In the Shadow of the Toll Bridge

by Nikstlitslepmur

AU: Something DID jog the memory of our favorite prince that night...but it wasn't the windmill. What would have happened if David Nolan had remembered his REAL life instead of his fake one that fateful night in Gold's shop? What would have happened if David and Mary Margaret had awoken long before anyone else and been left to deal with the monumental task of breaking the curse?

41. The Sixth Guardian

DISCLAIMER: I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

This is a what-if story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

In the shadow of the toll bridge

…

The Sixth Guardian

Philip and Emma were quickly rushed by a throng of allies emerging from the caves, all clambering about the quake and scurrying forward with weapons drawn in anticipation of an attack.

"What was that?"

"Oh my gods—"

"Is that what I think it is?"

"That's…Emma is that—"

"It's all right," Emma found her voice, spreading her hands wide and beckoning them all to calm down. For the moment, everyone was safe. In fact, the rising of this well was more than good news. "Yes," she turned to her mother. "It's a…wishing well."

Snow grasped her daughter's wrist and squeezed, gaping at what was surely a good omen. Despite her still injured ankle, the raven-haired princess had led the way up the stone staircase just behind Aladdin with Red, Granny, Archie, Marco, Jasmine, Trent, Happy and Grumpy behind her.

"The second, to be exact," Philip chimed in with a grin. "The one that heals what is hurt. From mine and Adam's realm."

The entire group whirled around with a collective double-take on the firefighter who was standing almost smugly beside Emma, arms crossed over his chest with a distinct air of being 'in-the-know.'

Grumpy pointed an accusing finger at the young king. "Did he just say—"

"Philip," said Aladdin, stepping forward and glaring at his old friend. "You're awake?"

Philip looked between the prince consort and his wife, old dear friends whom he honestly thought, during those terrible months leading up to the curse, he might never see again. He clapped a hand on Aladdin's shoulder and nodded. "I'm awake."

"That's wonderful!"

"Oh Philip!"

"Gods and Demons!"

But amidst the eruption of merriment, Aladdin retreated back a step and peered between him and Emma with curious scrutiny. "How?"

Philip glanced over at Emma and smiled. "Well, as a matter-of-fact—"

"I touched him," Emma said quickly, studiously avoiding Philip's shocked gaze. "On the shoulder, just like you," she pointed at Aladdin. "Then everything just…came rushing back…he said." This time, she glared right at Philip, as if daring him to contradict her while she moved closer to her mother. The meaning in her glare was unmistakable as an awkward silence settled over the group: back me up or I will scratch your eyes out.

Philip cleared his throat, then smiled at Snow. "That's right. Quite a powerful daughter you have there, Snow." He sighed as Snow turned a proud gaze on Emma. "Everything," he snapped his fingers. "Rushed right back."

Aladdin snorted, arms crossed. "That's not possible."

Emma whirled on him. "Why not?" she challenged, "It worked on you."

"Yeah, but you and I are—"

"Aladdin," Jasmine interrupted, reading far more in the young blonde's gaze than would ever occur to her magically-minded husband. "Never mind your theories." She stepped over to kiss the king's cheek. "What matters is he's awake. It's just wonderful, Philip."

Philip nodded gratefully, "Your highness." As Jasmine returned to Aladdin's side, Philip caught his old friend's eye and shook his head. Al cocked an eyebrow but let the matter drop…for now.

Snow, who watched the whole exchange curiously, glancing every so often to an equally confused Archie, finally shook her head and decided to move them on to more pressing issues. "That's five out of six guardians now awake, Emma," she said with renewed pride in her daughter, though the news did little to ease her worry over her still missing husband and grandson.

Jasmine nodded. "All we need now is Ariel."

Emma cupped her fist over her mouth and blew hot air into her palm. "The mermaid, right? Do we know where she is? Or who?"

Snow clapped her arm around her daughter, a move at which neither even flinched regardless of its being instinctively maternal. Besides, Snow couldn't help it. Emma looked like she was freezing. "We saw her last night at the tree lighting. Her name here is Marina Andersen – a singer who works at The Ugly Duckling."

Emma coughed. "I'm sorry, the what?"

"The Ugly Duckling," said Philip as he shrugged off his coat and draped it over Emma's shoulders. She turned and glared at him again, though she couldn't very well refuse the gesture without drawing more attention to them than Philip had risked once already. And quite frankly, it seemed silly to reject chivalry from a real-life knight in shining armor. "It's a club down by the east docks."

"Lots of snooty, high society types go there," mumbled Trent, who up until this point had been dead-silent, but felt like he needed to contribute something to this strange crowd if he were going to be kept in the loop about Dawn. Besides, the quicker they figured out this new round of nonsense, the sooner Leroy—or Grumpy or whoever would explain what the hell was going on with that egg-shaped thing through which he'd heard Dawn's frightened voice.

Emma nodded, rubbing her arms and glancing at the way the early morning sun glistened over the snow blanketing the miles of trees around them. For a moment, she blinked, as if seeing the snow for the first time. Winter, it seemed, had crept up on them all. "Ok, well. She's the 'Little Mermaid' right? How close is her story to the one we—" she glanced sheepishly at her mother, "that I know?"

Snow thought for a moment, reaching back to her 'Mary Margaret' days and recalling the popular film. "Fairly close, actually. She met Eric, made a deal with the sea witch, transformed." Then she paused. "Although…"

"What?"

Snow sighed, "Well there's an element to the legend of mermaids I've never quite understood. Your father does, though. In fact, your father's the one who knows her best. They met as children."

Emma blinked. "Really?" she asked, still not quite accustomed to the rich and continuously intertwining histories connecting these people.

Her mother nodded to the rest of the crowd. "James would know best where to start with her happy ending."

"Great," Emma grimaced, fresh worry brewing in her gut for her father's continued absence. "If only we knew where he was."

"Maybe we do," said Grumpy, holding up the egg he'd confiscated from Happy and Lucas. And all eyes were suddenly on the dwarf.

Emma blinked again, waiting for Grumpy to continue, but he just held the strangely speckled thing out for display like those women presenting the showcase showdown on The Price is Right. "Ok, I'll bite," she said impatiently. "What is that?"

"It's a soulodestone," Grumpy grinned, always quite proud to be the resident expert where magic was concerned.

"A what?" Trent and Emma said at the same time.

It was Philip who replied. "A soulodestone," he whispered, taking it from Grumpy. "Maleficent."

"That's right," Grumpy agreed. "Definitely Maleficent's design. We came across them late in the battle to retake the kingdom. We thought at first they were Regina's but we quickly recognized signs of witchcraft."

Emma glanced between Philip and Grumpy, then over to Aladdin who inspected the item too and nodded. Was she missing something? "So what?" she asked finally. "Isn't Regina a witch too?"

Philip shook his head. "Technically, no. Regina's primarily a sorceress, not a witch."
"There's a difference?"

"Kind of," Aladdin replied, holding his hand out. Philip passed him the egg and he too inspected the design. "Both deal in the dark arts, but witchcraft involves the channeling of magic through ordinary things. Brewing potions, transfiguring pumpkins into carriages, that sort of thing."

"Pumpkins into carriages?" Emma wrinkled her nose. "Isn't that," she turned to Grumpy, "A fairy godmother thing?"

Aladdin snorted. "Don't get me started—"

"Sorcery," Philip continued for him, glaring at his friend, "is more about conjuring or spell-casting. Using words and casting curses, rather than mixing ingredients to effect magic."

Emma glanced at her mother. "So…the curse, it's—"

"Sorcery," Snow nodded. "It's why Regina needed the blind witch to create the apple that initially poisoned me. She was always a far more powerful sorceress than witch."

"And," Emma turned to Grumpy, "Maleficent?"

Grumpy sighed. "She's both."

A wide grin split across Emma's face. "That's…that's perfect!" she cried, almost gleefully as she turned to Philip. But Philip started back and stared at her.

Grumpy nearly choked on his own grunt. "What?! Whadyou mean, perfect?! This," he snatched the soulodestone back from Aladdin and held it before her, "is what we came up here to warn you about in the first place. Before, you know, the ground started shaking!? A woman named Maeve gave this to Trent. A woman who knew all about us and the curse and how long we'd all been here? A woman who probably is Maleficent in disguise –"

"Grumpy—" Snow tried.

"This is far from perfect, your Highness. Trent could hear Dawn through the stone. That's how these things work. Which means Maleficent has Dawn. And if Maleficent has Dawn then you can bet she has James too. And probably Belle and—"

"Grumpy!" Snow barked at her smallish friend who finally silenced. "What did you mean, Emma?" she asked her daughter.

