For one fleeting moment, Belle wondered if she had made a mistake. Too reckless, too impulsive. Too late. No time for second thoughts.
No space for any thoughts. She felt an alien presence pressing down on her mind, filling it with incomprehensible patterns that squeezed her to the edges of herself. All sense of identity evaporated under that weight, until she thought she heard Rumple's voice calling her name.
Belle.
She was Belle. She remembered. She had done this before, had to piece herself back together, had to redefine her sense of self when she had first shared Rumple's heart.
Rumple?
This wasn't like speaking to Our Grandmother. This was a force that could shatter mountains or drown continents. Belle fought to hold onto her name. On the fringes of that power, she and Rumple forced it to acknowledge their existence independent of the pattern it carved out of reality.
Time froze. They were seen — their souls flayed by that terrible gaze — and judged. What was worthy of preservation? This life, this world, this story? The road was under their feet: would they walk it? Fate played the music, but the dance was theirs to shape.
In her mind's eye, Belle nodded and took Rumple by the hand. So be it. The thought flowed between them. Then a word was dropped in their minds, distorting their thoughts to accommodate a tiny fraction of the incomprehensibly vast sentience.
Deal.
And time moved again. The sword slid easily out of the stone. The memory of that other presence evaporated in the blink of an eye.
Belle instinctively moved closer to Rumple, who mirrored her movement just as naturally. Their hands clung together, wrapped around the hilt of Excalibur. It burned under their touch. The fire of Prometheus that lingered in the metal (that had merged sword to stone) made it malleable.
An intense burst of magic sent Belle and Rumple stumbling back, each of them clutching a piece of what had been Excalibur.
Belle blinked at her hand, finding a flat, heavy disk clutched in her fist. She opened her fingers and saw what looked like a coin, the edges serrated, one face marked with a pentacle and the other with her name. She could feel the link binding her to the coin, but no sense that it could be used to command her. She glanced up to see that Rumple was similarly examining the wand that had been the other half of the sword.
"A wand and a coin," said Merlin. "Interesting choice."
In truth, Belle wasn't sure who had chosen these forms. "It's been a cup, then a sword. Time for a change."
Rumple looked at the coin in her hand, his face dark. "You are more than the price paid for magic..."
Belle shook her head. "No, it's not like that. Maybe it does represent a deal, but a deal is something that benefits both parties. I take it as a positive sign that it's not a dagger anymore. The power is ours to keep or give away as we choose... not something to be violently severed." She gave Merlin a sidelong glance.
The Sorcerer sighed. "I take your point."
Rumple's expression eased. "Perhaps you're right. That's a pentacle on the coin. Pentacles are associated with the element of earth, and with command over spirits."
"And wands?" Belle raised her eyebrows at him.
But it was Merlin who answered warily, "Fire. Ambition. Change. The darkness remains with you. With both of you."
Both of them retained the physical marks of the Dark One.
"Balanced by the light." Belle could see it more clearly than ever. The diverse strands of magic were twisted together more tightly than ever.
Merlin nodded. He stepped over to the now-empty stone and touched it thoughtfully. It disintegrated under his hand into a pile of dust. Merlin took a breath. Then, "It seems the fate of the storytelling realms has been entrusted into your hands..."
"That doesn't mean much while your pet Author is writing the story," said Rumplestiltskin.
Merlin looked at him. "His name is Isaac Heller. He was born in the Land Without Magic, as all Authors must be."
"Why?" Belle asked. People everywhere could make up stories, couldn't they? It was more proof that Merlin and his Apprentice had been concealing the truth.
"Because even though it's called the Land Without Magic, it is the source of the power that is now channeled through the Author," Merlin explained reluctantly.
"Isaac Heller, yes, your Apprentice told us. We looked for him before, but were unable to locate him," said Rumple.
"I can help you with that." Merlin waved a hand, summoning a large cauldron to the space where the stone had been. He concentrated. Magic swirled in the cauldron, rising in a cloud of smoke. He dropped in a slip of paper containing Isaac's signature. "My apprentice collected this for me back when the Author was chosen."
An image coalesced from the smoke: the front of a theatre, brightly lit in the night, a city street. Then the point of view swooped through the doors to find a man standing at a podium in front of an enthusiastic crowd. An oversized poster formed the backdrop, a portrait of Isaac Heller and his new book: Heroes and Villains.
"That's his happy ending, is it?" muttered Rumple. "Where is that? It looks like the Land Without Magic, but..."
