From one wood to another, Belle and Rumplestiltskin stepped out of the shadows of Nevethe into the depths of the Infinite Forest. Back into the world. Belle could feel time settling into her bones, a current dragging her relentlessly forward. A deer path took them to Sherwood, where they found a market town crowded with refugees. The air was heavy with constant drizzle, the people muddy, hungry, and stinking of desperation.
This isn't hell, she told herself. It was bad enough, but it was not the timeless despair of Tartarus. The thickness of reality could not be mistaken. The way time seized them all in its grasp, a promise that everything changes, all the time. But how much time? How long have we been gone?
Disguised as poor hunters, they took in the news.
To Belle's dismay, the realm they returned to was not the one they had left. It had been over two years. Two years during which gods and Titans extended their influence over the mortal lands, staking their claims and gobbling up souls to feed their divine magic. Two years of increasing turmoil. It was what they wanted, the greater powers. Whether through faith or fear, through hope of a better future or dread of an inevitable doom, the magic inherent in mortal imagination could be harvested by the immortals.
Clerics ruled with a heavy hand, punishing heretics, blasphemers, and rebels. Monsters roamed freely, devouring peasants while the nobility hid behind stone walls and steel blades. Farms burned. Villages were overrun. Gibbets lined the roads, dead bodies hanging in chains as a warning. Armies were mustered, whether against the monsters, the rebels, or the neighboring kingdoms — or all three.
Belle's first thought was of her own homeland. She drew on the power of the Wood for insight. Show me. Divinity smothered Avonlea like a heavy blanket, choking out natural destinies in favor of Olympian mandates. News from inside the kingdom was scarce. By all accounts, Amaury now wore the crown, but little else was known of what had happened to the royal family. Were her grandparents dead? All their attempts to scry out the truth fizzled, the details blurred under a smear of blood.
All in all, the situation looked bleak.
"The gods, plucking weeds from their gardens," was Rumple's comment as they shared the vision.
"We have to stop them!"
And they tried. They really tried, but they failed to even set foot in Avonlea. Dark or light, their magic bounced off the shield of Olympus. Worse, the gods didn't even blink an eye at the attempted incursion.
"They think we're weak." Belle was furious, at the gods and at her own helplessness. "Not even worth a counter-attack." She was still shaking, aching all over from trying to break through the divine barrier. She felt as if she might shatter, only the frail tendrils of the Wood Beyond holding her shape together.
"Shh. Don't, don't... The baby..." Rumple held her, soothing her with his touch. "You're not a battering ram."
"Sorry." Belle had acted on pure impulse. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the life within. "She's safe. She's safe... I suppose we should be grateful," she muttered resentfully. "That they think so little of us."
Rumple sighed. "They think so, because it's true. I'm sorry, sweetheart."
"It's not your fault." Belle caught his hand. "It's not."
"Isn't it? Because of me, or at least the other versions of me, the old queen is gone. Half of Nevethe burned to a crisp." He shook his head. "What does Olympus have to fear? Better to consolidate their territory first before crushing us under their boots."
Belle's grip tightened. "We can't let that happen."
"No." He looked down at her fingers. "But we need to face the truth: they are simply more powerful than we are."
"There must be something we can do to even the odds!" Belle refused to give up so easily.
"We'll go back to Schlaraffenland," he said at last.
Of course. Just as her thoughts turned first to Avonlea, Rumple would prioritize his own homeland. But wasn't that too selfish of them? Belle flushed in shame. She didn't think it right to abandon the rest of the Enchanted Forest, not to mention the other realms, and told him so.
"It's not a matter of being selfish," countered Rumple. "If we spread our efforts too thinly, we do no one any good at all. More than that, over the years the Dark One has made deals with the people of Schlaraffenland, deals that are still outstanding."
"Deals to protect them." Belle remembered the ledgers in the Dark Castle listing those deals.
Rumple nodded. "But a deal binds both parties..."
Belle saw it then, in her mind's eye — a web of words spun out across three centuries that caught the souls of Schlaraffenland, leaving them more willing to look to the Dark One than the rest of the Enchanted Forest. But from what they had seen in Sherwood, that willingness might be widening.
