Unmoored. Shattered.
Freed.
Belle. Belle not of Avonlea. Belle of Nevethe. She found her name again within the tree, spoken by the man she had chosen.
"What... how?" She struggled with the question. Struggled to inhabit the person who asked it. She was here. She saw leaves against the sky and bark all around. Gaps in the trees showed a forest floor scorched and black, littered with charcoal fragments. A faint trace of smoke lingered in the air and reddened the light. Here was the Wood Beyond. "Avonlea...?"
"It was a trap." He was there. His voice in her ear, his chest against her back, his arms holding her close. "I pulled you back."
"But I need to... you... I can't leave them!" The thought came urgently, but she couldn't make herself move. Cold raked her insides. She felt unaccountably frail, trembling even in his gentle embrace. "My family — they're in danger."
"More danger if you approach them. Avonlea is under the aegis of Olympus. The gods will protect them as long as they are useful." Rumple's voice was low, persuasive, and oh, how she wanted to believe him. But there was something he wasn't saying. If only she could think clearly, she would know. "They are kin, however distant. Unless they rebel or try to leave, they are safe."
"While they remain slaves, you mean." Belle felt again the suffocating divine presence that had claimed her as kin. It had seemed a kind of love, offered in exchange for an absolute devotion. She remembered the way fate had closed around her. The panic in the last corner of her heart that she called her own. She began to hyperventilate. "What, what did you, why do I..."
"Belle!" His hands burned where they touched her. "You're free. I cut you free."
She cried out and twisted away. She felt hollow, a paper shell of a person. She was nothing. Unmoored from her own life. Somewhere in the timeless Wood, trees still burned like torches. They couldn't help her family. They could barely help themselves. She felt as if a stray spark could turn her to ashes. "You cut my fate."
"Yes."
A fate she hadn't wanted. A fate she had begged her husband to cut. So why did she feel so bereft without it? She glanced up to meet Rumple's anxious gaze. "I don't, I can't..." She stumbled over her own thoughts. Her hand slid over her stomach. Terror spiked. She couldn't feel... "No!"
"Belle! Wait, don't, please... we can fix it!" His voice rose, edged with the same panic she felt.
"Fix...!" Belle stared in horror. "Our daughter... she..."
Rumple's eyes were haunted. "She's gone. But not dead. Not dead! We can save her! We can!"
A scream fought to escape her throat. "Where is she? You! You did this. How, how could you?!"
"I had to." His hand moved to calm her, but she recoiled. "I had to do it! They would have taken you both. The shears. It was the only way."
"Tell me everything."
He did.
Underneath Prydania, the earth runs hot with Titans' blood. Typhon lurches out of his grave. In the king's palace, Geryon (in mortal guise behind the old king's face) awaits his master's arrival, and monsters stir when Typhon wakes.
The oracle slithers from the crevasse.
The Rock-that-weeps unfolds and walks down from her mountaintop.
Together, they lay down their grievances as the foundation of their new regime. The gods and their heroes are the enemy that unites them.
It's only that they've been defeated once before. Typhon remembers the thunderbolts striking him until he vomited flame and bled rivers of fire — none of them are a match for mighty Zeus. Worse, Olympus has gained strength through centuries of mortal worship.
"Are we fated to always lose?" complains Typhon. "Is Zeus's reign to last forever?"
No, whispers the oracle, that ancient serpent called the Pythia. Nothing lasts forever. It ends, but you shall not be the one to end it. A death, a birth, ah!
"What birth? Who? Where?" demands the father of a thousand monsters. Surely the one powerful enough to overthrow the Skyfather must spring from Typhon's loins!
The serpent hisses. A riddle, a hint, a guess. Schlaraffenland...
So Enyalios is sent to Schlaraffenland, but runs back with his tail between his legs. A disappointment, a hope. There is strength in the godless kingdom after all.
Perhaps he could have offered an alliance, but Typhon is not one to ask for what he can simply take (only the throne of Olympus has ever eluded his grasp before). His subordinate's failure puts the notion of friendly cooperation even further out of reach. But common interest is more important than a smiling face, and that inevitably aligns the Dark One with the Titans in opposition to Olympus.
For now, they will watch. They will wait and they will see.
Typhon orders the oracle to nail her eyes to her prophecy.