But Emma glanced hastily back at Philip. She hadn't missed his warning gaze, and she knew she was far too under-informed about 'Fairy Tale World' to risk revealing something that perhaps she shouldn't. So she looked for him to take the lead, but instead found him still glaring at her. Why was he glaring at her? Why wasn't he speaking up? After what she'd seen, how could he not be jumping at the chance to reveal to them that a potential threat might actually turn out to be their greatest ally? Especially when only a few hours ago, they'd all feared—

Emma gasped. What she'd seen. Her vision. She kept forgetting that no one else seemed to witness what she saw when she entered her vortex – that her parents were the only ones who knew about it in the first place. Philip had no clue how much of his past she'd already pried into. The responsibility of owning up to her knowledge of those memories congealed into a huge lump in her throat. "I um…" she stammered to him, her face growing warm despite the snow and ice around them. "I saw it…when I…when I touched you." Philip's eyes grew wider as Emma turned to the rest of the group. Emma felt her mother's arm settle once more around her own. "I'm a," she looked to Snow who nodded. "I'm a Seer."

An eerie silence fell over the group as those who were awake stood in awe while those left in the dark looked nervously at one another, wondering what new staggering revelation had been uttered this time. Finally, it was Archie who spoke up first. "What's a Seer?"

Grumpy gaped at the new princess almost reverently. "Seers see the future—"

"Naw they don't," argued Happy. "They see the past—"

"I see both," Emma corrected them and then even Snow gasped. Emma turned to Philip. "And when I…woke you," she said carefully, "I saw you. I saw the day you and—" she glanced over at Trent— "you and Lucas went to rescue Aurora."

Philip eyed her with an unreadable expression, and Emma gulped, trying to ignore how it irked her somewhat to have him look at her so skeptically. But at last his eyes softened and he gave her a nod before turning to the rest of the group. "There's um…" he cleared his throat, looking from Lucas to Happy, to Grumpy and Aladdin, then finally to Snow. "There's something you all should know…about Maleficent."

…

In her entire life, Ariel – King Triton's youngest and brightest jewel – had only ever met one human. She'd never told anyone about it of course since contact between the mermaid world and the human world had been forbidden from the time she was nine. But her insane curiosity for and about anything having to do with humankind could not be mollified simply by the treasures that sank to the ocean bed or the stories told by her sisters. In fact, Ariel could hardly stomach the whimsical, yet wholly trivial way her older sisters regarded their turns on the surface anymore, retelling their stories as little more than gossip or nostalgia while they busied themselves with preparations for each other's weddings. How could they not treasure every second of every day they'd been granted up there? How could they swim along, singing in festivals, carrying on like any other mermaid, and not crave the warmth of the sun, the salty sea air, the way the wind whipped through the damp locks of their hair and kissed their faces?

Yes, the "little mermaid" as her sisters loved to tease her, since she was a good 7 years younger than her next youngest kin, was heartsick at the thought of never being allowed the privilege the other princesses had enjoyed, and so she had taken to creating memories of her own, in secret, and in violation of nearly everything her father now stood for.

It was during one of these secret "missions," as she used to think of them, that she had come upon the boy. Ariel knew that staying in Atlantica was risky if it was her intention to actually interact with a human, so she'd swum through the secret channels that connected the realms' various bodies of water and ended up at the very edge of Driscoll River. It was there she'd met David. He was a handsome young boy, a farmer's son, who had chased one of his runaway sheep to the riverbank. She hadn't planned on revealing herself at all; she merely wanted to watch. But when the lamb got its hoof caught up in a tangle of branches that then got swept away by the current, Ariel saw the young boy jump into the river to save the fluffy little creature, evidencing a kindness that was, as Ariel always suspected, a direct contrast to the impression of humans she'd been given to swallow by her father. In the end, Ariel helped young David save the little lamb and the two of them became fast friends.

Ariel and David were inseparable for the better parts of almost three summers. Nearly every day (when her kingdom wasn't otherwise preparing for this or that festival), Ariel evaded her sisters and tutors and swam for the small town of Driscoll which lay just on the outskirts of King George's kingdom. She taught him to swim, to fish and sing. He taught her about fire, about dirt roads and farming and even helped her identify objects she'd salvaged on the ocean floor. But eventually, Triton caught on to her continued absences from court and discovered her secret escapades. His reaction was…not what one might call "understanding," and he subsequently destroyed the channels that led into the east realm.

Thankfully, Triton remained ignorant of David, but still, the "damage" had been done. From then on, Ariel was more than intrigued by humanity; she was obsessed. How, for example, was she supposed to focus on yet another jubilee when there was so much of David's world she longed to know? Why must she keep training and rehearsing with the court musicians to perfect her voice when she felt she had more in common with a human farm boy than any merman who had ever come to sing for her? Nevertheless, following the discovery of her travels, Triton worked in a sort of frenzied rush to keep his youngest daughter quite busy, and, if possible, married and settled at last. To that end, Atlantica had been host to no less than six jubilees this year alone, during which all but one of his daughters had revealed their songs and secured betrothals.

"You're sadly fooling yourself, little sister," said Arista as they swam from the concert hall. "There's no way Daddy will excuse you from this one. It's practically in your honor."

"For my benefit, you mean," Ariel scoffed as they sailed past two armed guards posted near the golden spires of the palace gate, one of whom upon seeing Ariel, immediately started humming. She ignored him.

"Can you blame him? Five concerts in the past year, all attended by some of the noblest the Eleven Seas have to offer and not a merman among them has even come close to your song."

All mermaids had beautiful voices, but what was little known to those outside of the mer-world was just how essential those voices were to their underwater community. Mermaids were distant relatives of sirens in that their voices were powerful instruments, capable not only of making some of the most beautiful music ever to be heard by all the realms, but of wielding a very special kind of magic in their singing. But while a siren's song is one of temptation and deceit, a mermaid's song is a song of love, and as she matures, so does her song until she is of age to find a match. At that point, a mermaid can find her mate by discovering he who shares her song. So the grand festivals beneath the surface, that sometimes carry on for weeks and fill the ocean floor with music, were far more than mere performances of cantatas and symphonies, but celebrations of love – glorified mating season really, where over the years, all but one of Triton's daughters had already found suitable husbands.

Ariel recalled once trying to explain this aspect of their culture to a very confused David:

"You mean…you only know ONE song?" he'd said, wrinkling his nose as he thought of the dozens of songs known and sung throughout his own village during the harvest and solstice festivals.

"No," Ariel had laughed, "We know many many melodies. Many songs. But beyond common tunes, each mermaid also holds a special song in her heart – a melody only she can choose to reveal if and when she finds a merman whose harmony matches her own."

The notion, David had supposed, might have struck his mother as exceedingly romantic, but his sensible brain found this rather foolish. "Then what's to stop a mermaid from choosing not to reveal her song?" he'd asked as Ariel had helped him fasten a special type of bait to his fishing rod that she'd found for him on the ocean floor– tackle that would lure a decent catch for a change. "I mean, what if you don't even like the poor guy who knows your harmony?"

At the time, Ariel had laughed at such an absurd idea. What could possibly be gained by a mermaid's refusing to reveal the melody that matched her mate's? After all, by that point, three of her sisters had already confirmed what she'd always been told about this reportedly magical moment: the moment of hearing that perfect harmony. If two souls were destined to be together, the female would hear it first in the male's song. She would hear it thrumming in her heart; the search for a perfect mate would be complete and the couple's hearts fulfilled.

Of course, as the years went on and Ariel's obsession with the human world grew, she often wondered if she might ever be tempted to act so deceitfully – to purposefully deny a merman that moment. Indeed, Triton himself was becoming convinced that Ariel was doing just that and consequently watched her more and more carefully at every jubilee. However, nothing could be further than the truth. In fact, given Ariel's fascination with the human world, she'd conceded (on her more rational days) that finding a mate would at least be a distraction enough from a passion she would never be allowed to truly embrace. But in all the concerts, receptions and festivities given, no merman had ever sung her song.

"You don't need to remind me of that, Arista," Ariel now snapped at her old sister as they entered the Atlantian palace, passing by two enormous pillars carved in the likeness of their father's trident. "Daddy mentions it on every possible occasion. In fact, I'm quickly developing a reputation for being our royal line's first permanently solo act!"

