Dark, cold and dank, that was the cell Baelfire had been tossed into underneath Kalecaster Castle. He'd been there for weeks if the plates of stale bread and water were anything to go by and for the first time in countless years, Bae thought he should have stayed with Hook. That man wouldn't rest until his father had been killed and Captain Hook was the reason his mother had abandoned them in the first place, but at least he'd genuinely cared about the young teen. Bae was sick of portals and magic deciding his life for him, sick of it destroying everybody he loved. Rumpelstiltskin may have been a cripple, but he'd been a good and loving father until that dagger had entered their lives. He'd become the Dark One with the intention of stopping a war and saving children, but Bae saw that all Rumple had done was trade those lives for his own. At first he'd hated his father for letting him fall through the portal alone, hated him, but, over the years, Bae had come to understand that the Darkness took pride in twisting its host's mind into clinging to the evil as well as the power. If anything of the wonderful papa he'd so adored remained, it was shrouded in darkness and buried so deep nothing was likely to ever find it again.
That damn Darkness was how he'd ended up in the cell as well. Why he sat on a cold stone floor with hardly enough candles to light the place – not that the guards cared about him being able to see properly. Shadows and spiders were Bae's only company. Well, them and whatever poor creature was locked up down there with him. He heard its chains clank and rattle across the stone floors and the sorrowful wails it would let out; it might not have been human, but the cries sounded so young.
Those two men with savage snarls on their faces who'd hauled him to the dungeon in a cage, the knight and the sorcerer, they'd been looking for the Dark One, they'd wanted his father rather than Bae and, from what he'd overheard of the two men growling at each other, he'd only been sucked out of Neverland because he carried his father's blood in his veins. For the life of him, Bae couldn't quite figure out if a cell in this new land was better or worse than Pan and Neverland. As they'd travelled Bae had wondered if he'd been summoned back to the Enchanted Forest, it didn't look like the Frontlands, but similar enough that he'd guessed himself back in his birth realm. However, when the two dungeon guards who'd tossed him in his cell had possessed the ears and tails of cats, Bae had second-guessed himself. Never before had he seen such a creature: fairies, dwarves, trolls, they he all knew of, but cat-men? Had he not seen it for himself he'd not have believed it. Maybe he'd not been pulled back to the Enchanted Forest after all.
His location wasn't something Bae could dwell on, he'd always made the most of wherever he'd ended up before and could do it again. No, what the young teen needed to focus on was his papa. Those men sought the Dark One which meant that, no matter which realm he'd wound up in, Rumpelstiltskin was there and just as hated and powerful. The knight and the sorcerer, Bae had heard them speaking of using him as a bargaining chip, a pawn.
The scruffy boy leaned back against the cold wall and sighed deeply. All the Dark One's Curse ever did was hurt people. How many families had it destroyed? How many good people had gotten their goodness stolen? He fell down on his side then, maybe he could get some sleep, but Bae jolted back up with a yelp when his hand pressed into something sharp. A searching hand soon found whatever the object was amidst the straw; a partially rusted spoon. He hurried to the only sliver of his cell which the lantern light reached to find – yes, it was indeed a spoon. Somebody had sharpened the end down to a point but never had a chance to make their escape attempt. Suddenly footsteps sounded at the end of the hall and Bae rushed to hide the rusted spoon, he had a chance to escape and Bae would wait for the very right moment. He'd survived the Dark One, angry mermaids, pirates and even Peter Pan, he'd damn well survive a dungeon. Getting out wouldn't be easy without help, but Bae was a fighter if nothing else.
~X~
Bruckstone Castle, which sat at the base of the Spikes and was well known for its turret roofs since they were the color of plums, was the jewel of Gorasitz and home to King Atrem Van Winchell first of his name. A good man, a wise king and talented mediator with a quick wit and passion for doing the right thing. He'd learned all he knew from his father, the late King Rupert, and knew that one day his son would follow in his footsteps.
