Chapter Text
Standing on the edge of the forest path, Belle saw the dwarf off, giving Dreamy words of encouragement and bravery to find his True Love and to follow his heart. She smiled until he was out of sight, lost under cover of the misty woods’ darkness. It was only until then that she let her smile fall, her aching cheeks sliding like drops in the ocean. Surrounded by the frothy green of the enchanted woods, Belle knew that every direction she looked in, whether it was spurring forward, retreating, or even going off the path, was wrong. She knew she was deciding her fate with each step she took, but no matter where she went she knew it was not where she wanted to go or where she needed to be.
Belle had been at the little inn for three days, and she grew more heart sick with every passing hour. Why had she let herself fall into such a disillusion that this, being on her own and seeing the bottom of an ale mug every night was fulfilling? She knew what she wanted, yet every choice she made took her farther away from it. She knew what she wanted because she dreamed of it every night, and it always started the same, like sparks behind her eyes and at her fingertips, the first time she’d truly ever felt magic. It had been the moment she’d held his face in her hands, marveling at the simmer of his scales melting away and revealing the tawny skin beneath, lined with age and honesty. His eyes, for just a moment, had been brown and deep and warm like the earth.
Whether it was her heart trying to protect herself, or perhaps her mind, Belle didn’t know, but her dream never surpassed that moment of stunned confusion in the wake of the sleepy dream of True Love’s kiss. Her dream never entered the nightmare, the snarling and the shaking and the fury. No, she would awake and think of that on her own in those dark, sleepless hours until she could drift off again before dawn.
That’s what awaited her beyond the inn’s meager door, and Belle didn’t feel any pressing desire to meet it. Instead of sitting in that smoke filled, ale soaked room until she began to drift, Belle turned into the forest and walked. Her cloak pinned at her neck, the slight chill was more refreshing than bothersome, and it helped clear her mind of the uncomfortably warm thoughts that paraded through the edge of her mind like a paper lantern show. The feelings that came with those memories, the nervous excitement, the gentle desire, the swell of something all-consuming and so pure it physically hurt, filling up her chest with emotions she’d always wondered after but never had.
Afterward, she wondered if she’d ever have it again. She certainly didn’t want it, not unless it was with the same person. Belle was brave, but she wasn’t brave enough to search for what she’d had with Rumpelstiltskin in someone else. She feared too much of the possibility of finding something too close to it, and all she wanted was him.
Before she knew it, she was traipsing down the same path that had brought her to the inn, the one she’d walked three days prior on her journey from the Dark Castle. The inn was situated deep within the enchanted forest, just near the crossroads that led east, from whence Belle had come, Rumpelstiltskin’s lands in the snow capped mountains past the grasslands, and then southwest to Dorstonis. Belle had seen travelers take that path, and it held no small allure for her, thoughts of a sunset horizon bathed in gold, jeweled sandals, thick accents, spiced wine, and a harbor full of ships, many rumored to come from as far as Agraba.
The thought of going somewhere west where no one knew her name had an appeal. Somewhere dry and warm, where the air was spicy and sharp sounded invigorating. It would be a nice change from the richness and verdancy of the north, the cold and wet of the enchanted woods where rivers and lakes met her reflection, of Avonlea’s scars and Rumpelstiltskin’s quiet mountains. Thinking on what she had learned to accept was her home made her feel hollow, her skin prickly and her heart as fragile as glass. She had no idea where she was going truly, but sitting still or trying to sleep wasn’t an option. Her mind was too muddled with emotion, and her heart was too heavy with it.
Belle knew she had a problem on her hands, many in fact. A woman on a journey alone, that was problematic other than the fact she had not much to offer up in the way of the world as far as skill or coin. She had at first accepted the fate of returning to her father, to return to her station as daughter and lady, but the thought of having maids and servants tend to her whims, the very ones she’d learned to do on her own and for her own master made her uncomfortable. She doubted she would ever truly be able to sit comfortably and allow someone else to clean her chamber pot, press her clothing, or make her meals without giving something back in the way of skill or labor. And what would she be returning to? She knew she would not be allowed to stay to herself, that her father would seek out a match for her hand. Belle wondered if it was a selfish thought, not returning because she knew her father could find her a man to marry that would help their lands, gaining them power and wealth. She had dealt herself into Rumpelstiltskin’s hands, hadn’t she? Surely she could do the same with another man, a man perhaps tamer, without magic and rooted evil beyond her years.
The notion of giving herself to anyone she didn’t love, though, turned her stomach, and Belle put the matter to bed with the strict decision she would not allow that to come to pass.
