him being a master of stealth, Robin set off more traps on his way in than he could even count. Yet by some miracle, a series of lucky chances and narrow escapes, he finally reached the vault in the depths of the castle - unnoticed.
The queen had hoarded riches beyond imagination: gold and precious stones piled up to the ceiling. Robin touched neither. He took what he'd come to be in awe of on his eventful way in: magic.
And it destroyed him.
The queen knew, and she waited. She let him escape unfollowed. When he reached the first village, he found it in ruins, only ashes and soot covering the ground where hodge-podge dwellings had stood hours before. Nothing else remained. Not a single smoking beam. Not a charred cornerstone. Not a soul. The same sight awaited him in the second village, and the third.
Robin understood. Sick with horror and racked by guilt, he turned back and retraced his escape route. Every village he passed, he stopped to take in the blood-curdling sight, letting the image burn into his memory forever. He replaced the accursed magical item and swore never to come near anything possessing the least sign of magical properties ever again.
He sought out Marian and told her everything, expecting condemnation and receiving compassion instead.
Fight her, Marian would say. We couldn't possibly take her on and hope to win, he'd reply. Then let's find another way, she'd say. And they did.
They stole, not from the castle, for it wasn't gems they were interested in. They stole from granaries and from noblemen's kitchens, they stole from tax collectors, but mostly they foraged on the royal fields, in the orchards and the forests. There were only a handful of them, for most of his thuggish mates had refused to share booty with the poor. The decent ones stayed - half a dozen people trying to make a spot of a difference, spark a little boost of morale, a grain of discord - maybe, someday, an uprising. They weren't getting far. They weren't even feeding that many people. Their reach was small, but it was better than nothing, and Robin had found his way to a better him. And he'd finally found, really found, Marian, whom he married not long after.
He only had Marian now. Their friends had been killed, Little John and Friar Tuck and Alan-a-Dale, Much the Miller's Son and Will Scarlet - every one of them. The Sheriff of Nottingham had hunted them down one by one, with the help of the Wretched Queen and her minions. The bastard was still looking for Marian, and Robin had sworn he'd never find her. They were constantly on the move, Robin barely sleeping for fear of being discovered in the dead of night. They'd been eluding the bad for months.
But it wasn't enough. There were things he couldn't protect her from.
It had come unexpected, crept its way into her, and begun eating away at her without anyone noticing. By the time the first symptoms appeared, it had been doing its horrid work for weeks, maybe months, the healer had said. This was the wasting disease, and to cure it was beyond his, or anyone's, powers. The best he could offer was to buy Marian more time, but the treatment would be experimental and expensive. Still, they tried it. Still, Marian's decline didn't slow. Each new day saw her worse than the day before.
And so here he was now.
Robin marched across the untamed wilderness surrounding the Dark Castle, his fist clenched, ready to throw a punch - except there was no one to throw it at. He'd sworn not to turn to magic ever again, sworn not to meddle with it, and his stomach clenched at the unimaginable consequences this magical intervention might bring. But there were values and there were priorities, and those he loved came first, before everything and anything was his last chance, his only chance. Marian's only chance. He was going to give it to her, no matter how high the price. And with the Dark One, the price would always be steep.
The walls of the castle loomed above him, tall and imposing. Walls didn't intimidate him. Other things did. The price of magic - he was here despite it. The loss of love - he was here to salvage it.
The door was dark wood, dark handle, cold and hostile. Robin pushed on it and it gave in with a creak. No obstacles. The Dark One seemed to welcome guests. Did that bode well? Probably not, but it made no difference.
Robin crossed the musty hall and followed the filthy green carpet into a large chamber dominated by a spinning wheel. The Dark One wasn't there - unless he was invisible, which was, of course, a possibility. A chair scraped the floor and moved as though pulled by an invisible hand, prompting Robin to take a seat. He paced the chamber instead, taking all of it in.