Arista snorted a laugh and swatted away the bubbles from her nose. "I don't believe it's as dramatic as all that," she placed a hand on her sister's shoulder and stopped her from entering her private grotto. "But Ariel," she hesitated, feeling awkward. "Are you…are you quite sure you haven't—"

"Ugchk!" Ariel shrieked in frustration, pulling at some stray seaweed that had tangled itself in her red hair. "Not you too! I have a hard enough time convincing Daddy, Arista. Please. I promise I've never heard a merman sing my song. What could I gain by it? Aren't you the one always telling me when it happens, the pull will be so strong, I'll have no wish to deny him?"

"Well, yes but—"

"But what?"

Arista sighed. She so longed for her sister to find true love, to be happy like the rest of them and free from the constant pestering of their father. Like the rest of her pod, Arista agreed that the excitement and happiness that would come of Ariel's engagement to a noble merman would be a welcome distraction from that which they all knew their youngest sister craved the most: a turn on the surface. Then again, Arista thought ruefully, had their father ever simply acquiesced to his daughter's desires and given her that which she most wanted, she might have gotten this ridiculous urge to be around humans well out of her system by now. After all, Arista's own curiosity had been more than satisfied when she'd been granted, as was originally their custom, three months of living in the human world upon the eve of her 16th birthday. It was tradition that mermaids of royal blood be allowed to see and experience first-hand the customs and lifestyles of the landfolk with whom they must share their realms. Ariel wanted nothing less than that which her sisters had already enjoyed. But their father wouldn't hear of it.

Of course, intellectually, even Ariel understood why. King Triton had never properly dealt with his grief over the loss of his wife when, on a murky day beset by an eerie stillness in the air and a thick fog settling over the ocean surface, Ariel's mother, Queen Anya, had happened upon a pod of dolphins entangled in the harbor ties of an abandoned fishermen's wharf. She had just freed the last of them when a whaling ship peeked through the fog, its captain a cruel, vicious man hell-bent on destroying one of the ocean's most majestic creatures. The crazed captain turned his ire on Atlantica's queen and had speared her gorgeous aquamarine fin twice before she was able to escape. As she sank down through the ocean's depths however, they caught her up in a net and hauled her back out of the sea, dragging her up the side of their boat where the sharp point of the ship's bow pierced her side. Realizing far too late who it was they had captured, the captain let her go and sped away as quickly as his ship could carry him. Anya managed to make it back to Atlantica, but her injuries by then were far too severe and she died in her husband's arms.

Ariel was nine at the time, and still a tiny thing at that. Therefore she'd been spared the gruesome sight of her mother's injuries, and in time, her own memories of her mother faded. But she'd been told the story so often as justification for her father's ban on all contact with the human world that she felt a part of the story was ingrained in her own soul. She loved her daddy, with all her heart, but Ariel was level-headed enough to know that the actions of a few individuals should not color one's impression of an entire species of beings. After all, how could a world that made such wonderful things…be so bad?

"I just…worry about you," Arista finally responded as the two of them resumed their swim toward Ariel's grotto. "I know you would never willfully deny a suitor, but…when they do sing to you, Ariel, when a merman treads before you and pours out his soul, I…I do wonder."

Ariel crossed her arms over her chest and turned up her nose, not at all liking the implication in Arista's tone. "Wonder what?"

Her sister offered a weak smile, "I wonder if you're even listening."

Ariel did not respond, merely glared at the blonde princess before her, flicked her tail forward to propel her back, then slipped through the entrance of her chamber without another word. Alone in her grotto, Ariel paced back and forth, swishing her tail furiously against an unusually strong undercurrent as she wallowed in frustration. Her sister meant well; Ariel knew that. But she had to admit to being a bit unhinged by Arista's suggestion. Sure, it irked her to have her honor as a princess questioned yet again by a member of her family. However, what bothered her more was the distinct possibility that Arista might actually be…well, right.

Ariel couldn't honestly even remember the names of the last four nobleman who'd come to sing for her, let alone their songs. The musical jubilees were so much a part of the routine now that hearing potential suitors belting out their arias felt more like a chore than an ancient, romantic ritual. Was it true? Was it possible? Was she indeed, as Arista suggested, not even listening anymore?

Stewing in her cavern, Ariel plucked one the treasures she'd salvaged from a shipwreck earlier that week – one small enough not to have to store in her secret trove of human artifacts that, thankfully, her father hadn't discovered. It was an odd, pointy, three-pronged device that looked a little like a very small version of Triton's trident, but she distinctly remembered David using such a device one day as a utensil for eating. She was about to test the device on a plate of plankton and algae that Dory, her palace attendant, had left for supper, when the light inside her grotto dimmed and darkness descended on her cave.

Ariel glanced up. Whadyou suppose…? she asked herself as she started at the unusually dark shadow cast over the moon's radiant light. Even in the far depths of the ocean floor, the moonlight always had an effervescent glow in Atlantica, its light amplified by the abounding reflective surfaces, spires and riches of the kingdom. It had been some time since she'd seen it so eclipsed, but very quickly realized what the source must be: a ship – a human ship!

She supposed she shouldn't be surprised by the presence of human vessels once more on the surface above Atlantica. Following the defeat of the Snow Queen, the shallow waters had thawed and the seaside kingdom of Lochmere had begun a restoration of sorts. She had heard, from the scuttlebutt on the East Atlantian current, rumors of an impending celebration heralding the appointment of Lochmere's new prince, Eric of Kincanaan. Such news was not seen as terribly important of course with her father's edict that merfolk swim no closer than 1500 meters from the ocean's surface. In fact, though she knew he'd never admit it, Ariel firmly believed a part of Triton might have been perfectly content with the Snow Queen's tyrannical rule over Lochmere. Though the frost plagued the ocean's surface and made life uncomfortably cold for many in their underwater kingdom, she knew Triton would have much preferred the permanence of an actual physical barrier conveniently holding Ariel's curiosity at bay. Nevertheless, her father's reticence had never stopped her from keeping an ear to the ocean floor about all matters concerning the town. Lochmere was, after all, the human village in which all her sisters had had the opportunity to live. She just hadn't realized that the coronation ship would be sailing directly above Atlantica Palace!

Unable to contain her excitement any longer over the prospect of so many humans in such close proximity, Ariel abandoned all thoughts of the jubilee (for which she'd just spent hours with Arista and Sebastian rehearsing) and swam immediately for the surface. She'd seen the remains of hundreds of shipwrecks before but never had the opportunity of seeing one bigger than David's fishing skiff that was actually afloat! Surely she could spare a peek before anyone missed her below. Once her head broke the ocean's surface, however, she knew she would need much more than a peek.

It seemed to be a special ship, specifically designed for such large scale celebrations as the appointment of a new prince and the elevation of Lochmere to the status of 'kingdom'. At first, the little mermaid was overcome with excitement by the exuberant band on board, playing instruments that could make sounds she was unaccustomed to hearing as they were contraptions that would have made no sound under the waves. She treaded in awe as she watched burly men dressed in blue striped shirts and red caps launch huge rockets into the air that then exploded with dazzling colors, trickling down in glorious haloes around the ship. The aromas of heated meats and fish, fish that down below they just ate raw, assailed her nostrils to a practically intoxicating effect. But despite all the excitement surrounding the affair, Ariel soon sensed a presence near the bow of the ship, away from the main deck where most of the party was taking place.

Standing near the mast was a handsome young man, looking rather sad as his grey-green eyes scanned the vast ocean. He was quite separated from the merriment and looked almost bored with all the pomp and circumstance to his rear. Hesitating only a moment more, Ariel climbed quietly up the side of the boat, settling into one of the smaller boats strung to its hull. There she watched him, enraptured by his quiet countenance, the way he seemed to be breathing in the sea, the salt in the air, the spray of the tide crashing against the ship. A woman with long dark hair approached him at one point, enjoining him to return to the party, but he graciously declined and sent her back alone, insisting that this was Lochmere's time to rejoice, not his. The woman went back in a pout and Ariel found she was quite glad to see her leave without him. He seemed taller than David (though Ariel would have no way of knowing by now that David himself had grown quite tall in the years since she'd seen him). His voice was deeper, almost melodic when he'd declined the young woman's invitation. His hair was also much darker than David's – almost black, though the light of the moon gave his unruly waves a sort of silvery hue. It was obvious to Ariel that this was a man of some importance, signified not only by the opulence of his dress but by the way people kept coming in ones and twos as the woman had, trying to draw him back to the celebration. At one point, an elderly gentleman who seemed to at least share a degree of familiarity with the young man that others did not, chastised him the way a father might berate a child for being so taciturn. But still, he remained at the mast, and for a while it seemed that he might stand there all night, stiff as a statue. And then it happened.