As Belle stepped off the path and onto the thick black soil, rich beneath her slippers, a more pressing thought presented itself. She wasn’t even sure if she could go home. After her months of living with Rumpelstiltskin, she had come to know a bit about magical deals and how specific the parameters could be. She couldn’t be sure that if she returned to her kingdom, did that mean her binding deal with Rumpelstiltskin was broken? Belle entertained the idea about asking at pubs, markets, and fairs in the villages and hamlets she would pass through whether or not news of Avonlea’s state had settled or perhaps bettered in her absence. The thought of the ogres returning to Avonlea because of a decision Belle had gone back on filled her with sickness, and while she loved Rumpelstiltskin with all her heart, she couldn’t put it past him to not be so spiteful.
Though, he had been the one to send her away. Perhaps, then, their deal wasn’t broken but dissolved. She had promised forever, just as he had. There had been no certain clauses, no specific guidelines or exceptions.
No, best not leave it to chance. Not with Rumpelstiltskin.
The Dark One had showed her one contract he’d been drafting once, remembering the way his haggard claws caressed the dry parchment so saintly. His smile had tightened over the course of composing the document, his golden-green scales twinkling by the candlelight, and Belle had felt the magic as she read the words over his shoulder that would raise up a lowly guttersnipe to a princess, twisting like growing tethers of rope. Belle had no doubt it would serve as an appropriate noose.
“Each deal is structured for the receiver, dearie,” he’d told her, his dark gaze flickering at her over his half-moon spectacles. “Just as a spell or a curse. Word choice is, above all things, essential.”
Belle had leaned over his shoulder, placing her hand upon his shoulder, a smile playing at her lips, “Don’t you mean ‘victim’?”
Rumpelstiltskin had turned his head just enough to grace her with his profile before he replied with a slight lisp, “That all depends on whether or not she accepts and signs, doesn’t it, dearie.”
“Indeed, given she reads the damned thing.”
The housekeeper had pulled away then, her broom in hand serving as reminder to continue sweeping the dusty turret that smelled so heavy of herbs and potions that Belle could taste it on the back of her tongue, but not before she could miss the little tug at Rumpelstiltskin’s lips or hear the deep and satisfied chuckle. A frivolous memory, now that Belle thought on it, but one that filled her with warmth on that cool, wet night, and slowly the little moments began to bleed together, something she couldn’t seem to stop. All the gentle touches and uncertain glances, flickering gazes and bitten lips, she took each one that she could recall and began to string them like pearls along the edges of her mind, a barrier against what she knew and what she hoped for. That thread between pleasure and pain was so desperately thin, but she knew she had to sort through each memory and every feeling, lest she lose a single one.
Her walk took her deeper into the woods, the great oaks and frothy green underbrush tickling her ankles. Her cloak disturbed the overgrowth and sent showers of rain droplets across her slippers. Belle breathed in the lushness. She knew she shouldn’t stray so far from the inn, or the road for that matter, but the farther she walked, the freer she felt and the quieter her mind became until all was calm within her again.
The wind singing in the trees was cool on her face, but the absence of the sound of life gave Belle pause. She couldn’t hear the birds, the crickets, or the scurry of rabbits. They’d been common enough on her walk across the countryside, but the utter stillness of the nature around her was striking after spending so much time submerged in it. She couldn’t even hear the music, the drunken ruckus that the inn quelled with every night. As Belle strained her ears, she almost didn’t catch the faint sound of voices dancing across the breeze like wind chimes.
Curiosity piqued, Belle crept through the woods, the voices slowly growing louder so she could hear the words. It was singing, and the words were like a thread pulling her forward, “Lips, ripe as the berries in June, red the rose, red the rose, skin, pale as the light of the moon, gently as she goes...”
The rustle of the tree branches and the tinkling of water became the accompaniment of the song, and Belle’s own feet struck the beat that brought her close enough to hear the rushing of a river that swept through a mead blooming with violets. She wandered closer, staying near to the shadows of the forest as she peered around the trunk of a large oak. What she saw caught her breath, and she dug her nails into the rough bark of the tree.
Mermaids.
Belle’s memory flitted and flashed, dark and heated from the southern sun of a baby with gills behind its ears and hair kissed by fire, bare skinned sirens with hooded gazes, and a kiss that she wished she could forget that made her blush to the tips of her hair. Her meek experience with the infamous mythical race gave her pause enough to remember caution and fear, but these beings were different from Belle’s previous encounter.
There were three maids in a scattered row, each strikingly different, perched upon the rocks of the river. One, with skin as pale green as a peridot that glimmered under the moonlight, lounged languidly between two rocks like she was resting in a hammock. Her long, deep purple tail had strange ridges and ripples that Belle could not quite make out, and her short black hair hid her face well but for her downturned mouth painted as dark a red as cherries. She appeared to be asleep, but the other two most certainly weren’t. The second sat higher than the other two, the rich amber of her scales setting off the caramel of her skin and the cinnamon color of her thick mass of hair that hung over her shoulders and down her back. She had, strangely, a long bow across her lap, and she was plucking the string like tuning an instrument.
