A/N: Thank you all again for your continued support for this story! You are truly a magical source of inspiration.
Disclaimer: We do not own Once Upon a Time. May credit be given where credit is due.
~Chapter VII~
Ice cold chains of magic coiled around what Rumplestiltskin imagined must be his soul, constricting it in an unbreakable vice, before snaking down his arms and legs. The feeling was foreign and invasive; his mind and body were now two completely separate entities, the former no more powerful than a blade of straw and the latter a slave to another's will.
His muscles and bones contorted under the command of the curse, heaving him to his feet. His body slowly turned to face his compeller; the strength of all of Rumplestiltskin's willpower did not cause even a moment's hesitation in his actions.
"Very good," the man with the hook drawled, a malevolent smirk twisting his thin lips.
He was thin and taller than Rumplestiltskin, but not by much. Despite his slender build, the other six men seemed to revere and perhaps fear him, maintaining at least a meter's distance from where he stood. Dark, wavy hair rested on his shoulders, looking like pools of oil against the crimson cloth of his elaborate coat. The long, bejeweled fingers of his right hand were curled around the hilt of Rumplestiltskin's dagger.
But the feature which stood out most, besides the sinister silver hook attached to the end of his left arm, was his eyes. Were they not currently scanning Rumplestiltskin's face, he would have thought they belonged to a corpse.
"How do you-" Rumplestiltskin began, his voice harsh and raspy, before Hook interrupted.
"Ah, ah," he waved the dagger reproachfully, like a parent wagging a finger at their misbehaving child. "No talking," Hook commanded, his lips parting in a primal leer.
Rumplestiltskin's lips snapped shut, his teeth clenched as though they had been wired shut.
"You will accompany us to my ship. You will not resist." Rumplestiltskin felt the command slide down his spine like sickly sweet molasses, and he could not suppress a slight shudder. His compeller grinned.
"What about this one, Cap'n Hook?" A burly man with a thick red beard asked gruffly, eyeing Belle's unmoving form on the forest floor. Rumplestiltskin's face flushed scarlet with hot anger as the pirate crouched forward to get a closer look.
"It's rotten luck to bring a woman aboard," a fat little man wearing a striped shirt piped in squeakily. His face was flushed and sweaty as he struggled to balance their discarded rucksacks on his back.
Hook's cold gaze trailed over Belle uninterestedly. "We'll bind her, ensure there's no chance she'll wake and follow. Then let the forest have her."
"You," Hook lazily pointed the dagger in Rumplestiltskin's direction, "Tie her up."
The burly man who had spoken before tossed Rumplestiltskin several coils of coarse rope, which his compelled arms caught easily. His legs kneeled beside Belle, and although the weight of what he was about to do nearly crushed him, he was grateful for the chance to assess the damage the fall had caused.
He turned her onto her back. She was breathing, and the relief which surged in his chest at the fact made him dizzy. It was too dark to make out the beginnings of the bruises which would undoubtedly pepper her soft skin, but he could see a thin trail of blood trickling from a wound toward the right of her forehead. He stretched his hand toward it.
"I said tie her up, not tend her wounds," Hook sneered, his crewmembers chuckling sycophantically.
Rumplestiltskin's arms turned Belle back onto her stomach, folding her arms across her lower back. He gently wound the rope about her thin wrists.
"Tighter."
Rumplestiltskin's hands yanked the rope taut, chafing her wrists and sending a wave of guilt rushing through him. Although a storm of fury raged within him, his compelled fingers were steady as they tied the ends of the rope, ensuring that Belle would not be able to untie them herself. Kneeling beside her feet now, he took the other length of rope and wound it securely about her ankles. At least her jeans would prevent them from being rubbed raw.
When he finished binding Belle's feet together, he turned her gently onto her back once more. Her head wound still bled, but less freely. He softly ran his fingertips down her cheek.
He was such a fool. He should have listened to her, should have used the magic to ward off their pursuers. And yet, he could not suppress the slight comfort that his continued possession of magic brought him. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he realized that, were the situation to repeat itself, he would likely make the same selfish decision again.
Sorrow and shame welled inside him as he thought of how frightened she would be when she woke alone and trapped. He brushed her hair from her face, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.
"Do not dawdle, Dark One," Hook snapped. Rumplestiltskin froze, his lips a whisper from Belle's skin, and then felt his body pull himself upright. A prisoner in his own body, Rumplestiltskin rose to his feet, his eyes still glued to Belle's unconscious form.
"To the ship," Hook barked to his crewmembers, and they started down the forest path headed east. Revulsion twisted in Rumplestiltskin's stomach as his legs followed obediently. He threw one last look at Belle, willing her to understand, to forgive him, when he saw it. Lying on the ground a step or two from Belle was his son's bracelet.