Suddenly, and checking first that no one else was coming, the young man pulled from his cloak a strange-looking instrument. It had the appearance of a large golden seashell but it was smooth with strange little holes all around it like an elaborate flute. Later, Ariel would learn it was called an ocarina, just as she would learn the young man was actually Prince Eric himself and that the ocarina had been a parting gift from his mother before he'd left Kincanaan. But for now, Ariel just watched in awe as the young stranger brought the instrument to his lips, positioned his fingers delicately, and blew. It was a tender little lullaby, a haunting song, accompanied by the whistling wind lifting from the waves. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the sounds of the ocean joined in with the man's lovely tune and filled Ariel's soul with a melody of almost symphonic proportions. The handsome young man quietly played on and she listened with a vibrancy in her heart she did not recognize. A stirring of emotions for which she had no reference, no context. What in the Great Eleven Seas was happening to her? The tune soon swept the rest of the world away until it seemed that he and Ariel were the only two souls left. Yes, it was beautiful song, a magical song. And before it was over, Ariel at last realized…it was her song…

Belle shook her head sadly at the frightened, mute man now cowering in the corner of the far cell, arms wrapped around his knees as his head darted from side to side. "So Ariel fell in love with Eric's…music?" she murmured, trying to make sense of the obviously complex magic that drew the pair together. She had heard, when news of Eric's marriage to a former mermaid had reached Ebonshire, the abbreviated version of their tale: Triton's dislike of humans, Ariel's bargain with Ursula, Eric's defeat of the sea witch. But she hadn't realized how inexorably the two were linked from the very beginning.

James frowned as he held tightly to the bars that caged him, also looking down on the young prince. "Sort of," he said. "They found each other through their music – this…shared song of theirs. Like I said, it's hard to explain. In fact, when Ariel first told me of it, I didn't understand either. But it made sense to them and that's all that mattered."

"And…" she gestured downward, "his hearing. You think—"

"The cruelest twist of this curse yet, if you ask me," James muttered, scowling up in the direction of the large metal door atop the cell block stairs. "There was a lightning storm that night. Violent one too, and it split the ship in half. Everyone made it off safely, thank the Gods, but Eric went back for Max."

"Max?"

"His dog."

"What happened?" asked a meek voice from across the cell block, and James started as he looked up at Dawn Charles, just as engrossed in the story now as Belle. James offered her a small smile as her interest in such "tall" tales had to be a good sign.

He glanced down again at Eric. "He freed Max just as the powder magazine ignited. He was thrown from the ship, unconscious, and would have drowned had Ariel not rescued him."

"Goodness," Belle whispered, covering her hand over her mouth. Dawn's jaw just dropped.

"Ariel brought him to shore and…well, she sang to him. Coaxed him back to consciousness with her voice. From that moment, their destinies were permanently intertwined." James turned back to Belle and sighed. "Even Triton knew it…on some level anyway. Regardless of how hard he fought initially to keep them apart."

Belle swallowed hard, looking down at Eric. "And now…he can't hear."

He nodded. "Which means he can't hear her sing." He looked over to Aurora. "You said he works over at the docks?"

Dawn nodded. "He's a kind of…city janitor I guess. Does maintenance and odd jobs for a lot of those businesses along the lakeshore."

James shook his head. "Probably emptied trash from the very club she sings at and never knew it."

Belle sighed, wrapping her arms around her middle as the cell block fell silent. Something gnawed at the back of her brain, something she couldn't quite wrap her head around. James had been on to something before, something crucial – she could feel it. They were definitely being held for a reason, as leverage against their loved ones – that much Ursula had practically confessed with her taunt: "Four out of six ain't bad, eh Sugarlips?" Four out of six. Four out of six what? What were they missing? "Why us?" she whispered the last question aloud, and James turned.

"What?"

Belle faced him. "Why us? Why us, specifically?" She gestured across the block to the other prisoners. "Prince of Lochmere, Princess of Rosebriar and Queen of Braemar." She drew her hand back and held it to her breast, "Ebonshire, New Gaia. And," she looked hastily toward the empty cell in the far corner with the cradle, "if you're right, Seven Gales."

"Plus one more," James nodded to the empty cell beside his in their row. "And it was Ursula who captured Eric. Which brings Atlantica into the mix."

Belle shook her head and started pacing. "Rosebriar, Braemar, Lochmere, Atlantica, Ebonshire, Seven Gales and New Gaia," she murmured to herself. James stood patiently, glancing between her and Dawn whose hands were clasped tightly to her bars, listening intently. "Braemar, Lochmere…" Belle started again, then shook her head. "No…Braemar, Atlantica, Ebonshire…"she paused and looked up at James, "New Gaia…Seven Gales."

"Belle?"

"Shh! I'm thinking," Belle squeezed her eyes shut. "Braemar, Atlantica, Ebonshire, New Gaia, Seven Gales—" her head shot up suddenly and she glanced past James to the empty cell. "And Agrabah," she gasped. "That cell is for Aladdin, I'm sure of it!"

James did a double take between her and the empty cell then shook his head with confusion. "How do you figure that?"

"Leverage," she said quickly, "like you said. Captured to be used against our loved ones. Which means they're the ones Regina really wants. She must need something from them. Something that will fix whatever we've threatened of her curse in waking everyone up."

James's brow still furrowed. "Yes, but why do you say Agrabah?"

"Because," she huffed, hands shaking with near excitement. "Braemar, Atlantica, Ebonshire, New Gaia, Seven Gales and Agrabah – six kingdoms, three realms and all with one thing in common."

"What?!" James implored her. Was this what it felt like to be Emma?

"Helios," she grinned.

This time it was Dawn who gasped. "Helios?! Who is Helios?!"

Belle turned to her without missing a beat. "A very powerful mage. Practically a God. He's part of a race of beings who used to rule our world. Gods who—"

"Disappeared, Belle," James insisted. "What could Helios possibly have to do with—"

"He appeared to me once, James. Remember? On the day we—" she paused and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "On the day Adam defeated Circe's curse."

"So?"

"So, appearances by Helios are rare – nearly impossible to track down. Only a few dozen sightings had ever been documented in over two centuries' worth of history from our world," Belle continued her explanation, completely undeterred by the utterly flummoxed Prince James. "Those six kingdoms: Braemar, Atlantica, Ebonshire, New Gaia, Seven Gales, Agrabah," she rattled them off again, even faster than before, as if they were a series she'd recited as a schoolgirl and had remembered ever since. "They're the only six lands Helios is ever reported to have visited. And always in the wake of some incredible magic: Adam's transformation, defeat of the Snow Queen—"

"How do you know all this?" James asked, sweeping his palm over his brow.

Belle started, glanced at her friend, and blinked. "I read," she said.

Her matter-of-fact tone hung in the air, and soon James chuckled, feeling quite rebuked though he was sure that wasn't her intention. Of course she would know everything there was to know about Helios. Knowing Belle, she would have snatched up every book ever printed about the ancient gods following her encounter with the legendary mage. Reading. Even this world had gotten that part right.

Finally, James glanced back down at Eric and Dawn. "Well, whether or not Regina is smart enough to have put that together, she must be getting desperate if she's kidnapping people who aren't even awake yet."

Dawn glanced down, biting her lip. As ridiculous as all of this sounded to the young nurse, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy toward the degrees of confidence and certainty with which David Nolan and Rose French were speaking. Even if it meant she was crazy too, it would be nice to have a clue what they were talking about, if only she could keep up. "By awake," she gulped, treading cautiously into the conversation. "You mean—"

"Free of the curse, Dawn," Belle said kindly. "Remembering your real past."

Dawn looked up at David –or, er – James. "And um…h-how does one…I mean, how would—" she paused and looked to Charlie, still cowering from them in the corner. "How can I wake up?"

James offered a sad sort of smile. "By getting your happy ending."

Dawn sighed and sank back on her haunches, thinking instantly of Trent.

"We need to get out of here," James muttered, turning back to Belle. "We need to do something."

"Like what?" asked Belle.

"I don't know," he huffed, grasping his bars and rattling his cage. "Anything. Find some way to warn them. Warn Philip. Warn Ariel, or—" he whipped his head around and glared back at Dawn.

The nurse jumped. "What?" she asked, nervously.