"No, it isn't." Merlin waved his hand again. The image dissolved into a complex pattern of lines and dots of light, almost like a map. "He is within the storytelling realms."
"The question is, can you take us there?" asked Belle.
"Yes, of course." Merlin dispelled the 'map' and summoned a doorframe.
Rumple exchanged a glance with Belle. This method of drawing portals, it seemed like something they could learn for themselves. Belle's fingers touched the coin in her pocket, visualizing the shape of the spell in her mind. Next time.
She and Rumple followed Merlin through the portal. The double doors that closed behind them were one of many that fed into the theatre. They found themselves in the open space along the wall, standing behind an ornate pillar. Their arrival went unnoticed as the crowd went wild with cheers and applause. The audience settled eventually, sorting themselves into a queue to approach the author one at a time for the book signing.
There was an old-fashioned feel to the setting, the clothes recalling an earlier age than the Storybrooke Belle was familiar with. She noted the lack of cellphones and digital cameras. A quiet wisp of magic from Rumple dressed them to blend in, but their faces were already human in this realm.
"So there's magic here," Rumple murmured, looking down at his hand and flexing his fingers. "Despite appearances."
Belle nodded. She could see it, just under the surface, a touch of magic lurking at the heart of the people here, even the theatre itself. It felt different from the magic of the Enchanted Forest. It breathed life into a realm that was locked in a single moment of time. The natives of this land still had a concept of cause and effect, before and after, day and night, illusion patching the rough edges into a coherent whole.
"A realm of archetypes and tropes," said Merlin. "Come. Let's see what Isaac Heller has to say for himself."
But Rumple hesitated, looking reluctant to mingle with the crowd, and Belle didn't want to draw too much attention by pushing themselves forward. She said, "All these people came to see him. Let's not ruin their fun..."
They seemed to be real fans, and not under any enchantment. Had their stories been rewritten, the way it had been for the people of Storybrooke? Was that what was in Isaac's book? A nearby table was stacked with copies of Heroes and Villains. Belle took one and skimmed through it. When she saw herself and Rumplestiltskin mentioned, she slowed down to read more carefully.
In the book, she and Rumple were happily married with an infant son. Rumple was a sorcerer knight known as the "Light One", a great hero who lived humbly in a cottage with his family. There was no mention of any Dark One in the story. Snow White and Regina seemed to have swapped roles, while Emma (no longer the Savior) was banished to an island prison. Zelena was alive and well, the book ending with her marriage to Robin Hood.
It was nothing like the reality Belle had awoken to in Avonlea.
"This is just a story," said Rumple, who had been reading over her shoulder. "Not my cup of tea, mind you, but harmless enough."
"The characterization feels a bit heavy-handed," Belle agreed. "The art is beautiful, though. But I don't understand. I thought everything he wrote was supposed to turn into reality. Wasn't that the point?"
"Maybe he didn't use the magic pen," suggested Rumple. "Or maybe he was no longer the Author when he wrote it."
Merlin nodded. "If he used his powers to write himself into the story, to give himself a happy ending, then he would cease to be the Author."
"Because then he would be like us, just another person from the storytelling realms," Belle realized. "But I don't understand. Why bother changing our stories, when he could just change his own?"
"A question for Mr. Heller to answer," said Rumple darkly.
They waited until the book signing was over and the crowd dispersed to accost the Author. As chance (or was it the effect of this realm?) would have it, he spotted them coming and made a run for it. The ensuing chase through the streets and back alleys could have come straight from a movie or TV show, ending with the three of them cornering Isaac and dragging him into a convenient empty warehouse by the train tracks.
He seemed to recognize all of them. It must have to do with him being the Author, thought Belle. His face showed a mixture of fear and resentment.
"Sit, please." Rumple forced the man onto an empty crate, then sat down across from him. Belle stood next to her husband, while Merlin loomed over them.
"Why can't you just leave me alone? Haven't you guys done enough to me already?" Isaac complained sullenly. "I don't work for you anymore, in case you haven't noticed."
"You accepted the job," Merlin said. "More than a job, a sacred trust — a trust you betrayed."
Isaac snorted. "What a load of bullcrap. If an author isn't allowed to create his own stories, is he even an author?"
Belle frowned. "He does have a point. People think the Author is the one writing our stories, but the Apprentice told us he was only supposed to record them..." At Merlin's nod, she continued, "It would have been more honest to say 'Chronicler' or 'Recorder'."
