Chapter 2
Milah had thwarted him with the bean, and his rage rolled over the land with the sound of thunder. Gone! The thirst for vengeance was a constant now, a faint ever-present burn in the back of his throat. As he refined his magic, he relished the thought of the day when he and the pirate wench would meet again. There would be no mercy for her then.
With the bean—and Baelfire—still lost to him, Rumplestiltskin scoured every grimoire and ancient text he could find on methods of travel between realms. All magic came with a price, and even magic had its limits.
Time-turners only allowed travel within a person's lifetime, and while the Dark One's existence was ostensibly infinite, he also could not change the course of history. Mages were extinct. The darkness inside him snickered as he researched the fall of Merlin millennia ago. His apprentice was a pale shadow of his master, and as useless. Realm-jumpers showed promise for a time, and Rumplestiltskin spent several productive decades leaping between realms, gathering power as he had once gathered wool. But that too, ultimately disappointed. Realm-jumpers only linked magical realms. He heaved a sigh, straightening the cuffs of his blue silk shirt. That thrice-cursed fairy had chosen her weapon well. The surge of familiar rage and despair mellowed into acute longing. He remembered his boy's earnest face, his cautious smile. I want my father. The deal is struck. Lost. Lost to The Land Without Magic.
"I will find you, Bae. I'll make it right, I promise," he said, for the thousandth time.
Soon after he had lost Bae, he had abandoned the village that had been their home. He found the town of Three Streams agreeable. The mountain air was pleasant, the town small but prosperous. Once he found Bae and brought him home, they would need a fresh start. A coil of his spun gold had bought the mountain from the former governor, a tubby minor noble who was happy to quit the backwater town.
He would build a castle for Baelfire. His boy had always admired knights in shining armor and dukes in their lordly castles. Magic would have built the palace in seconds, but faster was not always better. Old magic said that spells were strongest woven over time, with blood and intent. He hired men to quarry the stone, foremen to build his home by hand. Several times a day, he would pace the site and grounds, muttering spells of protection, of binding and watching. Under the light of the full moon, he scored his palm with the dagger and sealed the foundation. His magic would permeate the stone, the mortar, the grass and timber. A safe place to withstand any curse. Ah, the Curse. It became his obsession.
I'll comfort myself knowing such a curse is beyond your abilities. Your magic is limited by its own rotten core, Rumplestiltskin. The fairy had given away a vital clue, a project to occupy his time. Now that he had the Seer's ability, however fragmented, he would see his path to the Dark Curse. He would find him. He had all the time in the world, after all.
Belle eyed the contents of her trunk, debating on which clothes she could skimp on to make room for her books. The gold dress—newly tailored to her budding figure—for formal events would do, another simpler one of forest green would work day to day. Her cloak was heavy enough for the Marchlands, but from what she'd read Arendelle was much colder. Grudgingly, she tossed in her fur-lined gloves and crammed her heavy boots into one corner. Hmm, that still left room for three books, four if she left behind Mortez's A History of the Enchanted Forest: Magic and Assorted Subjects Vol. II.
"Are you almost ready, darling?" Lord Maurice asked, poking his head through the doorway.
"Almost, Father," she said absently, chewing on the edge of her thumbnail. Mortez the Monk cross-referenced with Glendali's Grimoire, but the latter was far from an exhaustive study. A History would go, then.
"A bird from Arendelle arrived this morning. Queen Gerda sends her regards and writes that the princesses are eager for our visit," he said. Belle made a moue of distaste.
It puzzled her that the royals of Arendelle were interested in their small kingdom. The Marchlands were neither influential nor particularly wealthy. Why then, did they write seeking a companion for their daughters? Lord Maurice was mute on the subject, as was her mother, Lady Colette. At fourteen, Belle disliked being kept in the dark. Anna, she was told, was her own age, and the Crown Princess three years older.
"How long is the journey, Father? Shall I pack my riding habit?" she asked. A small smile touched her father's face, pleasure at her voiced enthusiasm, however feigned.
"I think not, darling. Crown Princess Elsa and Princess Anna are often sequestered to the castle, I'm told." That caught her attention. She dismissed the dilemma of her books and turned to face her father lounging in the doorway.
"Sequestered? Why?" she asked.
Her father's lined face gave no hint to his true thoughts, but his answering shrug was uncomfortable. Belle bit back a cry of frustration.
"The Queen would not say. The Crown Princess is a frail child, I suppose."