They said the Dark One had many uncanny abilities, and at least one of the hearsays seemed to be true. The spinning wheel stood ready for use, indeed seemed to have been abandoned just prior to Robin's arrival. Piles of straw lay on the floor on its one side, skeins of golden thread on the other. The spinning wheel appeared to be the only object not covered in a thick coat of dust. The Dark One wasn't a stickler for cleanliness, and there was no sign of a domestic, neither maid nor valet. The books in the shelves had been untouched for weeks, if not months or even years. Wax drippings covered the table and a sickly-sweet stink issued from the moth-eaten curtains. In the darkest corner, Robin discovered another generous pile of straw. Either Rumplestiltskin was intending to fill his halls floor to ceiling with gold, or else he was stuffing a large amount of oversized furniture.
Robin examined a tea set in the cupboard: spotless white porcelain with a blue pattern and gold rim, untarnished and bearing an air of sterility, as if the cups had never been used. Perhaps they hadn't been, much like most everything else around here. Unlike everything else, however, there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere near the fragile china. What could be so special about a bunch of cups and a teapot? Curious despite himself, Robin reached towards the cabinet.
"A nosy one, aren't you?"
Robin spun round to the sound of shrill cackle that followed the words.
The Dark One looked and sounded nothing like he'd imagined. A scrawny man with large bulging eyes and a flaky complexion the texture of snake skin or so many tiny leaves of gold, he was baring his teeth at Robin in a malevolent, black-toothed grin. He didn't mind being looked up and down - on the contrary, he seemed quite amused.
"Rumplestiltskin," he rolled the name with a smirk, a bow and flourish. His hands seemed to have a life of their own.
"Robin of Locksley."
"Ah. But of course." Now it was Robin's turn to be looked up and down.
"You know me?" If Robin's identity was known to the Dark One, it was reasonable to assume it was known to the queen as well. It might be wiser to leave the kingdom once they were done here, at least for a time. If only Marian would listen…
"I know of you. Not a fan of our queen, are you?" The imp giggled, adding a skittish little bounce.
Well, that certainly was something of an understatement. There was no point pretending, and Robin wasn't inclined to try either.
"The queen is hard to like."
"She's a deplorable abomination," Rumplestiltskin chanted.
"Then why do you serve her?"
Robin was treading on glass now. Not only was he butting into the Dark One's business, uprooting the power pyramid of this delicate situation, in which he was very much at Rumplestiltskin's mercy, but he'd also implied the Dark One was no more than one of the queen's servants.
The imp's face darkened, the pupils of his eyes dilated. He beckoned Robin closer with a shaky gesture. The whites of his eyes had disappeared completely, as did the irises. Blackness spread over the eyeballs that threatened to pop any second, and his mouth twisted into a gruesome grin - no, a grotesque grimace.
Robin was looking into the face of a madman.
"She has leverage over me," the madman croaked. "Something powerful. And someone important." Rumplestiltskin brandished a fresh red rose in Robin's face - the only thing fresh and savoury in the stuffy, mouldy room. "I guess you could say I'd lose my mind. Oops - too late."
He plunged a finger in his ear, pushing deeper and deeper until the last knuckle-bones disappeared from sight. After a lot of twisting and wiggling, he pulled it out again, along with a bunch of straw. He studied the dull yellow clumps for a while, turning them over in his hand, then let them fall to the ground with a shrug.
"I'm not the first person with no brains you encounter, Robin of Locksley, yet I suppose I'm something of a shock because my impairment is visible to the eye. Let me give you a piece of mind here: it's best not to go with the eyes sometimes. Find some other organ to lead your steps."
"Meaning?"
"Oh, you'll figure it out in time. Now let's talk about your affairs, dearie."
"I come to ask your help for my wife." Robin's voice threatened to hitch as he finally uttered his plea. That was the one thing he hadn't prepared himself for. He braced himself - it wouldn't be clever to show himself even more vulnerable than he clearly was already. "She's taken ill. Healers cannot help her."
"And you thought maybe magic could."