"Dawn, what did you say you heard before?" he asked.

Dawn stood and backed away from the bars, clutching the round egg tightly in her grasp behind her back. "W-whadya mean?"

"That device you're holding," James said softly, reaching out through the bars. "You asked us if we'd heard something."

She glanced away, having half hoped they would have forgotten about all that with the arrival of Charlie. Honestly, hearing voices? Something told her even these people might think she was nuts. She looked up again, but David Nolan's eyes, while searching, were not judgmental. Slowly she drew the egg forward and stepped back to the bars. "I-it hasn't happened again. I haven't heard anything more."

"But you did before?" James reached his palm across the aisle, though they were a bit too far apart to touch hands.

"I – I thought—" she looked to Rose, who also nodded, encouraging her to continue. "It's crazy, but I thought I h-heard a friend of mine. Trent Davis. He—" she paused again, dropped her gaze and gulped. "He was with me before I was taken."

James flicked his wrist lightly in the air, enjoining her to hand it over. "May I see it?" he asked gently.

Dawn was barely aware of how fiercely she was clutching the strange thing to her chest until she glanced down at her nearly white knuckles. Her instinct was to say no, to hold onto it for dear life – her only connection to something familiar, something safe. Then Maeve's voice reminded her: "They're gonna take you now, but you'll be with friends. Trust them."

At last, she nodded and lightly tossed the egg across the cell block.

Belle let out a small gasp as the device sailed through the air, afraid he might drop it, but it landed safely in the palm of James's hand.

James wrapped his fingers around the egg and drew it threw the bars, inspecting the surprisingly smooth surface of green and silver flecks. "Interesting," he murmured aloud.

"Do you know what it is?" Belle asked.

He palmed the weight, passing it between his hands then closed both palms around it tightly. "I think so. Grumpy described something like this once. I think it's—"

Suddenly the once dormant speckles began to glow, then shined so brightly that streaks of green light bled right through the cracks between his fingers.

"James?!" Belle yelled, but the prince didn't respond. He was blinded by the light, engulfed by it. In an instant, James felt himself being yanked upward. Then his world flashed white.

…

Adam's only lead in leaving 'Rose's' house was the old man's mention of a shipment being loaded down by the "docks." But knowing Gaston, this was probably furthest from the truth to where the brute intended on taking her. He would search the docks, certainly. If it came to that. But Gaston Saoul was hardly the brightest hunter in the world, and Adam knew he likely would have taken Belle one of two places: his bar or his house. The bar, he'd ruled out with a quick search of the place, shoving inside the crowded club where dozens of drifters and wanderers from in and around West End had ducked in from the snow. Several were speaking in hushed and panicky tones, and Adam caught some talk of what they'd all just seen in the mirrors behind the bar. But there was equal number of assurances that they'd all had just a few too many drinks as there was genuine panic, and Adam was too focused to spend any time gaging how many of these cursed souls around him would turn into legitimate threats.

There was a big, scruffy man with wildly unkempt facial hair tending the bar whom he asked about 'Jack Hunter's' whereabouts. The man shrugged, muttered that it was only his second day on the job, and suggested Adam take a look in the back if he had a problem. Adam hadn't found Gaston of course, but had found a pile of deposit slips and bank records listing 'Jack Hunter's' home address.

Immediately, Adam headed back towards town, trudging through the snow on foot, still dressed in his set of blue hospital scrubs and black, flowing overcoat, ignoring the honking cars and jeering passengers sailing past him in those automated vehicles he still didn't understand. He knew well enough how to read a map though, and soon found himself stalking up the cobbled walkway to Jack Hunter's front door.

Belle had warned him there were many things about this world that he didn't understand – customs that would need to be obeyed, social mores heeded. For Belle, he'd been prepared to learn, obey and heed them. He would offer no such consideration for Gaston, and he promptly kicked in the bastard's door without preamble. "Gaston!" he roared through the dimly lit house, the very windows shaking upon his entrance. He sniffed the air, attuning his latent senses to the environment around him, remembering as if it were yesterday the potent and pungent odors of fear and possession that assailed his nostrils on the eve of his wedding – those that had him tearing through the castle and catching Gaston in the most unspeakable act of trying to ruin his wife. Thomas and James had been there to stop him that day. He would have no such interference tonight. "Show yourself, coward!" he called, stomping through the sitting room, stumbling against the brown leather ottoman and then kicking it out of the way. "I know you're here—"

As he approached the archway leading into the kitchen, a blunt object descended towards his head from the darkened hallway and struck Adam a mighty blow. A ceramic lamp promptly split into dozens of pieces and crashed toward the floor. Blood trickled from Adam's temple, though he barely stopped to notice as he grabbed Gaston's wrist, yanked it down to his side, then hooked his left hand into a fist and leveled a bone-crunching punch at the bartender's jaw. "Gah!" Gaston spit blood at the kitchen floor, then wiped his dripping nose. "Fuck!" he growled before advancing toward Adam again, this time trying to lamely land punches and kicks at his opponent's side and torso – attacks Adam expertly deflected, though it moved him back into the sitting room, putting several feet between him and Gaston.

"Once a beast, always a beast, eh your Highness!" Gaston cackled, retreating back to his kitchen where lay a wooden block full of knives dangerously close by. "Guess that's why Belle came to me after all," he laughed, seizing the black handle of the thickest knife in the block from its groove.

Adam was undeterred. The tavern-keeper smelled of cheap brandy, grease and tobacco. His eyes were bloodshot and his face sallow. A cruel smile spread across Adam's face as he thought up a reply: Once a drunk, always a drunk. But he kept it to himself. The man wasn't worth the oxygen it would expend to utter the words. Swiftly, Adam crossed the room, upended a kitchen chair and hefted it over his head, hurling it down on a yelping Gaston. The brute screamed, throwing his arms up in front of his face as the cheap chair came crumbling down around him, completely forgetting that he was holding the knife, the tip of which nicked his cheek as he ducked. "Son of a bitch!" he muttered, dodging Adam's second sweep with the chair and skirting around him to the back hallway. Once he'd reestablished his footing, he also regained his foolishly naïve bravado: "Still in love with her, Beast?" he laughed as he stumbled back against his bedroom door, reached for the handle behind him and twisted. "Did you honestly think she'd still want you…after she'd had me?"

Gaston backed into his bedroom where he knew lay the Springfield rifle he typically reserved for stray gophers, raccoons and…other unwanted visitors, mentally kicking himself for not having it locked and loaded before. But Adam's hand closed around his wrist before he'd fully crossed the threshold.

"I should've killed you when I had the chance," growled the prince, closing his grip so tightly, Gaston thought his wrist might actually snap. And then…it did.

The bartender screamed in pain, collapsing to his knees before the heir of Ebonshire. It was a gut-wrenching cry, a piercing screech that ought to have inspired at least some sympathy, even in the most hardened of souls – except Adam had endured just about all he could take of this world and his own psyche bordered so close to the edge of insanity now that he seemed determined to channel every spiraling, seething bit of hatred for what had been done to him and his wife through his iron-clad grip he had on this bastard's arm.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip you apart," he bellowed over Gaston's agonizing screams.

"Because if you do, Belle will never forgive you," came a low, smoky voice behind them.

Adam whirled around, his fingers still locked on Gaston's wrist which twisted the brute's body upward as he turned. He supposed he shouldn't at all be shocked to find it was she who pulled Gaston's strings, though the lack of surprise did little to quell the utter revulsion coursing through an already broiling temper as his eyes fell upon Circe. "Don't you dare speak her name," his voice rumbled as his eyes focused on the still stunningly beautiful sorceress standing at the end of the hallway, the first hint of morning light surrounding her like a halo (the image of course in stark contrast to the harbinger of evil her mere presence here portended).

The two stared at each other, each mentally recounting their history and its role in his fate within the curse. In fact, the last memories Adam had of Circe were not of their days of battle upon Bierden Ridge but of her blasted voice, whispering vulgar thoughts in his ear as he pretended to remain sedated under the watchful eye of who knows how many villains at his bedside at Storybrooke General.

After a time, Adam finally noticed that Gaston was still whimpering at his heels, tears streaming down his face as he tried to wriggle his broken wrist out of the prince's grasp. Adam reached down, seized him at the back of the neck and slammed his forehead against the brass doorknob, knocking him out completely.

Circe glanced down at her lackey and grinned. "Nicely done. Wouldn't want you turning into a killer, champion."

