Taverns and tower rooms

Belle didn't feel the moment she hit the water, or anything else, for a good few hours, and when she came to she could see Brienne's face before her. She seemed to be trying to get her to swallow a mouthful of water. Belle complied, and that was the moment the young girl met her gaze. And promptly backed away, making the evil eye at her, warding herself with the common hand gestures from all forms of evil. Belle frowned, and Brienne screamed. The sound ricocheted around Belle's head, and she tried to focus her mind on the situation. First, her hearing. The tavern girl was surely not the only one in the room; Belle could hear a great many voices muttering around her, some curses and pleas for rescue, some vulgar terms of the unpleasant variety. Next, her sight. She seemed to be back in the Dwarf Tavern (the Dusted Jellyfish? Was that its name?), and could see Brienne hiding behind her mother on the other side of the room. Inside dark shadows that no longer hid things from her. As her vision began to focus, she could see some of the speakers in the room; a good few Dwarves, a drunkard or two, and that there might be an honest-to-Gods fairy. She didn't care to analyse the smells in the area; they were bad before whatever this was began.

Skipping smells and tastes, Belle directed her focus into feeling. Her skin no longer burned, and the dizziness had passed, but now her whole back, bones and all, seemed to be burning instead, and her arms felt like they were being ripped out of their sockets. At a warm contact on her shoulder and a sudden jerk of her body forwards, and she realised that was exactly what was happening. Something cold began to encircle her wrists, and with a start she realised it was chains. She began to struggle, but it was to no avail. Soon enough she saw why. The 'Giant' from the first night, the one who crept towards her and damn near gave her a heart attack, moved into her line of sight. "Hello again little lady. Thought you could fool us, bewitch us 'nto being your minions?" She stared at Jamie uncomprehendingly, utterly confused. The drunkard that had leered at her stumbled forwards and slurred out best as he could: "What we gon' do with the Demon, Innkeep? We gon' kill 'er? 'Ave some fun?" His 'n' drew out in a long moan, and he slumped into a chair someone thoughtfully (or from long practice) placed behind him. Belle felt chills down her spine, and looked imploringly at Jamie. What was going on? Someone shoved her from behind, jarring the shoulder they had dislocated in an effort to chain her, and the pain, though somewhat subdued, was still there and burning. Her hair fell in her face with the movement, and she was surprised to find it several shades darker, and a little more unruly. She supposed it had become tangled in her fall (how in the names of the Gods did she survive that?), although it no longer felt wet.

At some point when her focus, or perhaps consciousness, drifted, the men had come to a decision, perhaps a hay to test for capacity for pain, or whether or not she bled. "What'd be the best way to do it though? Don't look like no knife would b'able to cut through them scales." Scales, what? "P'raps we chop its hand?" "That don't stop the scale problem Carter." She didn't have scales, they could chop her hand off just fine, much as she would prefer it if she didn't. "Mayhaps we could pull a toof? One at the back p'raps?" "Don't like the look o' them front ones though. They lookin' mighty sharp." "How 'bout one-a dem from the fron'?. Don't look like she could bite us too easy wit' dem." Belle eyed each of the men before her, suspicious and wary and not seeing a way out. She contemplated just leaping for the door and making a run for it, but barely had the chance to prepare her muscles for the exertion before Jamie had her jaw in his hand, and was forcing open her mouth. He was kneeling at her level, which made her realise she was on her knees, and someone had handed him a tool for the... extraction.

At first she truly didn't think he would go through with it, but as she took a second look at the hard line of his mouth and the heavy crease between his eyebrows, she realised he most definitely would. He put two fingers in her mouth like you would for a horse's bit, and clamped the tool (she sincerely hoped someone hadn't decided to invent something for the sole purpose of stealing teeth) around the decided-upon tooth. Her breathing became heavy, both from fear and from fighting the urge to bite the man's entire hand off. Tears began to stream down her face, and she realised the odd keening sound she heard came from the back of her own throat. That didn't stop the barkeep. He tightened his grip on the tool, flexed his fingers, and pulled. She screamed in agony, in rage, and tried from instinct to pull away. The pain seemed to increase tenfold, and suddenly it was as though someone had poured ice water down her spine. Something started to cloud her vision (an actual cloud it seemed, a collection of sapphire-blue smoke), and everything before her began to change. The last thing she saw of the tavern was the stern faced fairy (and she saw where the place got its name, but that didn't stop the dress from being horrendous) trying in vain to pull Jamie away.

When Rumplestiltskin came to he was lying on the floor of the Great Hall, and it seemed this blackout, unlike the others, had prevented his body from functioning. It had been years since he'd last passed out. The Dark One did not 'pass out'. He hauled himself to his feet with a monumental effort, and it was only when he stood up straight that he realised he was kneeling on his floor. His right knee had collapsed under the weight of his body, the joint suffering from an injury he had suffered years before, one that no longer existed since he became the Dark One. He slowly looked down at his hands in absolute horror, and yelled a curse when he saw his soft flesh. Human flesh. What the devil was going on?

He tried to stand again, tried several times, but failed each time. In the end he dragged himself across the floor, thankful the doors to the Hall were slightly ajar. He crawled pitifully across the floor and across several rooms, his knee screaming at him to stop, until he reached the winding staircase to his tower room. With the walls this close together he could use them for support, and was able to steadily force himself to his feet, and then up the stairs, one at a time. He didn't stop when his knee felt like it was going to cave in, didn't stop when he retched by a window, or when he slipped on an uneven step. He made it to the top, collapsing against the heavy door, his full weight barely forcing it open. He moved across the floor like a worm, moving his good leg every few seconds to force himself that extra inch or so, his hands being skinned on the stone, his torn and bloodied fingernails digging into the cold. Eventually he reached his target; a loose flagstone on the floor.

It took all the strength he had to haul it out of its space, all of his focus to reach into the stone behind it, his hand passing through with the aid of the magic he had placed on the block. He felt relief only when his hand met the hilt of a dagger, and steadily pulled it out of its prison of rock. It had not left this space in over 300 years, not since he came here, not for anybody. He forced himself to sit and calmed his breath, his lungs begging for some respite. His breath remained short and erratic regardless as he sat pathetic and hunched over on the floor. With a shaking hand he flipped the Kris dagger in his grasp and read the name engraved on the silver blade. Five letters to its previous fifteen. Swirling and looping where his had been angular and harsh.

B-E-L-L-E.

With a snarl he tightened his grip on the dagger, blinked back tears from this ultimate betrayal, and lifted the weapon into the air. Repeated the words as he had all those years ago, after the fire in the Duke's castle. "Dark One, I summon thee!"

A kiss should not cost so much.