It sounded like a dare, a challenge to let on his need, almost as if the man knew about Robin's qualms about magic. Robin had his thoughts and priorities sorted out, though: Marian first, even if he had to cross all other boundaries he normally moved within. If that included use of magic, then so be it, he was prepared to do it.
"Can it?"
"Yes and no."
"Speak clearly. I will pay any price."
"Of course you will, dearie. I'll help you, but on my own terms. Your wife doesn't have long to live."
"But you can change that." Robin held a shaky breath at what had been a plea far more than a statement.
"Maybe I can steal some time for her."
That wasn't quite what Robin wanted to hear. Was it just an unfortunate choice of words, a pun meant to sting, or was Rumplestiltskin just being evasive on purpose?
"So… you'll heal her," he proptemd again, trying not to let his desperation show too badly - and most likely failing miserably.
The imp's eyes changed for a brief moment, his mocking grin falling just a tad. He looked more human than ever. It scared Robin out of his wits, because if his misery was enough to make the Dark One feel an ounce of pity, then it could only mean the task was-
"Impossible, I'm afraid. Death has set its sights on her, it's tasted her already, and it's too deep in not to finish the meal."
Robin utter a choked cry. This couldn't possibly be happening.
"What I offer," Rumplestiltskin continued, and Robin made himself take a breath and then another one and another while he struggled to shut out the rising sense of doom and keep listening, "is your son's life. Yes, the child your wife is carrying is a boy. He'll be born healthy. His mother will die shortly afterwards."
A boy. They were having a baby boy. But Marian, his Marian…
Anger flared up in him, all the anger he'd been keeping under a lid for so long. His rage was reserved for the queen's minions, for small robberies and for fixing little injustices. The glaring injustice of Marian's sickness had been driving him crazy, so he'd learnt to push it to the darkest, most hidden corner of his heart and keep it there. Now, however, it came bursting forth.
"That's it?" he stormed. "Even with your best effort, she has a few months at most?" Before he allowed himself to think,Robin snatched the bow off his shoulders, nocked an arrow, and took aim.
Rumplestiltskin waved his wrist lazily, and Robin found he had all but frozen, unable to move so much as a toe.
"Such is the nature of life, Robin of Locksley," the imp said dryly. "You came asking for a way to cheat death. Magic can do much, but not that." He pointed at Robin's bow and arrow. "You realise of course I could have killed you on the spot for that reckless show of stupidity. Now, be reasonable. There's no helping your wife. I'm offering you the chance to buy your son's life."
Robin licked his lips - his face was one thing he did still have control over despite the magic paralysing him. It was too much to process all at once. But time was of the essence. He needed to make a decision, and he needed to make one now. There wasn't really much to think about, once the reality of Rumplestiltskin's words sank in. If he didn't take the offer, Marian would die soon, and their baby with her. If he did take it, she'd die anyway, but not until a few months later, and their child would be alright. No, there was nothing to consider here.
"I accept your offer."
"Wise decision, dearie." Rumplestiltskin crossed a room to an ancient cabinet and disappeared behind the open doors, then emerged with a vial filled to the stopper with a mint-green liquid. "Just a drop will do the trick, once a day."
Rumplestiltskin waved his hand, finally freeing Robin from the awkward position. Robin struggled to stand upright, his limbs still stiff, and took the vial with shaky fingers.
"Now, to the price. A little warm-up question, if you don't mind. What did you dream last night?"
Robin was prepared for this. For years, Rumplestiltskin had been asking all his supplicants this very question. No one knew why, they simply assumed it was an eccentricity of his. He expected an honest answer, but beyond that, any dream, no matter how dull or wild, would be dismissed with the same bitter disappointment.
"I dreamt of my wife," Robin said truthfully. "And the child she's carrying. Our boy." In his dream, Marian had been cradling the small bundle, singing to it softly, while Robin tickled the baby's fluffy head with his thumb. Nothing much had happened, yet the dream had been everything, all he wished for his family - and would never have.
"Was that all?" Rumplestiltskin dismissed his dreaminess without a hint of consideration - and in a way that was all for the best.