At first he'd chalked his suspicions up to delays and other logical things, but, when Princess Belle had stopped writing to his granddaughter, he had become concerned. Artem and Maurice had been on friendly terms for as long as either of them could remember – Hell, Artem had attended Maurice's coronation and been the one to introduce him to Colette Desjardins. Belle and Demelza had been friends since they were little more than toddlers and a total lack of correspondence from either of them was plain strange.
Artem worried a hand through his thick white beard as the carriage wobbled. He might have been an old king, but he was no fool. Something had happened in Avonlea, something neither Maurice nor Belle could or would mention, and Artem intended to figure out exactly what. That was what had him and his guards make way to St. Claes for an impromptu visit. It was rude to arrive at the castle unannounced, uninvited and with many a suspicion, but Artem felt it would be for the best not to give anyone warning of his arrival.
His son, Prince Gottfried, hadn't been pleased about the sudden departure and would have rather entrusted an envoy to check on the du Marchand family, but he'd reluctantly accepted his father's intentions. Gottfried was a grown man with a daughter of his own, he could cope with completing his father's duties for a short time. Artem had every faith in his boy.
The best horses in Crystella had carried Artem's carriage swiftly from Gorasitz to St. Claes, and one of his mages had pumped enough enhancement magic into those horses to ensure the journey time was halved: cruel to the horses maybe, but Artem felt the situation warranted it. Arrival at Kalecaster Castle had put his teeth on edge, something just didn't feel right to Artem.
The rose gardens Colette had so adored were always kept in pristine condition by Princess Belle, but Artem saw the flower beds full of weeds and drooping. As expected, his arrival caused chaos amongst the staff who apologized profusely for not having a greeting party prepared despite their total lack of warning. Soon he was funnelled over to Duke Pierre LeGume's son, who did his best to smile and reassure the old king all was well. Artem had no like for Gaston, the man was dripping with false bravado and his eyes twinkled with greed. His granddaughter had told him tales of how Gaston would constantly interrupt her time with Belle with stupid things and mock her love of reading; Demelza didn't approve of Gaston and nor did Artem. The dark-haired man did make a good go of trying to get the older man to leave, but Artem remained polite and stuck to his guns about speaking with King Maurice. Didn't matter how desperately Gaston wished to be king, for the time being he was still just a duke's son and Artem outranked him even outside of his own kingdom.
Eventually Gaston caved and set up an audience with King Maurice which eased Artem's nerves a little. He was escorted into the throne room where his friend sat gazing off out the window as though he were asleep with his eyes open: Artem hadn't seen such a display since Queen Colette had died and he suddenly worried for sickly Lorrimer's health.
"It is good to see you, my friend." Began Artem once he'd glared Gaston out the room. "I had started to grow concerned. You've been so lax in your correspondence lately that I felt the need to check on you myself. Forgive the intrusion, Maurice. I hope Lorrimer is well."
Maurice's blue eyes finally turned to Artem but he couldn't shake the feeling of being looked through rather than looked at.
"My son is fine. I have been ill recently but am fine now."
Maurice didn't elaborate further which was odd because he was usually quite talkative, especially with Artem. This wasn't right, not right at all.
"Where is Princess Belle?" He inquired. "Demelza attempted several times to invite Belle to her birthday celebration next month but no reply has come. You know how close the girls are."
"Belle is away," informed Maurice in a monotone voice. "Something about purchasing a rare collection of books in Worynheim."
"I am well aware Princess Belle's devotion to literature borders on the extreme, she got it from the late Queen."
No princess would travel all the way to Worynheim just for some books, not even one such as Belle. There were merchants, middlemen and servants for that sort of thing. Something was seriously wrong with Avonlea and his friend, but Artem kept a pleasant smile on his bearded face.
"You did not need to come all this way. Gorasitz to St. Claes is a long journey. I am honored you'd come personally, but it was not necessary."
That monotone continued to concern the older king. "Nonsense, Maurice, we've been friends for years, I've known you since you were a boy. When no word came from you or Princess Belle, I confess, I grew concerned for little Lorrimer. Maybe it was a bit silly for me to shove my duties on Gottfried and travel here, forgive an old man."
Maurice shook his head and smiled but none of it reached his eyes, those blue orbs were totally dead inside.
"No forgiveness needed, Artem. You will, of course, stay the night to rest before you journey home in the morning. I'm afraid I still feel a little under the weather so I shan't join you for dinner. I hope you will accept Gaston's company in place of my own."
Though phrased politely, King Maurice's words were dismissive and ultimately translated to: go away and don't come back. This wasn't his friend, not at all. Maurice could be gruff and hadn't ever been all that good a strategist, but he cared deeply for his subjects, friends and family, he adored his children and tinkering with things: Colette had always teased he should have been an inventor rather than a king. He'd raised Belle to be independent and treat people with kindness, he'd ensured his son was happy and had a good life while knowing Lorrimer likely wouldn't live to adulthood. Maurice had taken an elf for his queen even though the Church had done all they could to dissuade him and Maurice wouldn't have ever given Gaston LeGume so much free rein of his castle.
Begrudgingly, Artem accepted mostly to keep whomever was really pulling all these strings from thinking he was on to them. That was how he spent the evening pretending he cared about Gaston's hunting tales and that he was dumb enough to not be suspicious in the slightest. The younger man went on and on about his battle achievements but Artem knew Gaston hadn't ever seen a real war, hadn't ever actually fought for anything in his life. He spoke as though he'd already succeeded his father and become Duke LeGume, spoke as though his marriage to Belle was set in stone when Artem knew for a fact Gaston was Maurice's least favorite of her suitors. If what Maurice had told him before all this strangeness had begun was true, then Belle's husband would be Duke Nichol Brandt Van Winchell, head of Artem's branch family; a smart match in his opinion. Whichever monster commanded the House of Red Coats would have made a better betrothed than the pathetic excuse for a man sat across the table from him.
Most of the times Gaston had been mentioned to him was a result of his granddaughter complaining about his arrogance, but now he saw Demelza had been underselling Gaston's unsavory character rather tremendously. Belle had no desire to marry this vain, power esurient man and Artem couldn't blame her. Quite frankly, Gaston acted as though he owned the castle and it disgusted Artem.
Eventually dinner ended and the Dorovothi king managed to lock himself away behind his chamber door fully aware his guards would protect him. As he readied himself for bed, worries continued to swirl around inside his mind and he found himself sat at the foot of his bed for quite some time to ponder. He should have had the foresight to bring Dorovoth's court mage with him, Perseus Lamb had always been a logical mind quick to come up with a theory. Maurice hadn't acted like himself in the slightest, Lorrimer apparently had a fever – which was honestly the only believable part of any of this – and Belle had supposedly undertaken a trip to Worynheim. Gaston had taken to acting like he was the next king and Artem had almost been told to leave like a common messenger. Something was very, very wrong and surely Gaston LeGume was at the centre of it all.
Artem couldn't risk giving his misgivings and reservations away, so he'd play the dumb old king who wanted one more adventure to see his friend before he died, then, once he'd returned to Gorasitz, he'd begin investigating and also look to see if there were any truths to the story of Belle's trip. Maurice might not have been a skilled strategist but Artem was, he'd suss out what was really going on in Avonlea and how to help.
~X~
The next morning Artem awoke with the sun – truthfully, he'd half expected an attempt on his life during the night – and, after a breakfast just as annoying as dinner, Artem had his men make a show of preparing for their departure while taking as long was as physically possible. Artem had used that time to insist upon visiting Lorrimer to put his mind at ease. Though he did have a fever, the nursemaid Evie, assured him that Lorrimer had suffered from them before and this was one of the more mild ones. Whatever evil had wormed its way into Avonlea, it hadn't caused the young prince harm just yet. Once assuring the ten-year-old boy's safety, he'd again spoken with Maurice who'd essentially repeated everything he'd said the day before and only shown a single glimmer of emotion when Artem had mentioned Lorrimer's fever. A spell, whatever this was it could have only been caused by a spell and Artem doubted Gaston capable of such a thing.
When he could no longer stall for time, Artem was forced to take his leave. He climbed into the large carriage and was just about to give the order to return home, when a bell began to ring sounding an alarm. One of his men grabbed a castle guard to learn the cause; an escape from the dungeon. Artem was urged to leave quickly to protect himself, but he sat there a few minutes wondering if it was something he should have stuck around to investigate. Remaining any longer would surely give away he wasn't as dim-witted and doddery as Gaston believed, though perhaps the escape would provide Artem with valuable information.
Artem's blue eyes spared one last glance around the courtyard and paused a moment on the dying rose gardens Belle so adored, yet, out the corner of his eye he spotted movement over at a ditch which was surely sewer access. It took a moment for his old eyes to adjust to the distance but, once they had, Artem saw the movement to be a young boy peeking around for guards. He was shabbily dressed and covered in grime, pale, scared and looked hungry. Was this who'd escaped? Why would a boy have been imprisoned in a royal dungeon? What crime could he have possibly committed? Finally the eyes of king and commoner met and almost a full conversation passed between them, then he ordered his guard commander to get them moving and pushed the carriage door open with a gesture for the boy to hurry to him. The guards were distracted and, if the young teen moved quick enough, the carriage would always stay between him and the watch tower. After all, who would expect the King of Dorovoth to aid a prisoner's escape?
Bae launched for the carriage seeing it was his only real option for escape and, hardly a handful of seconds after the carriage door closed, they'd passed through the castle gates only for the portcullis to drop down behind them. Free, Bae was free.
The aid who sat opposite his king stared at the grubby boy he suddenly shared air with and shuffled away, but held his orders for the urchin to leave the carriage. For several minutes Bae and Artem just stared at one another as though trying to quietly gage who the other was as a person. Once far enough from the castle, Artem ordered his aid to go ride with one of the guards leaving adult and child alone.
"I am King Artem of Dorovoth." He greeted the grubby child he'd just saved; Bae's eyes went wide at the word 'king'. "What is your name, boy?"
"… Baelfire, Your Majesty."
A king. Of all the people who could have helped him escape the knight and sorcerer, a king had come to his rescue. Had he found himself in an 'out of the frying pan and into the fire' situation?
"We have a long journey back to Dorovoth, Baelfire. I have my horses going at top speed, but it will still be a long trip." He flashed a comforting smile. "I'll confess, I'm very worried about my friend and a girl I view as a granddaughter. I think this may have something to do with why you needed to escape the dungeons. You are the escaped prisoner, yes?"
Reluctantly Bae nodded. "Yes… Sire."
"I can tell you are nervous, not every day one flees a palace and talks with a king, but you can relax. I mean you no harm. You are safe with me, I give you my word as a sovereign." Artem ran a hand through his beard as was his habit. "Please, tell me your story as we journey. Perhaps we can assist one another."
Bae didn't want to, it didn't seem like a wise course of action, but he didn't see any other options. The old man before him seemed too smart to believe any quick lie Bae came up with, but mentioning the Dark One would assuredly end poorly. Lying wasn't an option but nor was telling the truth, so Bae just remained silent for a great many minutes until Artem sighed and removed his ornate crown encrusted with rubies. He placed the crown in his lap and brushed imaginary lint from it.
"Speak to me as a person rather than as a king, Baelfire. You may think telling me will worsen your situation, but silence is truly the only harmful thing here. Better to take the chance of exacerbating things than the certainty of it. My intent is not to fan the flames but rather extinguish them. People I care about are missing and bespelled, and you seem to be the only one able to tell me the truth of what is going on here. Help me, Baelfire."
Bae swallowed. Trusting adults hadn't worked out all that well for him in recent memory, but this old king was right, it was surely better to take the chance instead of the certainty. That knowledge was what finally had Bae loosen his lips. While slimes bounced around beside the lane and horses hurried back to Gorasitz, Bae told Artem everything and Artem, being the wise man he was, simply listened.