He had carried it with him since the day his son had disappeared through the green portal, and it was with a fresh wave of grief and rage that he continued walking, unable to fight the compulsion long enough to retrieve it.
As they walked through the forest in the direction of Hook's ship, Rumplestiltskin noticed with satisfaction the troublesome way the forest seemed to react to Hook's presence. Whereas the forest had seemed subtly inclined to aid Rumplestiltskin and Belle in their escape, it behaved devilishly toward the captain and his crew. The willows' roots protruded higher from the ground, catching the men around the ankles and sending them sprawling; vines twisted in the men's loose clothing and sashes, tearing and scratching with thorns Rumplestiltskin was sure had not been there before.
By the time they reached the shoreline, when the sky was just beginning to lighten in preparation for dawn, the crewmembers and captain alike looked as tattered and worn as one of Belle's favorite books. Rumplestiltskin, on the other hand, seemed to have been spared further injury completely.
A lone jolly boat bobbed in the rising tide, a rope tethering it to a nearby palm tree. Hook's crew lumbered toward it, settling themselves inside and lighting the small oil lamp which dangled off the tip of the bow. The more brawny of the men took hold of the oars, and the stout one assumed the position of the navigator. Their captain and his prisoner seated themselves last at the stern.
The rope anchoring the craft to the shore was cast aside, and they glided on the water toward a dark mass looming in the distance.
The Jolly Roger was less magnificent than Rumplestiltskin had been expecting, considering the grandeur of Hook's scarlet coat. It was large but not excessive; its gray sails were well-tended with only a couple patches here and there. On the bow hung a wooden carving of a beautiful mermaid, with a hook dangling from her throat.
When they were near enough to the ship's starboard side, the podgy navigator shouted a squeaky command to the crewmembers still aboard. Two thick ropes came flying from overhead; the crewmembers nearest where the ropes landed looped them through metal hoops located at the jolly boat's bow and stern. After several jostling yanks, accompanied by muffled shouts of "heave!" from above, the smaller craft was parallel with the ship's deck.
Hook rose to his feet, his long legs easily helping him overstep the benches and ledge of the jolly boat. Although he would have preferred to simply launch himself overboard, Rumplestiltskin followed. He heard the remaining six crewmen bustle onto the deck behind him.
They stood silently, their eyes fastened to the figures of Hook and Rumplestiltskin; they seemed both apprehensive and eager, waiting with baited breath to see what would pass between their captain and this mysterious sorcerer.
Hook noticed the silence, and with an unexpected grace turned about on his heel to face them.
"Gentlemen, is this a ship or a hippodrome?" He asked snidely, casually inspecting his hook in the brightening morning light. His tone was lightly sarcastic, but the darkness in his eyes as he trained them on his unmoving crew made them visibly flinch. Another moment of silence passed before the men collectively shouted "aye, aye!" and hurriedly returned to their tasks aboard the Jolly Roger.
Smirking slightly, Hook turned about and strode toward a set of double doors at the aft of the ship, beneath the platform on which the helm stood. Pressing his hook down on one of the brass handles, he pulled the door open.
"Inside," he commanded, and those cold chains of magic wrapped around Rumplestiltskin's bones constricted and forced him to obey. Hook followed after him, shutting the door with a little more strength than absolutely necessary.
The inside of Hook's quarters was...cluttered. An assortment of books and objects-the most intriguing of which included a mangled, and apparently chewed, brass clock, a shrunken head, and an ornate ivory tobacco pipe-littered every surface, except a small desk on which a hand-drawn map of Neverland lay. The place was oddly cozy; it reminded Rumplestiltskin of his pawn shop in Storybrooke.
Hook walked over to the mahogany desk which held the map, sitting down in its high-back leather chair. He placed the dagger on the desk's surface, smirking as Rumplestiltskin's eyes immediately darted to it. He picked the dagger up again, tracing his hook along its crooked edge. The resulting screech of metal against metal made Rumplestiltskin's blood run cold.
"A rather impressive artifact, wouldn't you agree? Such...craftsmanship," Hook derided, smirking again before issuing what felt to Rumplestiltskin like his thousandth command: "Speak."
"I think," Rumplestiltskin began slowly, his own lips twisting in a sneer, "it would look considerably more appealing lodged in your throat."
Hook chuckled darkly, the sound as hollow and lifeless as his eyes. "I think you are in no position to make such an observation, much less fulfill it." And as if to reiterate his point, he added sharply, "Sit."