"And you saw," Rumple continued, as if picking up on her thought. "So many desperate souls. How many hoping for help from Schlaraffenland? How many calling for the Dark One?"
Belle's breath caught. He must know already. He always heard his name. He hadn't answered them yet, but— "Rumple, you... if you mean to take advantage of them... turn them from their faith..."
Rumple smiled tightly. "Deals benefit both parties. A bit of heresy may be our salvation."
She agreed in theory — starve the greater powers of their psychic fuel, and they would cease to be 'greater' powers — but her upbringing instinctively cried out against it. Said that this was evil, this was wickedness, this was sin. She muttered under her breath, "The Dark One isn't a god..."
"I never asked anyone to worship me, and that hasn't changed." Rumple's voice was soft, stripped of its usual mockery. "For people to place their faith in other people, in their fellow countrymen to keep their word— that was the dream upon which we founded Schlaraffenland."
"While you sit atop them all in your Dark Castle with all your dark power," Belle pointed out. "Swaggering about the realm boasting of being the greatest sorcerer!" But underneath the admonishment, she was amused by her husband's contradictions. She was glad he had something to take pride in, knowing what she did now about his downtrodden past. He had fought free of those dark circumstances — this time was no different, except that now he was not alone.
"Well." Rumple let out his breath in a huff. "It's not as if I don't take students." Thus proving her point.
His students, and his students' students — via the Winter School or otherwise — were the main reason Schlaraffenland was now the only part of the realm outside the Infinite Forest that remained free of gods and Titans. Free, for now, but under siege. As was the whole realm. So came the report once Rumple took them to the Dark Castle.
"Could be worse," said the Archon of the Snowcaps, who had assumed human shape for the Dark One's council meeting. "The sky is strained but stands for now. For which we can thank our griffon friends."
Belle glanced at the two perched on the mantel. "You?"
Not exactly. You think the two of us can keep the sky from falling? Otulissa cocked her head at Belle in bemusement.
It was the griffon king, Eskereye put in.
"Why would he help us?" Last Belle had known, the griffon king had hated Nevethe and tried to 'purify' Belle herself and keep her away from the Dark One. There had certainly been no wedding gifts from that quarter. "Did you talk to him? Aren't you still banned from the land above the clouds?"
We went as emissaries of Schlaraffenland, said Otulissa. With the fall of Nevethe and the release of the Titans, he had to rethink his priorities.
"He wasn't helping us," Rumple said to Belle. "Merely holding up the old compact, the one that keeps gods and Titans from openly walking the mortal realms." The sky was what kept heaven and earth separated.
"To be fair, he did seem to value peace and abhor bloodshed." Belle hadn't enjoyed the griffon king's rigid moral standards, but those he held, he seemed to hold honestly. "No doubt he is trying to protect mortal lives here."
The griffon king is committed to order, noted Eskereye. A place for everything and everything in its place. Even should a god challenge that place, his majesty will not countenance it.
Rumple snorted. "Arrogant old bird, but in this case I applaud his recalcitrance."
"Alas, it isn't sufficient to keep out all intrusion," said the High Archon. "If the sky is closed, they come by the sea road, through the earth, or otherwise. They can be summoned by prayer and by blood..."
"That's bad, that," put in the representative from the Beggars Clan. "There's talk, that there's those in Schlaraffenland who share blood with the Titans. People are scared, saying better safe than sorry."
Rumple frowned. "You mean the ogres?"
The beggar nodded. The ogres were few in number compared to the humans, but powerful in their size and strength. They were distant kin to the Titans, just as the giants were.
"They are citizens of Schlaraffenland," hissed Rumplestiltskin. "Bound in blood as any other, no matter their ancestors or appearance!"
"Sorry, m'lord, I'm only reporting what's said." The beggar — Bastian Ninepence was his name, Belle recalled — glanced at the High Archon. "There's talk, and we talk back as we can, but as to blood oaths, that's for the Chief Cake Slicer to parse, isn't it?"