The third was a small a wisp of a creature, as fresh and bright as a summer flower, her soft pink ruffled tail swishing water beneath her perch. She held a comb and drew it through her blonde hair, which looked near liquid silver under the moon, and a glass in hand, gazing as if singing to it. She glowed. She wore a sheer wrap that draped across her bosoms threaded with what looked like moonbeams. She was luminous, lustrous, yet so sad that Belle could not think her fair.
Yet she sang with the unearthly voice of a siren, and Belle stared in open mouthed wonder when the other two mermaids joined softly in a beautiful harmony with the littlest. Belle was enraptured, but not without thinking to grip tighter to the tree, letting the bark bite under her nails at the quick. The pain was kept her mind present from under the magic they were casting.
For they sang to her, and she could almost imagine their eyes slowly sliding up to her hiding place. The soulful depth of their words were an older magic, not needing the aid of a glass wand or the talented scratch of a quill to parchment. It was a silver magic, a silver call. Simply with their own devices, they cast their spell with music, “Eyes, blue as the sea and the sky, water flows, water flows; heart running like fire in the night, gently as she goes...”
They began a wordless cadence, and Belle narrowed her gaze, watching the water as it brightened, rushing faster, sparkling like diamonds. The mist kissed her cheeks and tasted sweet on her lips with just a hint of salt in the air. Belle rolled her tongue over the taste, her eyes fluttering closed under the light tones of the mermaids and the way nature bent and swayed to their voices. All the singers and all the harpists in Avonlea could not have produced a sweeter sound.
“Seraphina, I think your song has caught a lure.”
The deep voice was low, like a quiet thunder beneath the earth, and it pulled Belle out from under the heavy fog of magic. When she opened her eyes, she was standing not two feet from the riverbed. Belle couldn’t remember having moved from under the cover of the forest. In fact, she didn’t remember moving at all.
And all three mermaids were gazing at her.
“What brings you out here, mistress?” the littlest asked, her voice just as sweet as when she’d sang.
Belle hesitated, remembering Rumpelstiltskin’s warning on the matter of merfolk. The thought of her former master and almost-lover brought her memories tight against the barrier of her mind like twisting a necklace of pearls about her throat. It helped clear the remainder of the magic that clung to her, and she replied, “I was walking when I heard your song. Forgive me for the intrusion.”
The green skinned nymph smiled, her thick black hair curling over the side of her face as she sat up from her lounge of rock. “Quite a bit far from home aren’t you, northerner?”
Blushing, Belle took a half step back. She knew her accent gave her away anywhere she went. The frontlands had a bit of a richer tone to their voices.
Seraphina, the little blonde, tilted her head to the side. Up closer, Belle felt an urge to avert her eyes. The girl was young, and she had a traditional beauty. Blameless skin, wide blue eyes, plump lips, like the porcelain dolls the toy makers of Avonlea’s villages would send her as a child. “Are you a northern lady, mistress?” she asked so sweetly, smiling with wide but straight teeth. She set her comb in her lap, holding her looking glass with both hands.
“I- I am,” Belle looked down, knowing she should turn and leave. “Have you been in the north?”
“As far as the ice waters,” the littlest said with a slight smile. “We see much.”
“All,” her green sister added.
Belle hesitated, clasping her hands together to keep from fidgeting. “Have you... heard of Avonlea?”
The three mermaids shared a glance between them before the eldest replied, “We haven’t traveled to the frontlands in some time. They were at war; the water was poisoned.”
Well, that had certainly been true. Her curiosity was burning now, and as long as she dug her heels a little bit harder into the ground, perhaps she could just observe a bit longer. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know mermaids could travel up river. Or in freshwater.”
All three mermaids snickered, squirming in their seats like schoolgirls. The maid with the bow leaned forward on her seat, watching Belle with golden eyes. She was exotic, her amber and gold striped tail lined with sheer frills, reminding Belle of a lionfish. She rested her elbows on her knees (or at least where Belle thought her knees would be), but stayed perched above her sisters.
Belle cautiously kept her eye on the bow.
“It is a bit uncomfortable after a while,” the littlest admitted. “After all, whatever walkers put into the water, we breathe it in.”
“‘Walkers’?” asked Belle.
“Yourself, mistress,” the girl said not unkindly. “Those with legs on land.”
“You mean humans.”
The golden scaled mermaid snorted in derision, and she’d been so quiet up until that point that she startled Belle, “You mortals are thick,” she clucked, her voice warm, her words broken as if she knew little of the language she spoke. “You think that humankind are the only walkers on land? Foolish child.”
“Yes, there’s quite a few beasts that stalk the woods,” the green skinned beauty spoke, glancing up at her sister. The two shared a look that spoke volumes while the littlest gazed into her looking glass resolutely, her plump lips pressed in a firm line as if having a disagreement with herself over her own beauty.
The green skinned mermaid broke her gaze and leaned her elbow against one of the rocks. “What is your name, child?”
She thought for a fleeting moment of giving them a pseudonym. It had proved useful in the hamlets she’d passed through, disguising herself under different aliases. People welcomed her with carelessness and ignorance, another weary traveler to spend a few words with. Not the cast off caretaker of the Dark One, the renowned Lady Belle who had saved her village and family from the ogres.
And she knew, above all, that names had power.
But not having a name had power, too. Had she known who the woman in the forest all those days ago had been, she would have stayed away, hidden even as the carriage passed her. Not knowing a name could get one into trouble just as easily. They already knew from whence she came. It was just as well that they were mermaids. She doubted they would be traversing across the kingdoms spilling her secrets.
“Belle,” she answered honestly, and at the last minute gave a bit of a curtsey. Merfolk, she’d read, were vain things but also of the old blood. Protocol, politeness, and diplomacy were called for in most cases, and she didn’t want to irritate this race. Of that she was certain.
The violet tailed temptress watched Belle, and when she curtsied her lips twitched in a bit of a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She inclined her head and replied, “I am Kyme. My sisters, Seraphina,” she glanced at the littlest who was busy tucking her hair behind her ears. “And Chryseis.”
Seraphina lay her looking glass aside and slipped into the water. Belle watched as her hair and scales glittered under the surface before she rose out near the riverbed at Belle’s feet. She crossed her arms, resting her chin upon her elbows to gaze up at the human. “Why are you so far from home?”
Belle crouched down so she and the mermaid were almost at eye level, bringing her cloak around her body closer. Her gaze fell down to the silver white tips of her shoes in the dirt. “It’s a bit of a long story.”
“Oh, I love stories,” the girl-child said, her eyes bright at the prospect. “Won’t you tell me, please?”
“I’m afraid that it’s not a happy one.”
“That’s all right, I’d still like to hear it,” Seraphina beamed, her tail fins flipping behind her, splashing gaily.
Chryseis rolled her eyes and tossed her hair, resting her cheek on her fist, reprimanding her little sister, “It is the telling that hurts, sweet.”
“Broken spirits are common enough,” Kyme allowed, her eyes never leaving Belle.
Belle smiled sadly in return, meeting her eyes over the littlest mermaid's head. “And broken hearts?”
“Even more so.”
Seraphina leaned up, a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. “You could come with us.”
Belle froze, staring down at the young little mermaid. The longer she held her gaze, the sweeter the girl’s face appeared, youthful and vibrant. For a moment, there was nothing more Belle would rather do than take the mermaid’s hand and let her lead her into the water. There were mysteries, adventures, legends all waiting to be discovered, things Belle could only ever dream of.
“Perhaps not this night,” Kyme said cautiously, and when Belle lifted her eyes to the other two maids, they were sliding down the rocks to splash into the crystal river water. “It is, after all, a journey not easily made,” the green skinned beauty paused, watching the mermaid called Chryseis disappear beneath the surface before she waded closer to Seraphina and Belle, who was startled by the other mermaid. She was larger than Belle had first realized, a full hour glass shape and, were she human, probably two heads taller than Belle.
“Take this,” Seraphina said with a bright smile, offering the silver looking glass up to Belle with a trembling hand. As Belle took the lovely mirror, Seraphina added, “There is a place for you with us if you find yourself without one on land.”
Belle startled, almost dropping the mirror at the words. Before she could properly reply, the young mermaid dipped below the water and swam away with the current, a streak of rose and moonlight beneath the surface, leaving Belle alone with the one called Kyme. The eldest looked up at Belle, a smirk playing about her lips when Belle asked, “Why... why would she offer me such a thing?”
“Seraphina is a youngling,” Kyme wrinkled her nose unpleasantly, her voice dripping with disdain. “Too saccharine for my taste, and greener than a newborn lamb. She knows little and understands even less.”
“Oh,” Belle whispered, looking down at the mirror before offering it to Kyme. “Then you should take this.”
“No, the gift is for you,” Kyme’s eyes flashed sadly for a moment under the fall of her dark hair and she floated back. “There’s a binding to gifting magic. Mustn’t tamper, you see,” hesitating, the mermaid tilted her head, “I urge you, child, to heed this advice, though: don’t doubt your bearings, and don’t throw them away because your spirit is broken. There’s a reason the mind sits atop the heart. Listen to it.”
Belle swallowed thickly, slowly pushing herself to stand. Her leg muscles cramped against the strain of crouching for so long, but she cradled the mirror close and nodded in understanding. The mermaid nodded once in return before diving below and following the current after her sisters, leaving Belle alone with only the mirror and the memory of their song.