Belle stared in disbelief at the words on the page. This couldn't possibly be a coincidence. She instinctively looked over her shoulder at the rest of the room, trying to identify who could be playing a prank on her. She looked back at the words on the page and traced a finger down the list of instructions, pausing when she reached the description of the final item.
'an object closest to the item intended to be retrieved, the connection must be a strong one.'
Belle frowned and slipped a hand into her pocket where the weight of the cane handle still rested. She traced a finger along the carvings on its surface, confused for a moment as to why exactly she had taken that, of all the items in the shop.
Struck by a sudden purpose, she grabbed the book from the table and held it under her arm as she scurried down the staircase. She was heading to the potions room, where Rumple had kept all of his supplies, when she reached the bottom of the staircase and was looking through the doorway at the spinning wheel once again. She walked into the room, circling the table and replaced the axe she still held on to, the habit of keeping things neat while Rumple carried on obliviously was ingrained in her. She turned to carry on with her task and for the first time noticed the column at the top of the room.
A distinct change from the old ornamentation caught her eye – a gaudy grail that used to sit atop the podium and matched the rich décor that Rumple generally preferred had been replaced. In its place sat the item she least expected to be there. Looking at her small chipped cup in pride of place in the room, Belle gasped down a sudden sob in the crushing realisation that Rumple truly had spent his last years in the Enchanted Forest believing he had sent her to her death.
Now his tribute to her was the last act he had to share. It felt like a physical grip around her throat as a simultaneous trickle raised goosebumps along her arms. She stumbled forwards, legs suddenly feeling like they were made of wood, fingers reaching out to gently trace the rim of the cup. As she made the movement the book that had been forgotten slipped from the grip under her arm. She followed it to the ground, grasping out to catch it, and ended up kneeling over the tome, face in her hands and fought to prevent everything from overwhelming her. Now was not the time.
Biting back the emotions, she centred herself again, using the book and her task ahead as the anchor to stop the tide of grief taking her away. Her head stopped spinning and the black wall that had been building in front of her vision abated to find her gripping the book tightly in both hands, nails starting to dig into the leather binding.
She climbed to her feet - this time using a glance at their cup to give her strength - and then she continued on into the potions room.
Unlike everywhere else in the Dark Castle - which held many haphazard piles of miscellaneous items Belle was convinced were only supported by magic – the collections of various ingredients and implements kept in this room were perfectly in order. Almost obsessively so, she noted, as a line of different feathers laid out according to size caught her eye.
She laid the book on the table and carefully flicked through the musty pages to find the correct place. Then she set about gathering the items she needed, starting with the solid heavy cauldron she had only ever seen Rumple use a couple of times for some of the larger spells he had needed. In the neatly organised room she had no problem finding everything, following the instructions in the book precisely in a purposeful flurry of action.
It was as she collected the final three ingredients that she paused to consider the possible implications her actions may entail. The words she had heard so many times now echoed in her head in such a way she wasn't sure how she could have let herself get this far in without considering it.
"Magic always comes at a price"
Clear and simple – Belle had seen the words come back to haunt too many people who had thought they were just the warning of a foul imp trying to keep his magic to himself. Even as she pondered the cautionary words that repeated in her head she found herself reaching for another ingredient. Hemlock root, ground and added to the cauldron with a stir. Only two ingredients to go.
She felt slightly nauseous when she allowed her mind to wander a little further on its path, considering the prices some people had been made to pay. She saw the face of a woman who had come to Rumple one day, begging that he save her son from illness. Rumple had warned her as he always did and she had scoffed, saying no creature like him could understand that she would give anything to save her child. Belle remembered the woman's screeching cries the next day; she beat her hands raw against the door, snarling at Rumple that it was all his fault her husband had died. Rumple had gone on spinning, the solemn look on his face warning Belle not to disturb him.
She stood in the middle of the potions room, hands clenched into fists at her sides as she struggled with the conflicting thoughts in her head. She glared at the cauldron as if she could use the pure force of her will to make the magic do what she needed it to without it backfiring on her. Until now she had never even wanted to try magic before and she told herself she couldn't do it, that she needed him here to guide her.
Why was it so difficult? Her heart was screaming at her to go on and her brain was telling her not to. She had always prided herself on being smart and using her head. Now all she could feel was that her head was wrong. Rebelliously she grabbed the vial of green solvent that had filtered through a small set of glass tubes she had arranged earlier. She stared at it for a couple of seconds as it idly swirled in cloudy patterns.
She poured it in. One ingredient left.
She was being a fool. This was dangerous and reckless. She didn't even truly know what the potion was for – it didn't have any helpful explanation at the top of the page. All she knew was that as soon as she had seen it she had felt something, like someone grabbing her gut and it had stopped her in her tracks. It had called to her and it had felt right, while everything else in this place still seemed jarring to her.
She felt shaky – this wasn't her. She always made sure she knew what she was doing, or she told herself that. She remembered her fear when she had gone to face the beast of Mulan's kingdom and she had ended up saving the day. She had quivered the first time she had called out the Dark One on some quip he had made and had him turn his eyes on her, freezing her in place as she panicked, preparing herself for what he might do. Then he had smirked, muttering "Yes, yes. That too."
His soft words boldly stood out in her mind. She remembered all of him, how he had stood watching her while she resumed her task, still wary but pleased that she had seen a glimpse of a man, not a beast, in the figure before her. Her eyes snapped open and she blinked when she found she wasn't in the front room as Rumplestiltskin watched her, amused smirk still in place. Instead the cauldron hissed and the fire beneath it crackled.