The High Archon dipped her head in acknowledgement. Her mask betrayed nothing, and she said calmly, "Indeed there is fear and dissension in the hearts of our citizens, a threatened split between the human and the non-human, but the stitches hold. We will not permit the seams to rip. Cake for one and all, I assure you."
Belle let out a breath, biting back a smile at the Beggar Clan's nickname for the highest office in Schlaraffenland. "That's a relief, then."
"Don't be relieved too soon!" barked the Archon of the Snowcaps. "My esteemed colleague left out one more route of attack: treachery. As we learned lately."
They got into the Dark Castle and tried to kill the High Archon! Otulissa leaped off the mantel and onto the table, dislodging a stack of maps and reports.
"Aye, we were just getting to that," said the beggar, leaning forward to straighten the papers. He nodded to the officer of the Dark Castle guard sitting at the council table, a knight Belle recognized in passing. The man's face was stiff, his bearing rigidly correct, all but the hand too tightly clenched where it rested on the edge of the table.
He's afraid, Belle realized. Because the guard failed in their duty to protect the castle?
"Tell me." Rumplestiltskin's tone darkened at the news that his home had been attacked. Even Belle, who had only lived there a short time in comparison, felt a visceral sense of invasion.
A Titan had broken through the barriers and led a raiding force of humans and lesser Titans into the Dark Castle. They had been aided by the captain of the Dark Castle's guards. That was why this man, this newly promoted Sir Gregory, was here at the council meeting. Luckily for Schlaraffenland, one of the loyal guards had seen through the Titan's illusions — well, not so much seen through as smelt through, the guard being a ghoul — and rung the alert in time.
The ensuing fight was brief but vicious. Three guards and two warmages were dead, and many more were cursed or wounded. The Titan leader had fled in a puff of smoke along with one of his followers, while the other had been killed, as had half of the humans. The rest had been taken prisoner. As had the traitor.
"Sir Corbin." Rumplestiltskin spat the name like a curse.
"Why would he...?" Belle sighed. She had never suspected the man of any disloyalty. A skilled warrior and well-respected as a leader by the other guards, why would he turn on his own people?
"Is he still breathing?"
"Aye, my lord," said Sir Gregory. "He stood trial before the Archon of the Snowcaps and was sentenced to death, but he invoked his right to appeal." Anyone in Schlaraffenland could do so, but everyone knew the Dark One could inflict worse than death to those who wasted his time, and he rarely overruled the Archons, so appeals were only rarely filed.
Rumple's eyes narrowed. "Buying time, was he? With the Dark One away, the mice will play..."
"I couldn't say, my lord."
"Well, I'm here now. Let's see what our Corrie has to say for himself!" Rumple clicked his fingers. A surge of magic swept the prisoner into the great hall, chains still dangling from wrists and ankles. "Time's up, dearie!"
Sir Corbin swayed, blinking at the light and mute with shock. Sir Gregory, having had an instant's more warning, was quick to grab the chains and call for reinforcements from the guards stationed at the door.
Not that the prisoner had any chance of escape or rebellion with the Dark One circling around him with murder on his face. "Corbin, Corbin, Corbin. Any last words?"
The prisoner dropped to his knees in a clash of metal. "My lord! I did it for you!"
A blink betrayed Rumple's surprise. He came to a stop directly behind Corbin. "Oh? Do tell."
"For Schlaraffenland. You can see it, can't you, my lord? The opportunity we have!" The prisoner sounded for all the world as if he meant it, though nervousness ran his words together into a near-incoherent babble. Something about a chance to enlarge their territory, expand into the rest of the Enchanted Forest while the kingdoms were in chaos. "It's only the Archons and their damned charter holding us back."
"The charter is there for a reason," Belle couldn't help interrupting. It was written into the creation of the Archons, that Schlaraffenland was created by the will of its citizens, that it would engage in no wars of conquest, that it was a civilization held together by deals and contracts, not by brute force.
"Things are different now," countered Corbin. "Gods and Titans will never bind themselves to mortal laws! We can't afford to be soft. We could already have the Maritime Kingdom, but oh no, we must wait for a mad hatter to sweet-talk them into an alliance."