"I am not your champion," Adam started toward her, but she held her palm out in front of her, enjoining him to stop, and though she exerted no supernatural forces at the moment to hold him at bay, he felt compelled to halt in his tracks. The woman obviously knew something about Belle. He couldn't very well rip her to shreds too…yet. "Where is she?"

"Safe," Circe replied, raising an eyebrow as her gaze swept over his form. "For now." She sighed and tsked, shaking her head in pity as she beheld her beloved stallion standing before her in cheap cotton hospital attire and an ill-fitting coat. "Dear me," she chuckled as she stepped slowly into the front sitting room, nodding for her to follow him. "Your precious bookworm couldn't do better than this?"

Adam's nails dug into his palms as he grappled with his temper. "I told you not to—"

"Speak her name," she said. "And I haven't. As I'd hoped you would have noticed, my love."

The endearment itself bordered on treachery and drew another hissing breath from the prince as he advanced slowly into the room, circling around to the fireplace so that 'Jack Hunter's' brown leather couch lay between them. "Where did you—"

"Wait just a moment," Circe smiled, her eyes crinkling with delight as she raised her arms in front of her and gave the air a delicate wave. Wind began to whistle through the house, though no doors or windows were opened, and before Adam could object, he found himself caught up in the whirlwind, the garments clinging to his body shifting and reforming as he fought against being lifted from the floor. The enchantment was swift and Adam was plopped back to the ground almost as soon as it had begun, but his entire wardrobe had transformed. Instead of hospital scrubs, he was clad instead in dark grey slacks tucked inside an admittedly comfortable pair of black boots. On top he wore a sleek, black leather duster over a white long-sleeved tunic; a ridiculous, wide-brimmed hat with a white feather sticking out the top completed the ensemble.

Circe stepped back to admire her handiwork as Adam disconcertedly patted down the new attire he'd been forced into. "Much better," she sighed, licking her lips. At the same moment, Adam glanced up, tore off the hat and threw it at her.

"I see you've regained your ability to conjure," he spat as the hat went sailing by her and he moved on to the coat, shrugging it off and throwing it to the floor. "Change it back."

"Oh, come now," she purred as she started to circle around him, movement he mimicked so that they remained equidistant apart, caught up in what looked to be a precarious dance. "Surely these are more…comfortable."

"Enough games, Circe!" Adam bellowed. "Where. Is. Belle?!"

"As I said, she is safe."

"That's not an answer."

"It is if you want her to remain so," she chuckled, her not-so-subtle warning arresting them both.

"What do you want from her?" he asked, his voice slightly softer, a hint of pleading in his otherwise snarly growl.

"Oh it's not what we want from her, darling." She took a few steps forward, the heels of her stilettos clacking across the floor as her long, flowing, black gown billowed out with each sway of her hips. "It's what we need from you."

"And that is?" he barked.

Circe stopped directly in front of him and inhaled slowly through her nose, as if his scent were a drug to her. So long, she thought deliciously. So long since she'd stood before him like this, basking in the midst of such massive power and strength. "As I understand it, your father died while you were on the front lines of the goblin wars," she hummed, drawing her slender hand along his chest as she circled him. "While you were…with me," she grinned.

Every muscle in Adam's body tensed as she touched him, but this time he remained still. He must control his temper. For Belle's sake. "What of it?" he rumbled.

"And your mother? Died in childbirth?" she said sweetly as she came round the other side.

"What the hell does this have to do with anything, Circe?" he yelled.

"A great deal, I'm afraid," she sighed, settling in front of him. "You see, because of your parents' deaths, you remain the sole sovereign of Ebonshire. Which meant you inherited, by default, the protection of all magic in your realm."

Adam's mouth hung open slightly as he furrowed his brow. "What?!"

Circe chuckled, taking a step forward and settling her palm against the rough stubble across his cheek. "Oh I hardly expect that you would know of it. After all, you delayed your coronation almost a full year. And," she added, letting her hand now slide away from his cheek as she retreated back a few paces, "one could hardly blame you for that, of course—"

"You've got some nerve, wench," he seethed through gritted teeth. "Since your curse forced me into hiding from my own people—"

"Yes yes, ancient history," she laughed with a casual wave. "But now I'm afraid your friends' obsession with returning to their old, dreary lives has forced our hand." She turned from him, inspecting one perfectly manicured hand as she tilted her head thoughtfully to the side. "So we'll be needing your to relinquish the guardianship of your realm's magic."

Adam opened his mouth in outrage, then quickly snapped it shut. "I see," he said in a fierce whisper, already guessing where this conversation was leading. "And I suppose in exchange you'll just…let Belle go."

Circe turned. "Isn't that how this sort of thing usually works?" she smirked.

"No," Adam barked, advancing on her now with such blatant hostility that she actually cowered backward in mild shock. "In fact, this sort of thing usually ends with vermin like you breaking their deals and killing innocent people anyway for their own amusement. And I know personally how much you would like nothing more than to see my love tortured at the hands of that demonic megalomaniac from New Gaia!"

Circe held her hand up to stop him, intent on maintaining control of the negotiations, though she couldn't help the carnal longing thrumming through her as he asserted himself. Such a masterful specimen! "Yes, I'm afraid Regina isn't known for keeping her word," she conceded, clearing her throat, then leveling her gaze. "I on the other hand…am." Adam scoffed and crossed his arms, but didn't reply. Circe grinned. She was again, in control. "When your forces cornered mine at Bierden Ridge, did I not promise to withdraw all my legions from your realm if you granted me an audience?"

Adam arched an eyebrow. "Some people call that terms of surrender."

"And did I not ensure you and all of your troops safe passage back to Ebonshire despite the hundreds of goblins I'd recalled to Thrinacia?"

The prince actually laughed. "Don't you mean dozens? The handful or so my forces didn't slaughter—"

"Dozens, yes," Circe's lips curled into a thin, cruel smile. "And why not? They'd served their purpose after all…I'd found my champion."

It was a few, seemingly endless moments before the weight of the goddess's taunt fully sunk in. Then his eyes went wide as his jaw dropped. "Are you telling me…" he growled, heavy, violent breaths between each word, "you unleashed an army of deadly beasts…on thousands of innocent people…to find yourself one…man?"

"Not just any man," she crooned, reaching out to stroke the fine strands of his wild hair. "You. My love—"

"Demon!" Adam bellowed, seizing her by the throat and backing her all the way to Gaston's front door. "Murderess!"

But Adam's grip around her throat did little to affect the crazed, enamored gaze in her eyes. She reached up and clasped one hand around his own, stroking the other up the length of his arm. "You were the bravest, most violent, masterful specimen I'd ever seen, Adam. Never, not since Odysseus, had I witnessed such cunning, such a potent blend of brutish violence and matchless intellect. I knew with you by my side, I would finally have enough power to escape Thrinacia and together we could rule the world."

"Mad!" he seethed, squeezing tighter, "You're raving mad!"

Circe tightened her own grip and with equal strength pried his fingers from her neck. "Mad, yes!" her black gaze bore into his. "Incensed actually, when you denied my offer and refused to consummate what should have been the most indomitable union our world had ever seen!" She threw him off of her, and he staggered back, panting now as he fought for control of his ire. "So I punished you," she spat, moving them back into the room. "Sent you back to your wretched kingdom with one final test I was sure you'd fail. Imagine my surprise when I learned you actually got that book-loving harpy to love a beast!"

"I swear to the gods, I will make you pay. You will pay for the lives you spent, Circe. For the lives you wasted!"

But Circe just laughed as she adjusted the red, silk scarf Adam's grip had disheveled. "Really Adam? Fretting over the lives of people who have been dead for over 30 years? And here I thought you wanted to save your wife."

"I'm fairly sure I can save Belle without you!"

"Yes, but will either of you be able to save…your son?"

The blood boiling in his veins turned to ice, and for the first time since his escape from the hospital, an ocean of fear tumbled over him in unbearable waves. "M-my son?"

"Your unborn child Adam?" Circe tsked. "Surely you haven't forgotten about him," she said. "His coming foretold in the stars? Prophesied by Helios himself? Why, he's destined to be stronger and more powerful even than you, isn't he?"

Adam felt his throat constricting as if someone were slowly suffocating him, though Circe now stood across the room. His mind flashed back to that fateful day on the veranda, the day Belle had returned to the castle and revived him, curing him of her curse: "Be on your guard," Helios had warned them both. "Circe may yet one day prevail…and she is very…very…patient."

"What did he mean by that?" Adam finally turned to his beloved, "'She's very very patient?'"