Rumple looked at Isaac. "But regardless of the job title, why would that prevent you writing whatever strikes your fancy on your own time? In the Land Without Magic, that's called having a 'day job'..."
"I know. That's what I had before the old man suckered me into this 'Author' gig." Isaac scoffed. "Turns out once I picked up that magic pen, that was it. I couldn't write without that damn thing in my hand. Normal pen, typewriter, didn't matter — total block."
Belle shot Merlin a startled look. "Is that true? You bound his creativity to the pen?"
Merlin sighed. His next words were predictable: "It was for the greater good. For the survival of all the storytelling realms."
Rumple summoned a fresh copy of Heroes and Villains to his hand with a flick of his wrist. "Looks like you found a loophole, dearie."
Isaac crossed his arms and scowled.
"I understand writing yourself out of a bargain you didn't understand," said Belle. "But why... what did you have against us, to write the people of the Enchanted Forest into such a horrible reality?"
Isaac looked Belle over. "'Horrible'? That depends on your point of view, doesn't it? Anyway, I was doing someone a favor."
Merlin gave Isaac a stern look. "'Someone'? The 'someone' who freed you from your prison?"
"Sentenced to an eternity of two-dimensional solitary confinement with no trial. But you sorcerers and fairies think you're above little things like human rights, eh?" Isaac shook his head. "You fancy yourselves heroes, pushing around people like me, lying to us and using us for your 'greater good'. But you can't keep us down forever."
"Who let you out, Mr. Heller?" asked Rumple.
"Someone else who got tired of being kicked around by the higher powers, who decided to take matters into his own hands." Isaac gave Belle a sly look. "You may have met him before. He was the head Inquisitor of Avonlea... but thanks to me, he finally got the promotion he was denied all his life. Now he's the Archbishop."
"The Archbishop!" Belle was appalled. She hadn't given it much thought before, but now she realized how strange it was. Rumple had said he had excluded the clerics from the Dark Curse, so how had the Inquisitor even reached Storybrooke to steal the page that had imprisoned Isaac? "But he didn't have magic... did the gods help him?"
"They wouldn't!" Merlin sounded quite sure of that. "None of this is in accord with the visions they granted me through the Grail."
"Perhaps they think you failed them," said Isaac. "But no, he had help from a more mundane source. It seems Daddy Beauty was worried about his daughter's slide down the slippery slope with Mr. Beast here."
Belle gasped. "My father? He did this?"
"He was afraid you were turning into some kind of monster, so he wanted to make sure you were human and stayed that way." Isaac eyed her critically, then shrugged. "Guess that part didn't work out for him. You may look all right, but your aura gives the game away."
"'Human' is overrated!" Belle said heatedly. "He had no right to... what did he do, exactly? You said he helped the Inquisitor."
Isaac nodded. "Maurice found a portal in the Sorcerer's Mansion. That place responds to wishes, so the Inquisitor was on the other side of the door for him. The Inquisitor knew all about my plight. Seems he was in the loop with the Apprentice and the Blue Fairy. Even a leashed dog can overhear a secret or two."
"So then they let you out..." said Rumple.
"And the Inquisitor told me the truth." Isaac glanced up at Merlin. "The truth you're still trying to hide, aren't you?"
"He's dropped plenty of hints." Belle was used to Rumple being cryptic. If Merlin was the same way, Belle guessed that there was something he didn't want to say straight out, either out of shame or guilt, or because it was painful. She turned to address him directly. "The power of the Author to change our reality comes from the Land Without Magic. You appointed him to record our history and gave him that power. Why?"
Merlin was silent, waiting for them to piece together the answer.
"A wasteland. Our reality was in danger of failing." Rumple glanced between the Sorcerer and the Author. Then his expression changed. His jaw dropped. "Or... Or were we never real, until someone wrote us into existence? Is that it?"
Isaac applauded ironically. "You got it. All your realms of story, all you fairy tale characters — it's all a dream! There's some guy in the Land Without Magic dreaming it all up."
"Not all of it," sighed Merlin. "Some things entered that didn't belong. Nimue's people and the Darkness that followed them. Your mother, Belle. But otherwise, yes. It's true. Our world was created by a human with a gift for dream travel."
Belle considered the idea. After so many Dark Curses and false memories, the idea that they weren't real no longer struck Belle with as much terror as it might. She had known for a while now that their lives were reflected in the fairy tales of the Land Without Magic. It wasn't that much of a leap from 'fictional character' to 'character from someone's dream'. We're real if we think we're real...
