The only clue the man had to his past and identity was the letter "R." It was embroidered on the handkerchief found in his pocket. It was assumed that was his initial. He couldn't even be positive it was his handkerchief. He might have borrowed it for all he knew. At any rate, it gave the healers something to go off of to guess his name.

One of them asked if he minded being called Robert. He didn't. It was a good name, and as good of a guess as any to what his real name was. If the handkerchief was borrowed, he supposed it was his now. The original owner must be dead. No one survived that battle against the ogres, except him. In some ways he supposed it was better that he couldn't remember, as bad as that battle must have been.

He'd been found unconscious a short way from the other soldiers. It was assumed he'd been tossed by an ogre. As bad as that must have been, it had saved his life. He'd survived with only an injured leg which he was told would heal in time, and a head injury that left him with no memories. Some healers from the nearest village had heard the sound of the battle, and after all was quiet, they went to search for survivors.

No one in that village had ever seen him before, and once he was healed there was no reason for him to stay there. It was beyond the healers' skills to restore his memory, and there was nothing more to be done for his leg. Times were hard, and no one wanted to take on a charity case. He'd left that village behind him after paying the healers with what little gold had been in his money pouch. He wasn't even sure what he had done for a living. He only knew no one there knew him. Perhaps in the next village, or the next after that, someone would.

People thought his accent sounded like he was from Dunbroch, or more likely the Frontlands. He decided to set out towards the Frontlands, figuring someone there would know him. It was a sparsely populated place, with many miles between villages. Still, if he kept going someone was bound to recognize him sooner or later. If luck was with him the sight of a familiar face might bring his memory back.

He made it as far as Avonlea before walking was simply too much for him. He ended up setting down on the rim of a fountain, closing his eyes and stretching out his leg. That brought some relief, but he knew wouldn't make it anywhere else that day. Honestly, he asked himself, what reason did he have to rush anywhere? He didn't know for certain if he had any family looking for him. It would take a long time to visit every village in the Frontlands if that were where he was even from.

He grimaced thinking of all the people he'd meet who were sure to look at him strangely. Some of them might even think it was only a trick to obtain a handout given in sympathy. He had no more idea how he was going to earn a living than what his name was. It would take months to reach the Frontlands, even if his leg was completely healed. He didn't even know the way. He would need to eat and have shelter as he went, as well as ask directions at every stop. He'd be relying on the charity of others the whole time.

He would have gone in search of someone who might let him have a meal when he was distracted by a lady in a blue dress. She walked toward him reading a book, with it covering her face so it must have been impossible for her to see. He was surprised at how well she could maneuver through the streets while reading and found the sight almost amusing. It must have been a highly intriguing novel.

The lady sat down beside him, and that was the first time she looked up from the book. Rumple had thought her dress was a pretty shade of blue. That was nothing compared to her eyes. He could have looked at them for hours. As it was, he looked at them a moment too long to not be accused of staring. He wondered how any man could not stare. She was so beautiful he couldn't imagine he'd ever seen anyone as lovely as her.

"Sorry, Dearie," he caught himself and looked away when he realized she'd seen him staring.

"Are you all right?" the lady asked. She glanced at the walking stick, and noticed he looked slightly disoriented.

"As all right as I'll be for a while," he answered.

"What's your name?" the lady asked, her concern clear. He couldn't help laughing a bit at the question.

"I wish I knew." When she looked at him in confusion, he explained how he couldn't remember anything before he was injured.

"That's terrible!" she couldn't help shouting when he finished his story. "And- you have nowhere to go? The healers just sent you away like that?"

"There was nothing more a healer could do for me," he explained. "My leg just needs time, and no one seems to know how to bring my memory back."

Now it was her turn to stare, but in her case, it was caused by an idea forming.

"What are you calling yourself until you do find out who you really are?"

"They've been calling me Robert." He shrugged. "Not a bad name. I just wish I knew if it was mine or not."

"Well Robert," the lady told him "I'm Belle. Why don't you stay in Avonlea for a few days? I mean, no offense but it looks like the healers' work wasn't done yet." She held out her hand. "Come with me, and we'll find a place for you to rest up a few days. Maybe we can even find you a job for a while. You'll need money to get wherever you're going, and you'll travel faster once your leg is well. If you do too much on it too soon, you're only going to make it worse. No point in having it end up giving out on you."

While he hated to impose, he knew it made more sense than to just keep going. She was right. He nodded and accepted the hand up.

"Thank you, Belle." He grabbed his walking stick and followed her. He had a long road ahead of him, but things were already looking a little brighter.