"And what, you think if you sit in the High Archon's chair, you can do a better job?"
"Say rather that the wrong face wears the mask." With the weariness of one who has been forced to confess and confess again, the prisoner explained that they had meant to secretly replace the true High Archon with Sir Corbin, using his Titan ally's magic to make it convincing. In return for this assistance, Corbin had promised to help this Titan overthrow his master and take over the throne of Prydania.
"Treachery for treachery, a coup for a coup?" Rumple had circled back around to face the man. The guards flanking Sir Corbin stood stock still, focused on the prisoner.
"It was a deal! Isn't that what the Dark One does, all the time? It would only benefit you, my lord."
"Is that so?" Rumple's voice was soft as he waited for the man to hang himself on his own words. Belle bit back an urge to call out a warning. There was something in Corbin's tone and argument that reminded her all too much of Gaston. "You consider war to be a benefit?"
"I consider it a small price to pay for what we may gain! Our army is the strongest in the realm, but what use is a weapon if one is afraid to wield it? Our warriors deserve their day of glory."
"There's no glory in bloodshed," Belle snapped.
Corbin barely spared a glance for her. "You are a woman, and a scholar. I don't expect you to understand a warrior's honor, but even you must see that this is no time to show weakness."
"Indeed not," murmured Rumple. "Do tell, how may we avoid the appearance of weakness?"
"For too long we have been the cursed nail in the eyes of the gods. Now, now we have a chance to throw off their tyranny! Under our leadership, the whole realm can be free and prosperous." Sir Corbin dared a glance at Rumplestiltskin. "Of course, now that your lordship is back, you can change the charter yourself. Let the old retire and let new blood be appointed in their place..."
"And strike a new deal with this Titan of yours, this Enyalios?"
Corbin nodded. "Just so. What say you, my lord?"
The Dark One (and it was the Dark One now — drawn out by the temptation of power on the one hand and by the outrage of a broken covenant on the other) regarded Corbin for a long moment. Then, "No." With a flourish of his hands, he turned his back on the prisoner and cackled. "Appeal denied. The sentence stands!"
Rumple... The name stuck in Belle's throat. The man was guilty and unrepentant. She had no grounds to plead for mercy on his behalf, except that this would be an execution in cold blood. She braced herself for her husband to kill someone in front of her.
Instead, it was the Archon of the Snowcaps who stepped up. "Corbin of Bencaveris, your blood is revoked." A clawed hand plunged into the prisoner's chest. In one swift motion, the hand withdrew again and Corbin dropped, dead before he hit the floor.
In the subdued silence that followed, Sir Gregory gestured at his guards to clear away the corpse.
"Well, that was a downer!" Rumple said, resuming his seat at the table next to Belle. "Sir Gregory, I trust you have no such.. ambitious notions flitting around in that thick skull of yours?"
"No, my lord."
Belle felt sorry for the new captain. This betrayal shamed all the guards there, and was the very display of 'weakness' that Corbin had so loathed. When had it ever been a sign of strength for a kingdom to have its lawful ruler overthrown? Such things led to ruinous civil wars. Just look at what had happened to the White Kingdom! She glanced at Rumple. "I thought Sir Corbin had more sense..."
Rumple drummed his fingers on the table. "He did, once. But Enyalios... Enyalios... a child of Strife, whispering in Corrie's ear. Telling him it would be easy. That he wouldn't be caught. That he would be praised by history. A persuasive voice..." He looked at the Archons. "A threat you are now aware of."
"We have taken measures, yes," said the Archon of the Snowcaps.
"Wait, wait." Belle frowned, thinking. "Mitigating circumstances... if he was under magical influence..."
"One, it's too late. Dead is dead!" Rumple enumerated his reasons on his fingers, shooting Belle a sidelong glance. "Two, whatever influence lay upon him, it was lifted once he was imprisoned. What he said today, he said from his own heart! Three, it's no more than he advised himself — show no weakness! His actions led to the deaths of five citizens. Schlaraffenland protects its own."
"Is mercy a weakness, then?" Belle murmured sadly.