Belle filed that away to ponder later. Travel by caravan was notoriously monotonous, and she was certain she could worm more from Mother.
"If we cannot ride, then I should fetch another trunk. I can bring books for us to share," she said, half-jesting. Her father laughed. He threw a burly arm around her shoulders and drew her in for a kiss on her nose. Belle giggled, nestling into his embrace.
"I'm sure Arendelle Castle has its own library, my Belle. Come, let's find your mother. We shall oversee the loading together. I plan to dine at the Avolea outpost by tomorrow's sunset."
'The figure of the 'Sorcerer' features across many Enchanted Forest cultures. A figure shrouded in mystery, some say he is a force of good, whilst others insist he is of the Darkness (see footnotes for corresponding resources). Consistent throughout this author's research, however, is that the 'Sorcerer' is a magician of great power. In fact, he is compared by some to be greater than any other, including the Dark One.' Belle draped the red ribbon attached to the book's spine to mark her place. The light was fading and squinting made her head ache.
"Anything interesting, Belle?" Mother asked with a tired smile. Belle returned the expression, kneading her neck. The carriage's jostling made her bones ache, but Father said they would reach the inn where they would spend the night a couple hours after sunset.
"Yes and no. Magic is a fascinating subject, but from everything I've read, it's so . . . so vague," she said. Mother chuckled.
"Is that so hard to believe? I doubt any magic-user would want to share their secrets with a nosy writer." Belle nodded, conceding the point.
Mother shared her love of books, but preferred dashing novels with the occasional text on dress-making or medicinal herbs sprinkled in. Belle enjoyed heady subjects: the histories, statecraft, language, and whatever scientific texts she could sneak by her governess.
"That makes sense," she said.
The two of them sat in contemplative silence for several minutes. Belle relished this time alone with her mother. Her governess and the ladies of the house that accompanied them from the castle had chosen to ride in the phaeton to watch the fireflies as evening fell.
"Why are we going to Arendelle, really?" she asked without preamble. Colette smiled again, this one tinged with the same exasperated fondness as her ladies. Her mother groped for her hands and Belle took them, faintly envious of her mother's long, graceful fingers.
"Too clever for your own good, as always, my Belle," she said. Belle shrugged, both proud and abashed.
"If you don't want to tell me, perhaps I could guess," Belle suggested. Mother leaned forward with a wry grin, looking lovely in the wash of dying golden light.
"Oh yes, that sounds like a wonderful game," she said. Belle made a show of looking at the carriage ceiling as if to find the answers written there.
"Certainly not marriage," Belle said. Mother laughed, the deep throaty laugh when she was truly amused.
"Not unless the customs in Arendelle are far different than ours. Try again," Mother said.
"Not a war alliance, either. Arendelle has the best navy in the realm, and well-trained soldiers."
"Your father has well-trained warriors too, veterans from the First Ogre War."
"Yes, but the ogres are defeated. Midas' kingdom is on peaceful terms with them, as is Leopold's," Belle said. Mother nodded in reply.
"True. What is left then for an enterprising lord such as your father?"
Belle nibbled on the edge of her fingernail, lost in thought. The sun had fully set, and she studied her mother's composed face in the light of their lamp.
"It must be a trade agreement of some sort," she said, with confidence. Mother raised an eyebrow.
"What can we offer such a kingdom?"
"They are a coastal kingdom. They must want grain, or ore," Belle said. Marchland steel, after all, was renowned for its temper.
"And what do you make of this pretense of finding companionship for the princesses?"
At this, Belle had no answer. There were no girls her age at the castle. At home, she was the lord's precocious daughter who spoke out of turn and read too much. One to be cosseted or scolded. Why a king and queen would want her for a companion for a princess, she did not know. Her mother's dark eyes glinted with restrained amusement and deep affection.
"You're right, we are traveling to secure a valuable trade alliance with Arendelle. But by the same token, alliances—friendships—are also very important. One day, Elsa will be Queen of Arendelle. One day, you will be Lady of the Marchlands. It is vital to foster ties between lands for the next generation."
Belle swallowed hard. The ever-present burden of her inheritance had never bothered her. It was only now that she was struck by the gravity of it. When she came of age, she would parlay with queens and mighty nations. The people of the Marchlands would look to her for protection and guidance. Yes, in that case, a friendly queen—even a sickly one—would be welcome.
"I'll try my best to make you and Father proud," she said.
"My brave girl, you already do," Mother said, kissing her forehead.