Ah, ah! The wail of the oracle puts an end to their waiting. Ah! The thread is cut! The future, it breaks!
"Damn Zeus." Typhon spits curses from a hundred mouths. "Slippery bastard." "How many times can he cheat his doom?" "Not this time!" "That fate belongs to me!" He yanks the oracle from her cave and swallows her whole. "Show me!"
Serpent with a serpent's eyes, Typhon trawls the formless void for the lost possibility. He will take it for himself. A death, a birth. Hasn't he died? Hasn't he been reborn?
Seer's sight brings him to the ruined destiny. A creature too small to survive by itself, it's already dying when Typhon finds it.
"This? This feeble wormling?" scoffs Typhon. His kind are known to gnaw their way out of the womb, ready to fight before they open their eyes. Such a weak thread on which to hang such a momentous fate! "It's insulting, that's what it is. It should have been my destiny. Well, better late than never."
But it will all be for nothing if he cannot preserve this gobbet of potential long enough to steal its fate, if he cannot then nurture that frayed, damaged thread into a rope robust enough to hang the king of Olympus on. For that he needs help.
"If you want to save a child, ask a mother." Typhon hands his prize to She-who-weeps.
"The things one learns too late," she sighs. But learn she had. Seven sons and seven daughters died because she couldn't save them, but today she can save this child. She places the tiny creature into an enchanted egg. "Safe enough."
"And her fate?"
"That remains to be seen."
Belle listened to Rumple's explanation with an odd sense of calm. Yes, this had happened. It was terrible, but screaming about it was futile. Her earlier impulses had faded into a kind of exhaustion.
But beneath the placid surface of her thoughts swam a frantic swarm of echoes and reflections. Somewhere she was angry and frightened. Somewhere a Belle was weeping uncontrollably into her husband's shoulder. Somewhere a Belle was raging at him for destroying their family. Somewhere, a Belle forgot her sorrows and danced in the rarified air of Olympus.
This Belle floated in a light-edged haze. "How do we save her?"
"Even if we are no longer connected by fate, we are still connected by blood."
"But where do we look?"
"Where all fate was born: the Dark Realm."
The Dark Realm was vast and unknowable. They had explored only a tiny corner of it in their brief visit. It was a place where time and space had little meaning. It was the primordial chaos from which reality was shaped. It was an ocean of darkness where lost fates and lost hopes sank into obscurity. Rumple's mother had fallen there when she had been banished by the Blue Fairy, the Blue Fairy who was trapped there now herself. Belle remembered the lost children locked in their cells, their misery transmuted by the magic of that realm into dark fairy dust. They had freed the children — Belle would never regret that — but had it come at a price? Was that why her own child—
"We'll find her." Rumple interrupted her thoughts with his reassurance. "The tree is rooted in that darkness. We'll be able to draw on Nevethe's power. And there is Dorcha Ghorm..."
"Will she help us?"
"She will," he promised. "One way or another."
One way or another, they would save their child. The thought took root, anchored her again in her life.
"I can't help you."
Belle didn't know if it was the fairy or the ghost who spoke, but ultimately it didn't matter.
"You're lying," hissed Rumple.
Dorcha Ghorm shook her head. "I can't help you because she's not in this realm."
"But she was here!" Rumple advanced furiously on her.
"It's no use shouting at me." She spoke with an echo of the fairy's prim manner. "If she was here, she's gone now."
"Gone? How can she be gone?"
"Gone is gone." The retort snapped out of the ghost's mouth.
"True, but not terribly helpful, dearie," snarled Rumple. "This is the Dark Realm. Time isn't a straight line here. If she was taken from here, it should have been we who took her."
"Except it wasn't."
"You are the guardian of the lost children here! Your duty—"
"I know my duty, Dark One. But duty is something imposed by people, a form of order that has no meaning to this realm, and to those higher powers native to it..."
"What higher powers?" asked Belle, her heart sinking.
"I speak of Typhon."
Belle nodded, half-knowing the answer already. Though classified as a Titan, or even a god by some accounts, he was different from the others. But why would Typhon steal her baby? In the gloomy, oppressive atmosphere of the Dark Realm, it all felt like a horrible nightmare. If only she could wake up from it!