"But think about it. Humans don't normally sleep forever. When the dreamer woke up, well..." Isaac snapped his fingers. "Poof! Pop goes your reality."
"It was a dream of Camelot, the legend," said Merlin. "And when the dreamer woke, it shook the realm apart, leaving the devastation you saw in my soulscape. Only the grail persisted, the distilled essence of the dream in physical form."
"And where were you in all this?" asked Rumple. "Are you a dream, too, or did you crawl in from elsewhere?"
"I was... I was always Merlin. Some remnants of the original dream proved too tenacious to dissolve into the ether." Merlin's eyes went distant. "I can't recall the exact circumstances of my rebirth or my previous existence. I only remember the wasteland, and a sense that I was fleeing some horror. Then the grail found me and I understood..."
"What did you understand?" Belle tried to follow his train of thought. Her hand went to the coin she had slipped into a pocket. Excalibur had not explained anything to them, but perhaps the grail's visions had been more concrete and detailed.
"Our creator — a man named Rhonabwy — was asleep again. Dreaming. So in order to preserve our world, we had to ensure that he remained asleep." Merlin paused, eyes downcast, letting the implication sink in. "The grail had granted me the power to draw portals, even to the Land Without Magic. I brought with me a potion."
"A sleeping curse, or something like it." Rumple understood all too well.
"It was assumed that the man had fallen ill and died," Merlin continued softly. "I... I took him from his grave to a secret chamber under a hollow hill. There he remains to this day, sound asleep."
Belle nodded slowly. No wonder he looked so guilty. "A dark deed, but you did it to save your whole realm. So reality was stabilized. What did you need the Author for?"
"Alas, Rhonabwy was only mortal. He wearied of the dream, his spirit no longer able to sustain our stories." Merlin glanced at Isaac. "But there are others who have the same gift. I sought out another to take up the burden. I enchanted a pen to bind the new dreamer to the old dream, and the book he wrote became the spine of the storytelling realms."
"Realms? How did that happen, if the original dream was only of Camelot?" asked Rumple.
"The new dreamer came with a new dream, stitched to the old by the book. And so it went down the generations," explained Merlin. "One of Isaac's predecessor was a collector of fairy tales, so his dreams created your Enchanted Forest."
"I see." She had to sit down. Belle pulled up a crate next to her husband and dropped onto it. "I think I need a moment."
Rumple caught her hand and squeezed gently, but it was obvious his thoughts were spinning frantically under the surface.
Merlin and Isaac both watched them with varying degrees of amusement and sympathy. Then impatience won out, and Isaac started to get up. "If that's all..."
Rumple cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Tell me this: if you're not the Author anymore, what's keeping the Inquisitor's version of reality intact?"
Isaac rolled his eyes. "He found a new Author, obviously."
"Wait, can he do that?" asked Belle, glancing at Merlin.
Merlin nodded. "The pen is enspelled to bind itself to a suitable dream traveller."
"But it needs to be someone from the Land Without Magic," said Belle slowly. "Where would he find that? No one from outside can get in to Storybrooke."
At that, Isaac's lips twisted in a nasty smile. "See, that's where you're wrong. There is one person."
Belle thought about it. Then, in dawning horror, she realized who he meant.
Rumple, coming to the same conclusion, gasped. "You mean..."
"Yes. Young Henry Mills." Isaac smirked. "Aren't you proud that your grandson turned out to be so gifted?"
Henry is the Truest Believer, Belle remembered. It wasn't surprising that he was a dreamer.
Then Merlin said what she hadn't wanted to think about. "A gift delivered straight into the hands of that madman. That power, under the Inquisitor's command — it doesn't bear thinking about."
"I'm sure the Inquisitor — excuse me, the Archbishop — will treat the boy with loving care," said Isaac with a sadistic undercurrent to his sarcasm. "Just as you treated poor old Rhonabwy..."
"No." Rumple was suddenly on his feet. He looked like he wanted to hit Isaac with his cane, but lacking that, he merely loomed menacingly. "I'll find him. I'll free him, and put a stop to this!"
Finally shaking off her shock, Belle got up and joined him. "We. You mean we..."
He shot her a quick, grateful smile. "Of course, sweetheart. But you know what this means... I didn't want to make you go back to..."
"To Avonlea." Belle gulped at the thought. To face my father again. "It's all right. We have to go." What choice did they have? Rumple might have abandoned anyone else in Storybrooke, but not his grandson — not the son of his beloved Baelfire. And Belle would not abandon him. She repeated softly, "We have to go..."