Belle shook her head, still glaring out on the darkened horizon. "He means we must always be on our guard," she whispered quietly. "And not only for us," she gulped and then finally looked to her prince, "but for our children…"

"For our children," Adam echoed barely above a whisper, shaking his head in fervent denial. But Helios's warning was coming true before his very eyes. "No," he rasped, backing up and sinking down into the sofa. "You can't…you couldn't possibly—"

Circe sighed, for the first time regarding him with a mixture of pity and even disgust. Surely her champion wouldn't crumple before her in whimpering sobs! "As it turns out," she started around the couch, "I no longer need your help or power to escape Thrinacia. Regina's curse took care of that for me, and for that I agreed to bide my time awhile and help her with her curse. The trouble is," she settled behind him, "this world somewhat limits my power. One of the drawbacks of settling in a world without magic." She laid her hands at the back of his neck, then smoothed her palms over his shoulders as she bent her head to his ear. "I have every intention of one day reclaiming my place among the gods and goddesses who betrayed me," she whispered fiercely, delighting in the fact that he was so numb, he barely flinched. "If you would prefer that I not use your son as a means to that end…you will do…as we ask. You will relinquish your guardianship."

Adam stared straight ahead, seeing not the beat up interiors of the hunter's house, but the face of his wife – his beauty, his true love – heartbroken at the mere thought of what Circe could do to their family. And suddenly, he could see it all. He could picture everything – the face of a boy he didn't even know yet, a boy who hadn't even been born and yet… Adam already loves him. The boy is happy, healthy. They've named him after someone dear to them both – Maurice perhaps. Or maybe, Gaspard, after Adam's father. The boy loves his home, his family, his favorite butler, Lumiere. He loves to run and play in the stables with Chip. Above all, he loves his mother, and his favorite moments are curling up with her in front of the fire with a good book. The boy grows. Adam teaches him to fight, to defend himself, to rule. Perhaps he falls in love. Becomes engaged. His mother beams with pride and joy at her young boy becoming a man. And then one day…when they least expect it…he is taken from them. From her. From Belle…

Adam's shoulders sank under Circe's manipulative caress. He bent over, his head falling into his hands. Without even glancing back, he whispered, "What do I have to do?"

…

The wintery breeze was seeping into the coats and jackets of those gathered outside as Philip finished his explanation, but no one actually noticed the cold. Standing alongside the wishing well risen from his realm, the young king had the entire group somewhat mystified (and in the case of Grumpy, a bit dubious) as he told them the truth about Maleficent.

"You're tellin' us that the most fearsome enchantress in all three realms, the woman who vowed vengeance on Princess Aurora as a baby, is actually…one uh the good guys?" grunted the dwarf.

Philip nodded as Snow shook her head. "You and Aurora trusted in her so much, you purposefully allowed her to be cast into a sleeping curse?" she cried. "On your wedding day?" Having been under such a curse herself, she couldn't possibly fathom why, if it was all a charade to begin with, Aurora wouldn't have just arranged to be chained and locked up instead.

Philip glanced at a now exponentially perplexed Trent Davis, shifted his gaze over to Emma (who tacitly shook him off), and sighed. Under Emma's near threatening gaze, the king had cautiously avoided any mentioning of the fact that he had not, in fact, woken Aurora that day. To do so would reveal that Philip was not Aurora's true love, and open up more questions about his own awakening (something Emma was clearly going to avoid as long as possible). He was smart enough to keep mum about the whole thing, though inwardly, he couldn't help but chuckle. They were going to find out sooner or later. After all, when they finally got around to rescuing 'Dawn Charles', it wasn't as if 'Matt Clancy' would be able to free her from the curse. "That's…Aurora's part of the story," he said finally. "And when she wakes," he glanced again at Trent, "I'll let her explain that part to you. In the meantime, yes," he turned back to Grumpy, "Maleficent is here…and she's here to help."

"Incredible," Snow said softly. "So," she glanced up in amazement. "She's been here the whole time. M-maleficent."

"Hogwash," grunted the grumpy dwarf, who closed his fist tightly around the soulodestone. "If she's an ally, I'm the bleedin' blue fairy. You're telling us she's living in Storybrooke, and — " he thrust the stone in front of him, "she can still do witchcraft? Then why have we spent 28 years cursed and frozen in time?"

"Grumpy—" Snow said sternly, but Aladdin actually cut in.

"No," said the street rat, turning to Philip. "Grumpy's got a point. Maleficent is probably one of the most powerful mages in our world. If she's here, and she's good, why—"

"Why wait 28 years to offer any assistance?" Philip finished the question he knew everyone was now thinking. He sighed, knowing how prejudiced they all were against Maleficent. After all, she'd played a very convincing villain since embedding herself within the Council of Rogues, particularly during Regina's civil war in New Gaia. For this reason, he looked right at Snow, almost as if his explanation were also a kind of apology. "First of all, Maleficent has been here for 28 years, but she's had to disguise herself, using at least some of her magic to avoid detection until," he paused and glanced at Emma, "until the savior arrived."

Emma gulped. "She knows about me?"

Philip nodded, then looked back at Snow. "It's one of the last bits of intel she got to us. We tried to get a message to you, but our courier was…intercepted on his way to New Gaia. The curse hit before we could send another."

Snow dropped her gaze. Intercepted. A very diplomatic way of saying killed. Oh how many they'd already lost in this war against Regina. How many more would they lose before it was over?

"After that, Maleficent had two choices," Philip went on, alternating his gaze around the group to include even those he knew still slept. They would waken eventually, and they would all need to be as informed as possible. "She could take on the entire council single-handedly, or she could wait for the prophecy to be fulfilled," his gaze rested once more on Emma, "and for good magic to return to Storybrooke." He offered her a small smile at which he was happy to note her blushing. "She didn't want to risk a full on assault, and honestly," he looked to Grumpy, "I'm pretty sure she expected her powers to be severely limited here. Obviously, she opted to wait. In the meantime, I…" he looked back at Snow and stammered a bit, knowing what Maleficent had planned to do once safely ensconced in Storybrooke, but unsure of the specifics. "It was my understanding that she would be…well," he cast his gaze around again, "leaving clues."

Snow gasped, jaw dropped. "C-clues?"

Philip looked nervously between her and Aladdin. "Yeah, um…" again he hesitated. "I don't know how exactly, but somehow she was going to try and…jog our memories. Anonymous letters maybe? Or pictures—"

"The book," Snow murmured, barely above a whisper. And almost everyone assembled, gasped. She looked up at her equally stunned daughter. "Henry's book, Emma. Maleficent must have written it."

"You think so?" asked Emma.

"I'm sure of it," replied her mother with frightening certainty. "Because I remember now. I finally remember where I found it."

"Where, Snow?" asked Archie, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

She turned. "In my locker…at the hospital."

The entire group erupted in murmurs. "That would make sense," Philip nodded, remembering now the snippets of his story they'd shown 'Matt Clancy' back in the cottage. It also explained why Philip's was the only story in the book that was…well, wrong. Aurora's 'Aunt Effie' had altered the ending to further protect her beloved niece.

Head buzzing, again feeling a keen sense of information-overload, Emma shivered and pulled Philip's coat tightly around her neck. "Well if Maleficent wrote the book, then—" she pulled the soulodestone from Grumpy's hand then turned to Trent— "she must've had a good reason to give you this, too. And if you could hear Dawn's voice through this thing, then maybe we can use it to locate—" but Emma didn't have a chance to finish her thought for as soon as her fingers closed tightly around the egg, the world flashed white and she felt herself thrown through her vortex.

The vision caught her more off guard than usual since it was the first time she'd had one without touching another person. And the thought disturbed her as her superpower whisked her away to God-knows-where, for if any old object now could conjure a vision, she was headed for a migraine of epic proportions.

Abruptly, she felt herself plopped back down in the forest, almost in the exact same spot as she'd just been standing, except the group that had gathered outside the cavern entrance was gone. She glanced around, getting her bearings and feeling…odd. Something felt, once again, different about this vision. She was back to being a voyeur again – that much she knew, for she didn't feel, as she had in her vision with Philip, like she'd been thrust into her future body. But she also, for some reason, didn't think she was in the past. And to top it off, she didn't feel like she was…alone.

Nothing else around her seemed too out of place though, so she took a few hesitant steps away from the cave entrance and then stopped short. A short distance away stood the well, the very same that Philip's awakening had unearthed. A small group of people were gathered around it, moving about quickly, and it sounded as if they were quarreling. No, she thought as she drew closer. Not quarreling. Rushing.

