"What ails you, dearie?"
Agatha's hands shook with the strain of the force that moved through her. She turned her face away from the Dark One. "Nothing."
"Then stop thinking! That is not how magic works." He placed himself beside her and eased his arms up to her shoulders, sending shivers creeping down her back. "Magic is created through emotion." His long, scaly fingers moved down her shoulders and she shivered, gooseflesh prickling her arms. Fear coursed through her at the sight of his hand moving across her skin. Here she was, a peasant maid, and the darkest of all conjurers was her mentor and captor! Her fingertips tingled, and she felt her eyes light.
"Good work tonight, dearie!" Rumplestiltskin whispered in her ear. She moved away from him as she surveyed the fire she had encased in water. She rubbed her shoulders, trying to wipe away the chill that always seemed to accompany him. Then Agatha looked at him, and was rewarded with a cold smile, ghastly as always. His face sent her sprinting to the straw building.
...
"Agatha?"
"Hmmm?" She looked into Baelfire's concerned face.
"Is something wrong?" His brown eyes, willing her conscience forward, jarred her into speech.
"Oh Bae, your father...he's just so frightening!"
"It's alright. He made a deal with your mother. He won't harm you."
"You actually trust him?"
"I trust him to keep his word," he said. He passed a hand over his forehead. "If there's one thing that's trustworthy about Papa, he always does what he promises."
Agatha decided to change the subject, since she could see she was treading on dangerous grounds. "Have you sent him the message?"
"If anyone can do this, it's a knight," he answered. He smiled at her. "Especially your knight in shining armor."
...
Agatha had trouble going to sleep, and the lute didn't help. It sounded as loud as if the player was in the shack with her, but at the same time far away. Its haunting melody, lonely and sad, kept worming its way through her brain as she tossed and turned, trying to force it out, plug her ears, etc. But it was persistent, and at last she threw off her cloak and tiptoed to the door.
She pulled and pulled, but it wouldn't budge. She knew it didn't have a lock, so she figured Rumplestiltskin had put a spell on it. Something compelled her to hum the tune with the unknown artist, and miraculously after a few bars, the door opened. She snuck out, shut the door quietly, and started toward the sound.
Soon she came upon a lady, not five years older than herself, sitting on a stone in a small clearing playing a lute. Agatha found herself drawn forward, as did the crowd of assorted animals gathered at the lady's feet, sitting around the folds of her midnight-blue dress. When the music ended, the animals scattered, and the lady turned toward Agatha. She had night-black hair that hung down her back in long waves, and an angular face, dark blue eyes, and pointed ears, not unlike Agatha herself.
"Greetings, Agatha."
"You know me?" Agatha was unsettled at the thought of this charmer knowing her.
"But of course," she replied. She held out the lute. "You were drawn to this, were you not?"
"Yes," she answered. "How did you know I would be?"
The lady laughed. "You may call me Serina. And I know about your passion for music because I know you."
Agatha gasped. "My mother had that name, and yet, you look much like her..."
"My dear, don't you see?" She laughed, and the sound was music itself. "I am your mother."
...
Agatha stood there, not bothering to name the emotions that raced through her. "But my mother's dead! Rumplestiltskin killed her!"
"Oh, that old fool," Serina waved her hand dismissively. "So your grandmother said. Oh no, Agatha, contrary to your belief, I am very much alive."
"But, how? If you are her, how did you survive?"
"It's quite simple, actually. Magic can often become a web, a trap for its master. Since that serpent has become ensnared, he may think that he is controlling it, but the power is controlling him. He had already gone too far when he tried to kill me, and he very nearly succeeded. But," Serina said, "I belong to the Faeries, and their magic is more than a match for him."
She stood up and moved to stand beside Agatha, half a head taller than she was. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, she led Agatha to the stump on which she had perched. "Now, Agatha, tell me, I can see the Mark on you. You have been touched by darkness, my child."
"Rumplestiltskin took me as his apprentice," Agatha said, shivering as the memories returned.
"And how are you doing as his maid?"
Agatha looked at her mother incredulously. "You knew about that?"
"Oh, yes. The Faeries have always been watching you." Her head whipped around at a crack in a nearby bush. "Speaking of whom..." She marched over to the bush, reached inside, fished around, and dragged out a whimpering boy by the ear, a few years older than herself. "Ow ow ow ow OW!" Seeming indifferent to his protests, Serina dumped him unceramoniously at Agatha's feet.
"Well, your highness, as first impressions go, you can't get any better than this," he complained, rubbing his ear. He sprang to his feet and made a graceful bow. "Nyx, at your service, Lady Agatha."
"He always was a charmer," Serina murmured. "Explain yourself, Nyx."
His mouth hung open and he put a hand on his chest, looking insulted. "Why, my lady, I was merely making sure your daughter was safe all this time, especially with the Dark One! But what do I get for my troubles? A pinching and a dirty rump! Hmph! You should be thankful indeed, what with that Rumplestiltskin prowling about!"
"Just how much did you hear?" When Nyx didn't answer, she raised her hand and started muttering a spell.
"Alright, I'll talk! All of it. That's the truth, it is, seeing as I don't want to be a mouse again. Most humiliating!" he said, brushing himself off.
"That it is. And thank you for being honest with me, Nyx." Serina turned to Agatha. "This young man has been entrusted with the task of keeping you safe from harm, Agatha. I trust he's fulfilled his purpose?"
Now that she thought about it, Agatha did remember feeling a presence nearby all her life. "Yes, he did," she answered. Looking at Nyx's slender frame and smooth black hair, she thought he was handsome indeed.
"There, you see? The lady says so!"
"Maybe you can come with us, as long as you have time before he notices," Serina said, turning to Agatha.