"Let him argue the point with the dead, if he will," said Rumple. "No doubt they'll welcome him with open arms."
"The better to grab him and toss him into the river of souls!" quipped Bastian Ninepence.
Belle sighed. "What about the captives, the Prydanians?"
"They live," said the High Archon. "It would be folly to throw away the coins in one's purse."
They were bargaining chips, was what she meant. Belle had read enough history to know of the practice of trading prisoners of war, whether in kind or for cash. That was one of the reasons her people had considered the ogres to be mere monsters, because they ate their prisoners rather than ransoming them.
"Good, good. Let's see what they're worth!" Rumple waved a hand. "Bring them in."
There were nine of them, too many to conveniently transport by magic, so they were escorted up from the dungeons by the guards, along with a few from the Beggars Clan filling out the numbers until the guards were back to full strength. This did not go down well with some of the prisoners, judging by the tangle of voices as the group was pushed through the doorway into the great hall.
Progress juddered to a stop even as one voice rose sharply above the rest: "I don't take orders from beggars!"
Belle winced. A Prydanian noble, judging by the accent.
Suddenly Rumple was on his feet, hand outstretched. The voice went silent, the speaker hoisted magically into the air, an invisible fist wrapped around his neck. "Now, you see, I don't think you're in any position to be picky..."
"That's Sir Charles Elliot," Bastian Ninepence said in a low voice. "A baronet of Prydania."
"Don't care," sneered Rumple. "As far as I'm concerned, he's meat to feed the ghouls. Let it be a lesson to the rest of this lot."
"Killing him's not the lesson we want, m'lord," said Bastian, not backing down even at the Dark One's glare. "It'd be teaching all the wrong things. Man's a prisoner of war. He surrendered."
"Then he needs to honor the terms of his surrender!"
"Rotting in your dungeons doesn't seem to have done anything to improve him," noted Belle. "Nor anyone else."
"Well, what do you suggest we do with them?"
One of the guards cleared his throat. "M'lord, being a ghoul myself, we're in no hurry to take what's due us, but there's other ways this walking meat can 'feed' us while he's still got a heartbeat, and that's down in the deep gardens."
"Aye, there's a thought," said Bastian. "The Catacombs'll keep them in right enough, and there's always a need for more hands in the fungoceta, what with the troubles in the world meaning the breweries are all a-hustle-bustle..."
The breweries of the ghouls supplied the majority of the potions used in Schlaraffenland. Their specialized 'gardens' — the fungoceta — grew the various arcane mushrooms, molds, and plants useful for their brand of alchemy. With war breaking out across the realm, the demand for healing and military potions would naturally spike.
"But could you trust them?" Belle wondered. "How much damage could a hostile 'worker' do? It would be worse than unicorns in the flower garden." Something she had seen firsthand, and that was not even out of malice.
"They can use them in excavations," explained the ghoul guard. "For the expansions."
"Ah," said Rumple. "Pick-axe and shovel. Rather a comedown from sword and spear, eh? I'm sure you'll make... adequate... diggers." He threw the supposed baronet to the floor. A wave of his hand sent a shimmer of dark purple over the prisoners. Belle didn't recognize the spell,
The man clambered to his feet, rubbing at his neck. By his glare, he wanted to shout insults or threats at the Dark One, but the spell had rendered him mute.
The guards hauled all the prisoners into the room, lining them up against the wall for the Dark One's inspection. Rumple walked up and down, eyeing each one in turn.
Belle wondered what he was looking for. The prisoners were all ordinary humans, to her eye. Non-magical. Most gods and Titans did not approve of magical humans, Prometheus being the prime exception. Demigods and demi-Titans were another matter, but there were none in this group of captives.
Finally, with a nod from Rumple and the approval of the High Archon, the prisoners were dismissed, to be escorted to their new 'assignments' in the Catacombs.
"Did you do something to them?" Belle asked, once the prisoners were out of earshot. "I thought I saw..."
"Not yet. But perhaps, soon." Rumple paced the room, glancing speculatively at the others there. "A way through into the other kingdoms. You remember those barriers, Belle? We can't brute force our way through, so a bit of finesse may be in order."