The sheer simplicity of Hook's commands, as well as his compelled body's obedience, humiliated Rumplestiltskin. He felt lower than the mud caking the boots of the man who now controlled him.
He sat down in the wooden chair before Hook's desk, making sure to upend an ink well in the process. Although Hook said nothing as the black liquid seeped into the map's yellow parchment, a muscle jumped in his temple. After a moment, he leaned forward, his black eyes languidly taking in Rumplestiltskin's appearance.
"I must say, you're not quite the formidable creature I'd been expecting. You seem rather...what is the euphemism these days? Ah yes, past your prime," he sneered, leaning back in his chair and bringing his hook to his jaw in contemplation.
"Tell me, what is the extent of your powers?" He asked, and even though he had delivered it as a question, Rumplestiltskin still felt the command rush through him.
"I have a limited amount of magic here. I do not possess the full abilities and strength of my curse." Rumplestiltskin explained, choosing to rely on truth as opposed to a lie. Perhaps his compeller would be more judicious, more hesitant in commanding him to utilize his magic, knowing it was in short supply. Hook's smirk disappeared at his words.
"Limited?" He asked, staring into Rumplestiltskin's face.
"Limited. As in restricted, constrained, the opposite of unlimited," Rumplestiltskin elaborated sardonically, speaking slowly as though to a child. Hook glared at him, an angry flush momentarily coloring his cheeks.
"Why have you come to Neverland, Dark One?" Hook asked flatly.
"I'm on holiday," Rumplestiltskin smirked.
"Bold, lying to your master," Hook responded, his lips stretching in a satisfied grin at the rage in Rumplestiltskin's eyes. "Speak truthfully."
"I am here to find my son," Rumplestiltskin explained shortly, hating the way his cursed body did not hesitate to obey. Hook scoffed.
"Ah...and here I thought those Lost Brats were orphans. I feel considerably less guilty about trying to kill them now." He smirked darkly, running the pads of his fingers over the rim of his silver hook. Rumplestiltskin watched him silently, his face a frozen mask that did not reflect the revulsion swelling inside him.
"Besides my crew, the Lost Boys are the only other humans in this land. And there is no chance you are related to the filthy Indian savages." Hook threw a quick disgusted glare at the drawing of several teepees on the map before him.
"Yes," he continued, returning his gaze to Rumplestiltskin, "It must be one of the boys you seek. Unless you are the long-lost papa of one of my shipmates." Hook laughed loudly at the thought. Rumplestiltskin merely stared ahead, silent.
"It is curious, though...Even the newest of the Lost Boys has been here for at least a century." Hook spoke quietly, halfheartedly inspecting the dagger in the rising sunlight. "You certainly took your time." His eyes met Rumplestiltskin's, and for a moment they seemed to glow with the heat of an undisclosed fury, before they returned once more to their usual lifelessness.
Rumplestiltskin did not respond, guilt now swimming alongside the rage he felt inside.
"Smee!" Hook bellowed suddenly, his cold eyes on Rumplestiltskin. A moment later a short, plump man with a blue and white striped shirt came blundering through the door.
"Y-yes, Cap'n?" He stuttered, skidding to a halt beside Hook's desk.
"Please escort our guest to the brig," Hook ordered, "And keep a guard nearby."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n!" Smee replied, bringing a stubby-fingered hand to his head in a quick salute. He leaned over to grab Rumplestiltskin's shoulder; Rumplestiltskin jerked out of his reach, rising to his feet.
He glared at Hook, opening his mouth to ask the question he had wanted to since Hook's first command for him to stand.
"How do you know of my curse?"
Hook grinned impishly, leaning his head against the back of his chair to better survey his puppet.
"Is there any realm your legend has not reached?" Hook asked in mock praise, bowing his head slightly.
Rumplestiltskin continued to glare at him. Hook chuckled deeply, leaning forward over his desk and steepling the fingers of his right hand against his hook.
"Let's just say...a little bluebird told me," Hook leered, quirking an eyebrow as the anger in Rumplestiltskin's gaze increased tenfold.
The corners of Hook's mouth twitched slightly as Rumplestiltskin clenched his fists so tight they shook.
"You will follow Smee. You will not resist. You will remain where you are placed until I say otherwise," Hook commanded, smirking darkly.
Rumplestiltskin ground his teeth together as his body obediently followed the shorter man out of the captain's quarters.
Very few people knew about the relationship between the dagger and the curse, and Rumplestiltskin had a pretty solid idea which one possessed the magic and motive to betray him.
If the myth was true and saying "I don't believe in fairies" did, indeed, kill a fairy, Rumplestiltskin would repeat the phrase with every breath until every single one of them had dropped dead.
A/N: Oh dear...
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