"No. No, that wasn't all. I have this recurring dream." Robin gave a small cough. He hadn't talked about this before, not even to Marian. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with the dream, anything he should feel guilty about. It just left him in an emotional upheaval he couldn't quite account for, so he preferred to keep it to himself. "It returns almost every night. I don't remember when it first started."
"Tell me about this dream."
"There's this…woman. She's surrounded by shadows, but when she moves there's a shimmery white light shining through. I can't see her face, only the glistening eyes and the billowing hair. She keeps asking for her heart back."
Rumplestiltskin's mouth hung open in a silent gasp, and for a moment Robin thought the imp was mocking him, but then the anxious jitter of his hands told him otherwise. The imp actually looked captivated. Robin hesitated. Even just recounting the dream was dragging him into that peculiar state of unrest, that strange wanting it'd always leave him with. The Dark One wasn't exactly the person Robin felt comfortable confiding in. So he stuck to the facts, trying to stay aloof, uninvested.
"I tell her I don't have it, but she insists. I turn out my pockets to show her there's nothing, and she points at my chest." Robin swallowed, his chest tingling. This was but a faint reminder of the burning sensation that invariably accompanied this part of the dream, the moment she'd stand with her arm raised and her finger pointing straight at his heart. "For a moment I think she's asking to use mine." For a moment, before the strangeness of such thought would register, he'd almost wish he could give it to her, she'd sound so sad and vulnerable. That, however, was definitely a sentiment he wasn't sharing with the Dark One. "There's a leather satchel hanging around my neck," he said instead, "and a real, beating heart in it. It's strange but somehow not scary. Warm and glowing red with just a touch of shadows cast over it. I hand her the heart and she reaches for it. Our fingertips touch - and then she disappears. I hear a sob - just one - and I wake up."
Much to his disappointment. No answers. And she'd take that soft but radiant shimmer of light with her, too.
Suddenly, sharing even the bare story with Rumplestiltskin had become unbearable, so much so that his very stomach turned
Rumplestiltskin wasn't helping, either. His mouth had finally closed, but the hungry glint in his eyes was new and most unwelcome.
"The stakes have been raised," he sang. "You have your serum. In return, I ask for a favour. Do it, and the debt is all paid."
"What is it you'd have me do?" Would the price of magic require him to compromise all his beliefs and principles? Would he be asked to commit some terrible deed? Perhaps even in the name of the queen?
"There are realms beyond the one we live in, as I'm sure you're aware." Rumplestiltskin paused, and Robin nodded - he had heard word of other realms, had once found the idea of world-jumping intriguing. "There's a girl in one of these realms crossing to our land shortly - perhaps she's even here already. Find her. Help her on her quest. Who knows, you might even find your interests coincide." The imp giggled and did a weird little excited finger dance.
"The purpose of this quest?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't tell you."
"Then why ask my assistance?"
"What good reason could a brainless man give?"
Wonderful. This was getting fishier by the minute. But it was his price, and it was actually a price he felt he could pay - provided this woman from another realm didn't prove to be another evil witch.
"Very well. I'll do it. Under one condition."
"You're not in a position to negotiate, dearie."
"If I'm to leave my pregnant wife to help some stranger do who knows what," Robin said firmly, "I'm fine with it only as long as I know the serum is keeping Marian alive - and that she's also being kept safe."
"You want me to protect her from the sheriff and the queen." The imp considered. "That can be arranged."
"We have a deal, then."
"Yes, yes, we do. I'm brainless indeed, to have agreed to such terms. But alas, that just goes to show. I've already done an awful lot of talking for a man without brains. Go now."
Rumplestiltskin made an impatient little gesture towards the door, and Robin didn't need to be told twice to get out of this sombre, obnoxious environment. Checking on the vial and finding it safely tucked behind his belt, he hurried off, his only wish being to be by Marian's side again as soon as possible. In the door, however, he turned back.
"This girl I'm to search for," he'd remembered, "how will I know it's her?"
"Oh, you'll know."