Her books had been right, even summer air held a bite in Arendelle. Cool air and sunshine poured in from the carriage windows, tugging at the strands of Belle's brown curls. A peculiar emotion settled in her belly, a mixture of excitement and nervousness. A thin scrim of trees alongside the road gave way to reveal Arendelle's capital. She gasped. The capital was nestled at the base of a mountain, Belle could see a glitter of stained glass in the castle's high, pointed windows and a great lighthouse above the belfry. The walled town huddled between the mountains and the mouth of the bay. Belle breathed deeply of the sea's brine and a tang of wood smoke.
As they lurched down the road, Belle was fascinated by the undulation of waves crashing against the black rocks wreathing the bay, sharp cawing of gulls and the graceful gliding of ships: from the darting fisherman's craft to the sedate progress of a long-prowed warship.
"My lady, close the window! You'll catch your death!" her governess said. The other ladies exchanged irritable looks as the wind snarled their coiffed hair. With reluctance, Belle closed the window and leaned her forehead against its frame, watching amber patterns move along the parchment shutter.
"Mother, have you ever seen such a beautiful land?" she asked. Her face half cast in shadow, Lady Colette's smile was a mere token curve.
"It is lovely. I will be grateful to be free from this carriage."
For herself, Belle had forgotten her bodily pains in the anticipation of arrival and Arendelle's lovely scenery.
"Ho, the gate!" Father's voice rang with command.
"What's your business in Arendelle, Sir?" the gatekeeper oddly accented voice sounded bored rather than alarmed.
"Did you not receive word from our birds? I am Lord Maurice of the Marchlands, along with my wife Lady Colette and my daughter Belle. We have business with King Godric and Queen Gerda." Belle peeled back the edge of a shutter, finding a sliver of Papa's dappled warhorse Phillippe and the imposing dark stone of Arendelle's walls. The gatekeeper's window was blocked by the carriage's bulk.
"Of course, my apologies Sir! Welcome to Arendelle," he said.
The city was no less lovely or foreign from within. The peaked roofs seemed too sharp, the cobblestones too angular. The people had round, friendly faces; most women wore shawls shading their faces, and the men wore tasseled hats and pointed boots. Their horses too, were different, a stocky dun breed with a black stripe in their manes.
"Quickly, ladies. Make yourselves ready," Mother said, as they pulled to a stop inside the castle gates. Mother's voice was slightly muffled by the pins in her mouth as she tidied Belle's hair.
Father opened the door and the ladies all but spilled out, hampered by their skirts. Mother kept her composure, and helped Belle stay upright with a firm grip on her arm. The royal family awaited them in a semi-circle, flanked by advisors. In the center stood King Godric, red-gold hair glinting in the sunshine. His lean form was clad in a square-shouldered navy blue uniform, stiff with gold braiding. His face was inscrutable, a narrow mustache concealing a thin-lipped mouth. Queen Gerda was no less striking with her deep brown hair and blue eyes, the high-waisted gown flowing down her slender figure in folds of deep purple. Her expression was gentler, a wry smile quirking her lips. Before their splendor, Belle was sharply aware of Father's dusty coat and her own shabby gown with its loose hem.
"Greetings, our friends from the Marchlands," King Godric said, surprisingly soft-spoken.
"You must be exhausted from your journey," Queen Gerda said.
"Did I miss it? Are they here?"
"Anna, wait up!"
A flurry of movement behind Queen Gerda and then the king was pitched forward to his knees in an explosion of skirts. Father stepped forward, startled. A moments' intense confusion quickly ordered itself into two young ladies, floundering in their petticoats.
"Oof! Sorry, Papa! I, uh, didn't see you there." one said, tossing her red braid over her shoulder. Father helped King Godric to his feet.
"Gods above! It's a miracle you don't stumble off a cliff," the other girl said, fussily tidying her sister's gown. She wore gloves, Belle noticed, as she moved to stand beside her mother.
The king, for his part, seemed equal parts nonplussed and amused by his offspring. Dusting off the knees of his trousers, he straightened with considerable dignity.
"That's quite all right, darling. Now allow me to introduce you to our guests. Lord Maurice and Lady Collette of the Marchlands, and Lady Belle, this is my youngest daughter Anna," he said, a long-fingered hand resting gently on Anna's shoulder. Anna blushed prettily under their scrutiny, braid mussed and skirts wrinkled. Belle liked her immediately.
"A pleasure to meet you." Her laughing blue eyes fell on Belle.