Emma approached the well until she was just a few feet away, finally recognizing the majority of those surrounding it: Aladdin and Jasmine were there, flanking the woman Emma now knew was her future self. Snow and Ella were on the other side of the well, Ella with a firm grasp on its crank while Jasmine held the rope. In between them all stood a petite, auburn-haired woman Emma didn't know. The woman was clutching something to her chest – a golden sea shell – as if it is her lifeline, though at the same time, she seemed thoroughly confused as to what she was even doing there.

"Remember what you saw in the mirror," Snow said, sounding as if she were reminding her, reassuring her.

"And what you saw when you touched the shell," added Ella. "It's all real, Marina. Trust us."

Marina, thought Emma, and she couldn't help but grin. Sometime soon, it appeared they would indeed find the sixth guardian. The seer stepped a bit closer, hazarding a look at her future self who seemed just as off-kilter and uncertain as the little mermaid. But Aladdin had a firm grip on her future self's shoulder and seemed pretty confident in, well, whatever was about to happen. At that moment, Snow held something out for the legendary red-head to take. Emma gaped as she realized what it was: the soulodestone.

The nervous woman stared at the object with increased trepidation, looking just as doubtful as Emma herself suddenly felt. But at last, Marina nodded, slipped the golden shell around her neck by the silver chain from which it hung, then accepted the egg-shaped trinket and held it close.

"Now close your eyes, Marina," Jasmine said softly, and only then did Emma realize the dark-haired princess was clutching her husband's other hand so tightly behind him, it seemed she was holding on for dear life. Clearly much was riding on this little experiment, and Emma worked hard to commit every detail to memory as her vision continued to unfold – for its purpose was now clear: she was here to learn. To learn what came next, what they must do to continue to unravel the curse.

"Marina," Emma whispered as she watched. Marina Andersen…the little mermaid. I'll be damned.

Snow nodded to the girl. "Close your eyes," she repeated Jasmine's soft command.

"And sing," Ella added with a smile.

"Sing what?" Marina implored them, a helpless tone in her voice though her eyes remain closed.

"Sing from your heart, Marina," Snow replied, reaching out to her friend's arm a friendly squeeze.

Marina huffed, and Emma couldn't blame her. It was, after all, not an answer. But the young woman sighed and drew a deep breath. She sighed again, exhaling small white puffs of breath in the cold air. All eyes were glued to her and finally, after what seemed to be an endless pause, she began to sing. It was a soft melody, one with no lyrics, but a beautiful, haunting series of "ahs." Everyone gathered at the well was enraptured by the tune, throwing each other knowing glances, and Emma felt that familiar nagging sensation of being in-the-dark about something significant. But she tried not to let it bother her this time and, instead, concentrated on the scene more intently.

As Marina sang, her voice grew in strength, and soon the wintery air was filled with music, the very wind whistling through the branches in tune with her lullaby. Then…the solodestone began to glow.

Snow reached behind her and clasped Ella's hand, bursting with excitement. The two of them stepped away, as did Jasmine. But Aladdin remained at future-Emma's side and Emma saw her vision-self wince as it seemed his grip on her had just tightened. He pushed her forward, nodding. Emma held her breath, watching her vision-self reach a shaking hand toward Marina and then rest it upon her shoulder.

The blue light emanating from the stone intensified and in a brilliant flash, a portal opened – like the one that had swallowed up Jefferson, only this time it opened right behind them like a free-standing doorway. Both Emmas' jaws dropped as did Snow's and Ella's, but before anyone could utter a word, a young man was suddenly catapulted through the portal and landed at Emma's feet.

This is Eric, thought Emma, without truly knowing where the idea came from. But for some reason she was certain. In the near future, they would figure out how to use the soulodestone to literally transport Ariel's true love.

Emma might have gaped in disbelief had she not already seen a dozen other impossible things in the past 48 hours that were gradually numbing her to the fact that this was her world now, and she was starting to accept it more and question less. She continued to watch as Snow and Aladdin rushed towards the young man while Jasmine seized the rope and Ella turned the crank, the two of them lifting a small ladle from a tiny bucket in the well. "Quickly," said future-Emma as she released Marina's shoulder and the portal closed behind them.

Snow and Aladdin brought a disoriented Eric to the base of the well. He was glaring up at Marina, the two of them locked in a stare as Jasmine scooped the water into the ladle and stooped down to Eric's side. "Drink!" she said loudly…obnoxiously in fact, as if she thought the man was deaf. Emma watched as Eric continued to stare up at Marina who, in the midst of everything she'd just seen happen, could do little more than nod, encouraging the young man to drink.

"Think it'll work?" she heard her future-self mutter to Aladdin.

He gave the stone lip of the well an affectionate pat. "Heals what is hurt," he said to her with a grin. Then he nodded down at the couple as Eric drank the water. "Can't get their happy ending if he can't hear her sing."

So that was it, Emma realized. Eric's Storybrooke self was deaf. She seemed to recall singing being a rather significant part of the movie she knew – if that part was true of the real story, it made sense that Regina's curse would have denied him the very ability of being able to hear that voice again.

Gradually, the scene started to fade and Emma could no longer make out distinct voices or words as a suddenly vocal Eric leapt to his feet and started to speak. Emma closed her eyes and waited…waited for herself to be plucked out of the vision and plunged back into reality. Typically, this is where the visions ended. She'd seen what she'd needed to see, she was certain of it. But as she continued to wait, she realized she wasn't going anywhere. "What the hell?" she muttered to herself. Why wasn't she moving? She needed to get back, to explain what they would need to do to wake Ariel, or at least who needed to be involved (and based on the vision, she was fairly certain Aladdin would be able to explain the rest). Why the hell wasn't she leaving? Why wasn't the vision fading? Why—

"Emma?" she heard a voice behind her, and she was at once reminded of how she'd felt when she first arrived. Like she wasn't alone. No one had ever addressed her in a vision. No one except Philip, and that was only because she was "playing" herself then. No, this was different. Someone was here with her, experiencing the vision like she was.

"Emma!" she heard again and the voice filled her soul, invigorated her like a glass of cool water after a trek through the desert. She would know that voice anywhere, now. She couldn't believe how desperately she'd needed to hear that voice. And as she turned to face him, she couldn't bother herself enough to wonder or care why she was suddenly sharing her vision with someone else. For emanating from a bright green light was a man she'd honestly feared she would never see again. Tears stung her eyes as he stood before her. And her breath hitched in her throat as she whispered his name: "Dad."

…

***Hey all! I've recently just finished a 4-week run of being the lead in a summer stock musical, so I've been trying to write as much as I can between scenes and during downtime at rehearsals. Hopefully, you've enjoyed meeting the final guardian and her true love (I think I'm FINALLY done introducing characters now…whew!)

Regarding the recent revelation of Philip as Emma's true love, I first off must extend my sincerest and warmest gratitude to the overwhelmingly positive response from so many of you. It was an incredible risk to take – probably the riskiest move I've made since eliminating Rumbelle from the storyline altogether. I'm blessed with so many readers who leave incredible reviews and PMs, and I really can't thank you enough for sticking with this story as long as you have and giving me the motivation to continue.

That being said, I feel I also owe some sort of response to those of you who have expressed displeasure about the Philip/Emma twist. I admit I've been torn on whether or not to mention it here at all since even addressing it in an author's note story makes me look like I'm trying too hard to defend it, or don't truly believe in it myself. At the same time, ignoring the criticism completely from an equally dedicated following makes me look like I don't give a *bleep* what you think. Neither is the case. So I just wanted to take an opportunity to say – I hear you. And I respect your point of view. It is, I admit, (speaking as a Disney fanatic) practically sacrilegious to break up such a time honored pairing as Philip and Aurora, and coming from someone who has perused a fair amount of Harry/Luna or Draco/Hermione fan fiction, I can easily sympathize.

I also won't attempt to dissuade you from your objections – they are yours and you are entitled to them. I will only say thank you for your readership and for sharing your feedback. If you would like me to respond in more detail to specific questions/objections raised, I would be happy to do so through PMing. Don't hesitate to message me. In the meantime, I do hope very much that you will continue to read in spite of this particular plot point. Writers are never going to please absolutely everyone with everything, but I hope there is at least something for everyone to enjoy in "Toll Bridge."

Coming up…brace yourselves for a rather emotional reunion for Emma and James!***