She looked at the sky. It was getting light. "I really mustn't," she said sadly. "But maybe I can come tomorrow night?"
...
Storybrooke
Vivian took a deep breath and blew. Her long fingers moved quickly over the keys as the music, sad and lonely, spilled out the bell. Each note wrapped around her soul, compelling her to play a little louder. With the final note left ringing in the air, she packed up her clarinet, humming the tune she had played.
...
Vivian had always been an odd girl. She had pointy ears, and an angular face, so when she had read the Lord of the Rings she had often fantasized that she was an elf, like those in Middle-Earth. She had also been found abandoned at the side of a highway, with no property to call her own but the battered clarinet case that had been found with her, and when no one had claimed her, her mother had been pronounced dead. She had spent fifteen years wondering if her mother and father loved her, regretted leaving her, or if they even lived. So here she was, an orphan in a strange but small town called Storybrooke, with nothing to call her own but the clarinet and an old notebook she had borrowed from the fifth grade teacher, Mary Margaret.
She sighed as she made her way to Granny's Diner.
...
"Hello, Vivian," Granny said, welcoming her in an embrace.
"Hey, Granny," she said as she walked to a booth and sat down, placing her clarinet beside her. Taking out her notebook, she wrote a few sentences before she sensed something. Looking up, she saw a young man with black hair and coat staring at her. She smiled politely as he sat in the booth across from her.
"Whatcha writing?" he asked.
"A story about a better place," she answered, glancing up. "Why?"
He made a visual inspection of her belongings, then shook his head. "Is that all you have, kid?"
"My name's Vivian, and yes it is, Mr-"
"August. Just August," he replied, glancing at her book. "You like to write?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Well," he leaned forward, "I just happen to be a writer myself."
"You have a job here?"
"You know, you ask a lot of questions, Vivian. I don't have a job here, but I have a place I can do it. And really, the only requirement of having a dream..."
"...is believing in it," she finished. "My English teacher told me."
"Your teacher's wise," he commented. He held out a hand. "Would you mind if I edit it for you? Being a fellow writer, I think it's best if you let people know about your work, rather than hide it."
Vivian held it close. "But it's not finished!"
August laughed. "All the more reason for me to edit it! The least I could do is give you some pointers."
"Fine," she said at last, pressing it into his hand.
...
As Vivian made her way to the little cabin in the woods she called home, she thought about August, and about the people of Storybrooke in general. Most people avoided her, and she had precious little friends in high school.
When she thought about the town, there were only three places she found intreresting. The library, where she regularly devoured books by climbing in through a boarded up window, the alley, where she ususlly played music, and Mr. Gold's pawn shop. This last one, oddly enough, she felt right at home in. Mr. Gold was rarely there, and if he was, he didn't show himself. She felt like she stepped into another world when she paid her regular visits.
The trinkets, lamps like genies were kept in, and the million other odds and ends kept her amused for hours on end. Often she would bring her notebook, make a list of things she liked, then brought it back to her cabin to incorporate them into her stories. In the past year, she had gotten more courageous, despite what people said about him, until she worked up the nerve to enter, like an unlikely knight entering a dragon lair.
...
She was in the middle of jotting down a list in the pawn shop when she heard a wry voice say, "I've already done inventory, Miss Vivian."
She turned around, trying not to flinch. You'd think you'd hear him coming. She just smiled and said, "Please excuse me, Mr. Gold. This is just for some work I do."
He walked around the counter and stood a few paces from her, smirking. "And what manner of work would that be, dearie?"
"I'm a writer. Well, I plan to be," she replied nervously.
"And you use my displays for what, exactly?" Mr. Gold leaned on his cane, twisting it in his fingers.
"For inspiration," she answered, her eyes on the cane.
"I see," he replied, looking her up and down. "I would think you get enough from the woods, or perhaps those books you borrow." He looked at her face intently.
"How did you know?" Vivian was taken aback.
"Well, dearie, this is a small town. News travels fast, and it isn't long before I hear of it. And you," he chuckled darkly, "your beloved teacher told me everything. She was particularly intent on your love of reading and music. One look at the library, and it isn't hard to put two and two together."
"You mean-"
"Considering the fact that if she hadn't told me, I would have cut off the money going into your education, and she couldn't bear to see that happen."
"And you wanted to know this because-?"
"You see, dearie, breaking and entering into a building is a crime. So, under law, I am authorized to turn you in."
"Wait, turn me in? But I haven't done anything wrong!" she snapped.
"Wrong as in having an illegal residence outside of town? Wrong as in breaking and entering for the past year?"
"I'll quit hanging around your shop, if that's what you mean," Vivian replied.
"I meant that you should go back where you came from," Gold said.
"Don't we all want that?" Vivian shot back.
"Who are we talking about?" Vivian turned around and came face to face with August. He had an almost concerned look in his eyes as he glanced between her and Mr. Gold.
"Nothing that concerns you, Mr. Booth," Gold replied cooly.
"Business?" August asked with a hint of accusation in his voice.
"Do you happen to know this girl?" Gold gestured to Vivian.
August appeared to be struggling with himself mentally, but then he answered, "I do know her. Why?"
"She has broke into the library for the past year, and she has been using an illegal residence out of town."
"I didn't take anything! And I brought the books back! As for living in that cabin, it's better than being in the foster system!" she protested.
"I am truly sorry, Miss Vivian, but it's for the best," Mr. Gold said with false sympathy.
"Or," August said, pondering, "she could come stay with me."
"Mr. Booth, I appreciate your concern for Miss Vivian, but this is a matter of personal business," Gold said. "She should be taken to the sheriff right away."
"I'll walk her down, and let the sheriff decide," August said, hustling Vivian out the door. Vivian looked back with real fear at Mr. Gold. He smirked and watched her until the door closed.
...