"Oh gosh! You're beautiful!" she said, moving close to grasp Belle's hands. Flattered, it was Belle's turn to blush. A ripple of indulgent laughter moved through the gathered party.
"Oh thank you. That's what my name means, after all," she joked feebly, uncomfortable at the attention.
"Well, you deserve it," Anna said, threading her arm through Belle's, "Isn't she lovely, Elsa?"
"Oh yes, forgive me. My dear guests, this is my daughter Crown Princess Elsa," Godric said.
It was then that Belle met the princess's gaze—and was startled by the brilliant blue color and the deep sadness that lurked there. Elsa curtsied, white blond hair tied in a severe bun behind her head.
"A pleasure," she said, then smiled slightly, "Anna's right. Lady Belle is quite lovely. We shall get along nicely, I think."
Arendellian hospitality was a formidable thing, Belle found. Servants in deep green livery led them to sumptuous rooms where steaming baths already waited, banked fires crackling in the grate. Father and Mother shared a suite, and Belle was given a room near the princesses'. With the ladies bustling with the luggage, and preparing for the banquet to be held in their honor this evening, Belle was left to her own devices. She was grateful for a moment alone, wallowing in the luxury of a hot bath. She plucked a couple berries from a tray of food, enjoying their sharp tartness.
Princess Anna was a pleasant surprise, as cheerful and chatty as a magpie. Princess Elsa was something else entirely. The elder girl did not seem sickly, merely sad. What had made her so sorrowful? Loneliness? In their brief interaction, the only person she seemed truly comfortable with was Anna. Even her parents did not touch her in passing, as they did with Anna. Were they afraid of some contagion?
"Perhaps Mother was right. Maybe she just needs a friend," Belle said, addressing her warped reflection in the looking glass on the table. Her contemplation was shoved to the back of her mind as her governess and ladies burst into the room, atwitter with the thought a fine banquet and oh, would there be dancing afterwards? Belle chattered with them, speculating on if the tall halls of Arendelle's castle held a wealth of handsome young men. A royal cousin, perhaps?
The clock in the hall struck seven o' clock by the time Belle and her ladies were ready. Mother met them at door, resplendent in green velvet, a rearing horse—the symbol of the Marchlands—stitched in gold along both sweeping sleeves.
"Your father will meet us at the table. You look beautiful tonight, my dear," Mother said, her soft hand cupping Belle's chin. She flushed at the praise, bitten fingernails plucking at the gold silken fabric.
"As do you, Mother," she said, grasping her hand. Colette smiled, and something clenched in Belle eased. The air of strain in her mother's face had vanished and it put Belle at ease.
"Come, I do hope Arendellian cuisine agrees with your father's stomach," she joked. Belle giggled, grateful for the distraction from her nerves.
"I guess we'll find out. I hope we're not late," Belle said.
The setting of their banquet was in a familial setting, merely a long candlelit table set beside a roaring fireplace. Belle relaxed. Her governess had trained her to have very pretty table manners. As long as no dancing was involved, she would be just fine. Father was already seated at King Godric's left, Elsa at his right. The three of them were deeply absorbed in conversation. Queen Gerda, who sat at the foot of the table, swiveled to look as the door opened. Her smile was just like Anna's, quick and easy.
"Welcome," she said.
"Ah, there are my girls. Come sit," Father said, cheeks flushed with drink and excitement. With the aid of a steward, Mother was escorted to her seat beside Father. The same steward returned and offered his arm to Belle, and she bit back her trepidation as she was seated across from Mother between Elsa and an empty chair—presumably Anna's. Queen Gerda cleared her throat gently. The king looked up in askance, then followed his wife's nod to Anna's seat.
"Elsa, will you see to your sister?" he asked. Elsa rose, softening the rolling of her eyes with a genuine smile.
"I'm here!" Anna's bright voice said. Both princesses dressed in the Arendellian style, long-sleeved gowns with full skirts in dark hues, Anna's in deep green and Elsa's in a rusty sort of purple.
"Just in time," Elsa said, dramatically sweeping her skirts aside to allow Anna to find her seat.
"I'm never late," Anna said with dignity.
"Nor early," Queen Gerda said. King Godric made a terse gesture, the steward hurriedly poured a measure of golden spirit.
"Enough. Let us toast the arrival of our friends from the Marchlands. Welcome, and let our time together be one of merriment and cooperation!"