In that moment a steeled resolve took a hold of her. She could have him back and it was so close she could almost hear him. She looked to the book and read through the last few lines of the procedure again. On the table next to it lay the handle of the cane and once again she felt it was the correct interpretation of the text – an object that is closest to that which is missing.
She figured that could mean close in purpose or in value but she wasn't trying to bring back any old missing trinket. She needed someone and that would surely call for a stronger connection than anything. She had been in that other realm of Storybrooke long enough to read a thing or two about their sciences and she knew that the contact Rumple had with the cane would have left DNA. If she understood it correctly that was as close as she could get to it actually being him.
The potion was now bubbling and oozing out a slow swish of motion within the pot. She gave it a last swirl, releasing a strange smell almost like a smoky incense. Then she released the cane handle into the murky substance.
She heard the clunk of the metal hitting the base of the cauldron and a vague ringing resounded from the pot. It grew steadily louder until she could feel it through the soles of her boots and pressing in around her on the air. The potion began to move more thickly, slumping from side to side in the bowl and giving off a dark red steam.
All the while Belle tried to concentrate on her final part to play – an extra ingredient in the mix or her own final interpretation. She folded her arms to herself and thought of how Rumplestiltskin had made her feel, she prayed for him to come back because how else could she stay here in this castle, in this kingdom without him. She sent her desperate plea into the rafters of the small room along with the thickening haze of smoke seeping from the cauldron. Into the rising haze she threw her love.
The potion evaporated, drawn up as the smoke that filled the room and formed a dark whirlpool around her head. She could feel it crackling with energy and then she began to hear it, sighing with words she couldn't make out but she knew with all her heart meant he was coming back. They had found a way.
Windswept by the gale, she felt the magic like it was being drawn through her and he was whispering for her to keep talking, tell him how she needed him and give him the light to follow back home. And Belle gave it all, she talked and she felt it plucking at her emotions, wisping the feelings away.
A clunk from the cauldron jerked her back down to her senses and she looked around wildly. There was nothing different except the potion had drained away completely, the smoke now dissipating as if it had never been there. Confused and trying not to be disappointed by the fact her Rumple wasn't standing next to her right now she stepped forward and glanced into the empty cauldron.
Only it wasn't empty. Metal glinted at her from the bottom and she frowned in confusion. The cane handle had clearly had an effect when she dropped it in – it had kicked off the whole whirlpool reaction – so why was it still lying there. She reached down to grab it and instead jumped back when something sharp sliced her finger. Shocked, she picked it out gingerly, realising something was very odd when her hands closed around a leather bound handle.
She gave a soft cry of confusion when she lifted it enough to look at the ornate lettering along the dagger blade, spelling out Rumplestiltskin.
Shaking her head, brows furrowed, Belle stood staring at the blade of the Dark One. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Thoughts flew through her head, trying to explain why he wasn't here. Why would the spell have brought the knife instead of him? At the same time every sense was alert, straining for a sign that maybe Rumple was about to stride through the door, cocky grin in place.
The candles lighting the room threw reflections off the shining metal blade and she looked at it again, suddenly dumbstruck. The printed letters across the front of it were as bold as they ever had been. Rumplestiltskin.
The dagger showed the name of whoever wielded its power.
If it wasn't blank, then there must still be a bond. He had to be alive! Somewhere or somewhen but if he was still there then she would see him again. A surge of hope rushed through her like an electric bolt and she cried out in joy. All the fears that had been threatening to rise up when the spell didn't seem to have worked were swept away.
Her natural reaction was to turn and share her joy, to laugh and dance with someone but only the cold walls of the castle greeted her sweeping gaze. She blinked quickly, the grin falling slightly from her lips but the same energy pushed her to extinguish the fire under the cauldron, grab the spell book and confidently stride out the room.
She took the book through to the spinning room - she knew it was ridiculous but that was where she felt closest to Rumple. Somehow it seemed like if she felt more connected with him, it would help find his way back to her.
She sat at the table, placed the knife delicately next to the book and flicked to the front page for the first time. It had brought her this far through the puzzle, so it made sense to check if it held the next piece.
It wasn't until Belle saw the first light of pre-dawn creeping through the glass that she realised what time it must be. The birds of the dawn chorus made her realise that she had been staring at the same page for quite some time, brow furrowed but mind caught in an elsewhere she had already forgotten. With a couple of trips up to the library, selecting books with likely sounding names and carrying an armful back down to the dayroom, she had read completely through the night.
Realising it would be best to go to sleep now and come back to continue her research when sleep wasn't beckoning quite so temptingly, Belle marked the page in the very dull text she had been reading and pushed her chair back.
She could feel the haze of sleep fogging her mind more and more and she turned to go. Out of a strongly ingrained habit, or wishful thinking, she turned to look at the spinning wheel. That corner of the room looked dark and still. She looked at the knife, in her mind it was the closest link to say goodnight to. Her heart leapt into her mouth.
She scrambled forwards to grab the knife, to try and prove that what she was seeing was a trick of the light. It was not.
The R had almost completely disappeared in the time she had been sat at the table. The carving on the dagger - and her only connection to Rumple - was fading.
Thanks so much for favouriting, following and commenting, even viewing. It all keeps me smiling and writing.
See you soon for chapter 3
Also this is where i plug my partner in crime ArtjuiceRP who also just updated her Captain Swan story, if you want something a little nicer to finish on.