"What do you mean?"
"Those prisoners were from Prydania. They belong there in a way we do not. They could return. They have a right to return, magically speaking. And if they did, we could... share in that and return with them..."
"You wish to retaliate for their attack?" asked the High Archon. "It was considered, but it seems prudent not to invite further conflict. The attack came from a rebel faction, after all."
"That's called 'plausible deniability'," snorted Rumple. "No, no, you're deluding yourselves if you think you can keep Schlaraffenland out of this conflict forever. Sooner or later they will turn their attention to us..."
"They may not," objected the High Archon.
"They can't afford not to. Schlaraffenland is a stronghold they ignore at their peril." Rumple smiled bleakly. "Better for us if we choose our own time, our own battles."
"He's right," said Belle. "I know it's dangerous. It's more dangerous to wait. The longer we wait, the fewer allies we may find outside Schlaraffenland. We need to help them now rather than later. Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow."
Their realm had hundreds of years of mortal history, a tapestry that the greater powers now wanted to rip away. All their stories picked apart and remade to serve another's purpose. Belle had seen that dismal future from the heart of the Wood Beyond. Out here in the world, it was harder to hold onto that vision. Now they had to communicate something no more substantial than a dream to the people mired in the here and now.
The future where they built on that history rather than rewriting it. The future where mortals decided their own fates. The future where true love was allowed to flourish, where it wasn't sacrificed on the altar of power. They had seized death back from the gods. Now they had to do the same with life.
"Ambitious," was the High Archon's judgement.
"Most folks just want to live their lives: a little peace, a little prosperity, long enough to dangle their grand-babbies on their knees," agreed Bastian.
Rumple scoffed. "That's what I wanted, too, and look at me now. That's the thing, fate doesn't care what we want. Only we do, so if it's to happen, we must make it happen ourselves."
"And have we not?" said the Archon of the Snowcaps. "We have happiness, prosperity, peace. Instead of fighting this war, can we not leave it behind? With your return, with the light and dark you bring from the Wood Beyond, is it not possible to simply... be elsewhere?"
Rumple sighed, and Belle knew he must be tempted. He had tried it before, not something he liked to talk about, but she had heard the tale from Baelfire. Fate had met him on the road that time. "Possible for us means possible for others. Retreat means losing ground. Our loss, another's gain. Ask the hill folk of Ulmstead how that worked out for them!"
"But are we strong enough to defeat them, the gods and the Titans?" asked the High Archon. "To drive them from this realm?"
Rumple didn't answer, but his aura darkened.
"Not without turning it into a wasteland," said Belle, remembering the destruction she had witnessed in Tartarus and Nevethe. "Rumple, you can't... it wouldn't be worth it..." She knew what the darkness was capable of, and something in her husband reveled in destruction, but he was still human enough to care about the people he loved. She met his eyes. Not while we have hope.
"The threat may be enough," he said at last. "If this war costs them more than it is worth, if this realm means more to us than to them, then it can end... they may well cut their losses."
"Which will be more likely if we are not the only resistance. Rumple, you said we can reach the other kingdoms if we have people who have a right to be there, some connection." Belle thought of her friends from Avonlea. She herself had been cut out long ago by the terms of her family's deal with the Dark One, but it was different for Lizzy and the others. And then, there were— "What about all those refugees we saw? The ones on the road and there must be more already here in Schlaraffenland?"
"You would force them back into danger?" There was something sad in Rumple's face as he asked her the question.
It gave her pause, but her reasoning was sound. "So that they can be safer in the long term. And I didn't say to force them. Surely if we explained, some of them would volunteer..."
"Desperate souls," muttered Rumple. Then, "You may be right."
The sheer quantity of displaced refugees meant that she wasn't wrong. There were always a few brave souls willing to go back for family, for friends, for vengeance... and Schlaraffenlanders eager to help. Ones like Sir Corbin, spoiling for a fight, or ones who couldn't stand by while others were suffering, or ones who had family in those other kingdoms, or whatever other motivations to spur them to action. The greater powers would not take the Enchanted Forest uncontested.