Sorry about the delay but this chapter ended up being almost four times longer than the first one! Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews and support. Your suggestions helped shaped this final chapter. I should warn you, however, it's much darker than the others, and gets a little bit violent near the end. You have been warned! Love you all!

Chapter 5: Retribution

Moe French, formerly King Maurice, sat dejectedly at the pub's counter and nursed a beer. It was his fourth or fifth of the night, he couldn't quite remember which. With the curse broken just days ago, memories, real memories, had come flooding back in torrents. All around him, people everywhere were slowly picking up the pieces, reuniting with lost loved ones and rallying together to fight the evil Queen who did this to them.

Maurice cared not for their battles. As a King he should have been right in the thick of things, commanding his knights to aid Snow White in fighting. But he couldn't muster up the will to do much of anything.

Snow White had lovingly been reunited with her daughter, their Savior. His own daughter, who he had long believed dead, was alive and well, in the company of none other than Rumpelstiltskin. The last time he had seen her, she had been manipulated into giving up her freedom. It seems she has been fooled again. His poor little girl, who looked so much like the beloved wife he lost twelve (no, forty, he corrected himself) years ago, was now lost to him forever as well.

Yesterday he had given her the choice, him or Him. She had chosen the enemy. How could he ever look upon her again, knowing she has been bewitched into the beasts' bed, foolishly believing she was in love? That wasn't love. It was dark magic, as black as they come. He had to find a way to free her mind, to rescue her soul, before it was too late. He sought the answers in the bottom of his glass, hoping its lulling effects would grant him inspiration.

"Maurice?" asked a tentative voice behind him. "Sir Maurice? Is that you?"

It took more effort than should have been necessary for Moe to swivel his bar stool around and peer up at the new arrival. Perhaps this was his sixth drink. He had lost count an hour ago.

The man who approached him could not have been more than thirty years old. His dark hair was perfectly coifed, not a strand out of place, and his eyes were large pools of black ink. The silk suit he wore probably cost more than Moe spent on a month's rent, rent he paid to the blasted monster that had bedeviled his little angel! The thought of the imp made his head spin and his eyes unfocused. Or maybe it was due to his seventh drink?

"Whoa, there! Maurice, calm down, friend. That's an order. Don't you recognize me?"

Order? Who dares order a King? He desperately tried to steady his drunken gaze and focus on the face in front of him, but there were currently three now, all speaking at the same time.

"It's me. Prince Harold. Remember?" The soothing voice did sound familiar, but there was no way in Seven Hells this man could be his old friend Harry. