Note: Meant to work on this chapter a bit more. But, after tonight's episode, I had to put it up as is for reasons I expect will be clear once you've read it.

X

As Belle gathered her things, she noticed a leather bound book lying in the box of jars. She picked it up, wondering if it had slipped in by accident. The cover had been tooled and embossed, showing a collection of flowers and plants. A sheaf of barley lay along asphodel, white wood asters, and pomegranates. Dozens of post-its stuck out along the edge. She opened it and found sketches and notes on various plants. She noticed some of the things written on the post-its. Myth of Narcissus, Legend of the Snapdragon, Folklore—Willow Tree. It seemed to be a collection of tales and traditions of different plants, all of them written out in the same handwriting that was on the jars the professor had labeled. She would want it back, Belle thought, when she noticed one note that didn't fit, Thumbling.

Curious, Belle turned to that page. A story had been written down. Notes along the margin indicated another book it had been copied from. Without meaning to, Belle found herself reading it.

Thumbling

Once upon a time, there was an old woman who longed for a child. A fairy heard her wish. Dressed in yellow sunlight, she flew down from the sky at dusk, riding one of the last rays of the fading light. No bigger than the old woman's outstretched hand, the fairy held in her arms an even smaller cradle made from walnut shell. Curled up asleep inside beneath a blanket of rose petals was a tiny baby, no bigger than her thumb.

"You must give her no name," the fairy warned. "She must find her own—or not-in time. But, if you will promise to leave her nameless, then she shall be your daughter and you shall be her mother.

"And, know this as well. You must feed her only barleycorn and water. For the day she tastes any flowering thing or the fruit thereof, you shall surely lose her."

The old woman promised and took the tiny infant. Though so very small, she was perfectly formed. She was also wingless. Whatever she is, the old woman thought, she cannot be a fairy. She called the babe her little treasure but, true to her promise, never gave her a name. Other folk, however, called her Thimble or Thumbling because she was so very small.

But, guard her as she might, the day came when trouble found them. It was when Thumbling was on the brink of womanhood. On that day, the old woman brought in great armfuls of flowers to make the house bright and merry. Though Thumbling had been warned time and again not to touch them, as she stood beneath the blossoms, admiring them, a drop of nectar mixed with dew fell from one of the petals straight onto Thumbling's hand. Without thinking, she lifted the droplet to her lips. As she tasted the nectar, golden sparks of magic flew from Thumbling's fingers.

Now, magic, once woken, cannot simply be set to sleep again. The old woman knew that Thumbling must go out into the world to seek her fate and to learn the name that truly belonged to her. The tale of her adventures is long and cannot all be given here. There is the tale of the cricket she met who spoke like a man. There is a tale of how she met a dwarf who lived deep in the earth, like a mole, who fell in love with her and would have married her had not a fairy, blue as a robin's egg, come down at the last moment and carried her away.

But, at the end of her many adventures, Thumbling was taken to the queen of the fairies, who said to her, "Poor child! You are one of us. Long have we searched for you. See? Here are your wings. They were stolen from you, but we found them and kept them safe. Take them and take also your place among us. We have kept your name safe all this time in hopes of one day returning it to you. You are the youngest and newest of all the fairies who dwell in the sky. . . ."

The story broke off abruptly. There were more notes at the bottom, references to different editions and possible source materials, but the story of Thumbling ended there.

X

Maleficent had chafed with impatience, but Rumplestiltskin was determined to take care of his business first. She could hardly blame him—she would do the same in his position. She blamed him anyway. It had been too long. Twenty-eight years as nothing more than a wandering spirit, only her animal anger left behind to keep her dragon form alive. She wanted to be back in her own flesh and bones.

Of course, she had lost even her ghost life when That Woman—the one who reminded her so much of the yellow fairy—had killed the old wizard who had given her soul a haven for so many years, cutting the thread that bound Maleficent to old man even as she was gathering her power to strike That Woman dead. Maleficent had been plunged back into the sleeping void till the stirring of power had woken her—the Savior's promise to defend her new land. In this land, however, Maleficent had woken with nothing more than the mind and form of a beast.

Not long after, she had scented something in the dark tunnels. She had not remembered what it was, but something in it stirred her anger. She knew it now. It mixed the scent of the warrior who had dared attack her in her own castle and the smell of Rumplestiltskin.

"That would be Henry," Rumplestiltskin told her as they made the long trek back to Storybrooke. "My grandson."

"Grandson?"

"His father is dead," Rumplestiltskin said it flatly, his cold voice clearly warning her not to ask any of the questions burning through her. Changing the subject, he said, "The boy's mother is the daughter of Prince Charming and Snow White."

"His mother? She's the one who killed me?"

"Hmm? Oh, you mean the second time. Yes, I suppose she did. Don't hold it against her. It's not as if it took."

Maleficent had followed the boy's scent, hunting the intruder in her realm, only to have him slip away into the light. "I suppose it's just as well I didn't harm the boy, then."

"Indeed. And it would be just as well if you continued not to harm him, if you take my meaning."

His meaning, Maleficent thought, was that Rumplestiltskin made a far worse enemy than any demon—or any army of demons. "I see."