"We are all of us visitors," whispered Dorcha Ghorm. "But Typhon is always here. He never leaves, not completely. He is part of this realm. His bones are filled with primordial darkness."
"Here, but also elsewhere. Where did he take my baby?" That was the point of this expedition. Belle didn't want to dally here when they were already too late. Why... why couldn't they have arrived earlier? To where her past self stood? She would have warned herself not to go to Avonlea!
"Prydania," supplied Rumple. "Enyalios is Typhon's vassal, and it was back to Prydania that Enyalios went after he fled from Schlaraffenland."
"Titans." Dorcha Ghorm shook her head. "I'd think twice before mixing with that lot. You could lose everything..."
"I'm not losing this child!"
"Not every child can be carried to term, even in the natural order of mortal life." This time, she spoke with the haughty assurance of a high fairy, leavened with a whiff of pity for a lesser being. "Perhaps it would be better to accept the loss and move on, as so many women must do in this world."
"Don't listen to her," muttered Rumple.
They clung together for a moment as they absorbed the truth of this setback. No quick solution, then. But when had it ever been quick or easy for them? Belle took a deep breath. They could do this. She untangled herself from her husband enough to face Dorcha Ghorm again.
"Thank you for the information," Belle said with as much politeness as she could muster. A moment later, Rumple transported them back into the heart of their tree.
The Wood had a long reach, its leaves falling across realms and realities. In Avonlea, the gods had built a magical barrier against the Wood Beyond, but Prydania was open to them.
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," murmured Rumple when Belle questioned it.
"It's hardly friendly to take advantage of our absence to attempt a coup d'etat in our homeland!" Belle's voice turned hard as she pointed out, "And if they took our baby... If they've harmed her..."
"I'll kill them all," Rumple stated flatly.
Belle knew it was wrong of her to find that comforting. Still, the Dark One was the Dark One, and nothing less could be expected of him. Everyone knew that. She thought that even a Titan would hesitate to court the demon's wrath, and that that hesitation would afford their child some protection. She frowned at own flimsy rationalizations, but she was willing to grasp at any straw. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
"It won't." Wishful thinking, but he was pretending to believe it for her sake, and she wouldn't throw that back in his face.
"So... we'll try talking to them first," she said.
Rumple nodded. "Walk in like we own the place. It's always better to negotiate from a position of strength."
King George's palace had been built three generations ago in dreams of grandeur, then declined into shabbiness as the kingdom lost much of its wealth. The descent of the Titans had wrecked what was left, but once the conquerors had settled in, they had repaired some of what they had broken. They had restored the roofs and walls and installed an archaic and alien style for the interior decor — floors tiled in geometric designs in red and black with stark white walls, the tables heavy and low. Embers glowed in ceramic braziers, giving off a sweet scent and warding off the autumnal chill.
"They don't like chairs much, do they?" Belle muttered, an attempt to break the oppressive silence as they were escorted to the great hall. She was sure Rumple (who had been there before) could have transported them straight there, but this gave them more time to get a read on the current situation.
"Chairs can be a bit... restrictive... especially for those of, let's say, unusual anatomy," replied Rumple, gesturing vaguely.
Belle glanced at their escorts, both of which appeared human enough under their armor and Prydanian royal livery. Just because not everyone used or wanted chairs didn't mean no one did. What did this mean about whose wishes counted?
The answer to that became obvious when they reached the great hall.
"Typhon..." whispered Rumple, eyes flicking to the ambiguous presence at the far end, atop the king's dais behind the throne.
Belle couldn't even see him at first. Her eyes refused to interpret the swarming mass of darkness and monstrous shapes as a coherent, singular being. There was no obvious point to focus on. Too many pairs of eyes, too many contradictory snarling heads, a confusion of wings and claws that shifted in and out of existence. A serpent coiled at the base of the dais, and Belle wasn't sure if that was a separate entity or merely another emanation of Typhon.
On the throne itself sat an old man, bald-headed and crownless, but clad in a rich burgundy robe. He gave them a smile, and Belle recoiled. Whatever looked out at her out of those eyes was not King George.
Lounging on the floor near the serpent, sitting with crossed legs, a youth in a harlequin's checkered costume played with a pair of dice. He glanced up at their entry, revealing eyes as ancient and inhuman as the man on the throne's.
The herald at the door announced their arrival. "Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One. Lady Belle, the Shatterer of Chains."