"Here, here!" Father said. Belle raised her glass and then took a tentative sip of the spirit, breathing deep of the sharp bite of alcohol. She tasted syrupy caraway on her tongue and swallowed hard, nearly gagging. Tears pricked her eyes. Mother caught her gaze with an encouraging nod toward the water glass. Belle gulped the cold water gratefully.
The meal passed pleasantly; Belle found Arendellian food not so different from Marchland fare. A starter consisted of salty fish on a bed of crushed pine nuts, then a course of mutton in a thick gravy with mashed potatoes, all washed down with strong, sweet tea. Belle's favorite was dessert; a tart light and flaky as air, flavored with what Anna called a cloudberry, tart and smooth, thick with clotted cream. Conversation flowed along with the spirit—Belle sipped a more palpable port served with the dessert course. Father's and King Godric's laughter grew raucous while Queen Gerda and Mother chatted in low tones. That left Belle to converse with the two princesses. Anna proved to be even more garrulous after a few sips of spirit.
"So anyway, Elsa and I decided to take a sled down the stairs—you know, the grand staircase at the entryway? —anyway, we ended up going so fast that the front of the sled busted a hole in the wall!"
"And Anna's head nearly busted mine," Elsa said dryly. Anna swatted her sister's shoulder.
"Oh it wasn't that bad," she said. Elsa's responding smile was easy, but Belle noticed a tiredness around her eyes.
"In her defense, it was my idea," Elsa said.
Belle was at a loss. Her scrapes and mishaps usually took the form of sneaking into the library at night, or getting caught hiding behind the curtain at Father's war councils. As heir of the Marchlands, close friendships with the serving staff were deeply discouraged, and Belle had no siblings. What Anna and Elsa shared so casually roused a deep longing in Belle.
With no corollary anecdote to share, Belle said: "It sounds like great fun! I wonder if our fathers would let us explore. I'd love to see such lovely countryside."
Anna and Elsa shared a long, knowing look. Anna set down her glass with a deliberateness that suggested she was less than sober. Her expression had lost its laughing edge, though the rosy flush remained. From the tail of her eye, Belle noticed Elsa briefly hug herself, as if containing a spasm of pain.
"I don't think so, Belle. Did your mother not tell you?"
Belle frowned, both intrigued and nervous.
"Tell me what?"
"We are only allowed to leave the castle with a team of guards, and not at all near the full moon," Anna said. While the guard only made sense to protect the land's heiresses, Belle balked at the mention of a full moon—coincidentally due to rise tonight. Had she overlooked an Arendellian superstition?
"But why?" Belle asked, feeling foolish. Were they making sport of her naiveté? Anna's expression was sincere, as was her squeeze of Belle's hand.
"Because of the witch," Elsa said, blue eyes glittering like a heart of ice.
To Belle's unending dismay, they were unable to elaborate as Queen Gerda rose and announced it was time for the ladies to retire.
"Come Belle, bid the princesses goodnight," Mother said, flushed and relaxed by wine, food and good company. Belle bit the inside her lip to vent her frustration.
"Yes Mother," she said. The steward pulled out her chair for her, and she rose to curtsey deeply before Elsa and Anna, then the king and queen.
"Goodnight, my ladies. Maybe we can continue our conversation at breakfast?" she asked.
"I'd like that," Elsa said, though her tone seemed brittle.
Sleep did not find Belle that night. She tossed and turned in her goose-feather bed, despite its silky sheets with her toes warmed by heated bricks. Belle could not remember any reference to a witch, in lore of either Arendelle or the Marchlands. Resolve hardened inside her. She would find out the end of the story. They were supposed to be friends, after all. She dragged a blanket around her shoulders and tiptoed with practiced ease around the snoring forms of her governess and ladies.
The door opened to her light touch, silent on oiled hinges. Angular shards of moonlight fell from high windows, and Belle shivered at the chill. She was much too old to be cowed by ghost stories. Anna and Elsa's room was two doors down and when Belle saw a cowled figure she nearly cried out. Instead she hugged the shadowed wall and watched the figure, catching a glint of white blond hair in the moonlight. Where was Elsa going? Mingled curiosity and fear urged Belle to follow around several twists and turns, down a stair to a . . . ballroom? So she wasn't sneaking outside? In the murky semi-darkness, Elsa shoved her cowl from her head. From Belle's narrow glimpse around the doorjamb, the elder girl looked frightened.
"R—R—Rumplestiltskin, I . . . I summon thee," Elsa said.