"I'm sure you do. But, what about the third time you died? How did a pirate with one hand get the better of you?"

"He was protected from magic," Maleficent snapped, feeling needled. "My other body's nearly dead, a gathering of ashes. I couldn't change into a dragon or anything else terribly useful, and he was the better fighter."

"Protected? Oh, that would have been a gauntlet he had, protecting him from magic. It was a gift from the demon, Pan, the child-stealer."

"Child-stealer." Old memories and older pains gnawed at her. "There are some people who call you that."

"I never took a child who wasn't freely bartered away to me—and, for what it's worth, I tried to keep them from harm. Pan took them because having a little army of sycophants to play with amused him."

"An army? Of children?"

"Oh, yes," there was something dark in Rumplestiltskin's voice, a deadlier warning than when he'd mentioned the father of his grandson who was dead. "It wasn't about winning battles with him. It was about keeping himself from being bored. Sometimes they bled. Sometimes they died. Sometimes someone else did. It all depended on what amused him."

"Should I be worried about him?"

"Not anymore. He's dead—a little more thoroughly than you were. He never had the thing you want."

"But, you do."

"Not because I took it. Let's just say that you and I have some common enemies, ones I've kept an eye on. And, unlike some people here, I've made a habit of reading storybooks."

"Is that why we're looking for this friend of yours?"

"Oh, I wouldn't call him a friend, not yet. We haven't even been formally introduced, but I believe he'll accept the deal we have to offer. After all, we have exactly what he needs."

"And the rest?"

"There's a storybook in the convent library that has your true story—allowing for a few modifications from the Mother Superior. I've told you, I know what you want and I know how to get past the protections the Blue Fairy put around it. But, first, we need to find our thief. He comes very highly recommended."

X

The Fairy Fortunata

The story is told how, once, a fairy, Fortunata, was given guardianship over a young and handsome prince, who she guided through many adventures, giving him all that he required and more. In the end, though it was against all the laws of her kind, she gave him her heart as well, and he gave her his in return. The two plighted their troth in secret but, on the day the two were joined as husband and wife, the fairy's wings shriveled and turned to dust. Yet, Fortunata regarded it not, so great was her love for her prince.

But, the prince's family was not happy with their new daughter-in-law when the prince brought her home in joy to meet them. For, they thought, surely the Queen of the Fairies would turn her face against them if they welcomed this fallen member of her kind. So, they shut the gates against her and would not let her pass their threshold.

The prince sorrowed, and Fortunata wept that she should be the cause of such grief to the one she loved. But, the prince told her to be of good cheer for, though his family had cast him off, their love would sustain them. They dwelt in a cottage in the woods, far from the eyes of friends or foes. There, they were happy for a time.

But, sorrow must come to all, be it soon or late. It happened one day, as the prince was hunting in the forest, that he met his father's uncle as the old man rode among the trees. His great-uncle chided the prince for the grief he caused their clan. But, the prince answered him boldly, telling of his great love for the fairy Fortunata. In the end, the old man seemed much moved by the tale. "Come with me to my castle," he told the prince. "This day is a great feast appointed and your father and mother shall be among my guests. Let me intercede with them that perhaps their hearts may be softened towards you and your love."

With great joy, the prince rode with his uncle. But, his uncle spoke falsely and the prince was riding into a trap. For the anger of the Queen of the Fairies had not lessened in all this time, and it was she who had sent the old man riding through the forest where she knew he would chance to meet his nephew.

When the king and queen came to the castle, they brought with them a young princess, daughter of a neighboring king. She was as beautiful as the dawn, so it was said. The young prince, when he rode through the castle gates and dismounted, was given a glass of wine. It had been brewed by the Queen of the Fairies herself. The moment it touched his lips, he forgot Fortunata, still waiting for him in the woods. For a moment, he struggled, thinking he had lost something of great importance. Then, his eyes fell on the young princess, and it seemed to him he had found it. Surely, he thought, this is the woman I love.

Long and long did Fortunata await her prince's return. Days turned into weeks and weeks to months, but he did not return to her. She searched the woods, thinking some ill had befallen him, and called down the ravens, bidding them speak of all the secrets they knew. At last, an ancient rook returned to her. In a croaking voice, he said, "As I flew over the village that lies at the forest's edge, I saw the people dancing and feasting. As I flew closer to learn the cause of all their joy, I heard them bid a traveler join them. 'Rejoice!' the people said. 'For, though our prince long lay under an enchantment by an evil fairy, he has, at long last, been freed! Today, our prince has taken himself a new bride!'"

In grief, Fortunata returned to the small cottage where she and the prince had lived so happily. There, a new sorrow awaited her. For, in the time since her prince had left her, she had born him an infant daughter, perfect in every way, down to the lovely wings on her back. But, when Fortunata looked in the cradle where she had left the sleeping child, the she was gone.

Then, Fortunata's grief turned to rage. For, though only a fairy could have borne her child away, protected as she was by Fortunata's spells, only her husband could have given one her lost sisters entrance.

As the fury burned within her, her body twisted and changed. "Fortunata no longer, but Maleficent," she said, as the black flames of her anger consumed her and she rose from them, a dragon. . . .