"Welcome to Prydania," said the man on the throne. "I am Geryon, the three-in-one."
"Yes, rather a tight fit under poor Georgie's skin, I imagine," quipped Rumple. "And I see you have a new court jester!"
The harlequin grinned. He tipped a hand to his forehead as if in salute, but didn't stand up. "Call me Enyalios."
"Your visit was foreseen," Geryon continued, taking no notice of the interruption. "My lord Typhon offers his hospitality."
"Indeed. Dark One and Forethought's Firebrand..." It was not a single voice that emanated from the shadowy creature but an overlapping multiplicity. The sound resonated strangely, as if the speaker stood in a space that didn't quite match the boundaries of the great hall. "It is to you that we owe our freedom."
Belle winced. They were not directly responsible, but they had helped to overthrow Hades, whose power had secured Tartarus as the ultimate prison. Had it all been a terrible mistake? She had even wanted Tartarus unlocked. Had she thereby damned her own child? Rumple's hand on her back kept her from collapsing under the weight of that guilt.
"Fine way to repay a debt." Rumple glanced at Enyalios, eyebrow raised. "First you send him to attack Schlaraffenland..."
"A mistake." "He failed, did he not?" "You shed enough Titan blood to avenge tenfold what he took." Typhon dismissed the matter with a careless wave of a claw. And perhaps to a Titan the loss of that many lives meant nothing. All part of the game. Though Belle didn't like to think about it, she knew that the Dark One shared that attitude, however much the human part of Rumple regretted that ruthlessness. "We thought you had left Schlaraffenland behind in your rise to power in the Wood Beyond. Congratulations, by the way."
Rumple hissed, "Don't expect us to thank you! Second of all..."
"You stole our baby!" shouted Belle. "Only a monster would tear a child from its parents."
"You speak as if we ripped the fetus from your womb." "When in fact it was you." "You destroyed its fate." "Cast it into the void." The voices shifted, the words warping into sounds rarely heard in the sunlit world. The dark tongue, Belle realized with a start. Was Typhon's use of the language meant as a gesture of solidarity? An offer of alliance? " Luckily we were there to pick up your trash." "Before it expired."
...trash?
TRASH?!
Her tentative optimism shriveled on the word.
"How dare you!" Belle trembled with fury. Rumple's hand on her shoulder held her back from lunging at Typhon.
A blind attack won't get us anywhere, came a whisper of thought. Aloud, Rumple said coldly, in the same language, "Never speak of my daughter that way again."
"It is your own actions that we speak of," retorted Typhon. "You can throw her away, but how dare we mention it?" "Such hypocrisy!"
Spoken in the dark tongue, the words contained enough truth to pierce them into momentary silence. The conflicting claims hung in the air: my daughter and thrown away. It was a magical shaping of reality through words, more primitive than spells and curses.
"Rumple was trying to save us," Belle said at last, unable to refute Typhon's claim directly.
"I couldn't let the gods take my family." Rumple, forced to cede the point, changed the ground.
"It was their fate."
"To hell with fate," snapped Rumple.
Belle shook her head, hearing something else in Typhon's words. "What do you know of our daughter's fate?"
"It's not what we know, but what the Pythia has seen." Typhon spoke once more in the common language of the realm. He gestured, a wave that spanned a multitude of limbs, and the serpent slithered out from the shadow of the dais, a swaying head rising up as it moved. "Tell them."
Cuckoo, cuckoo, cackled the serpent. Not quite speech, not quite thought, Belle heard it as a woman's voice. She understood the meaning much the same way she had always been able to understand the griffons. Death bird cries, old gods die...
"Merlin's prophecy," Rumple murmured to Belle.
"He hardly owns it," said Typhon dryly. "All seers drink from the same spring in the end."
"You think the prophecy refers to our child." Belle's arm moved instinctively over herself, shielding what was no longer there.
"We think the gods tricked you into severing its fate."
"He's tricked fate before," Enyalios put in. He let his dice fall to the floor, where they rolled to a stop on a pair of ones. "No snake eyes for Zeus."
Rumple's eyes narrowed. "All of you want him ended. And if our child offers a chance to that end, you won't have harmed her."
"We saved her." A new voice spoke from behind them. "After you abandoned her to the dark."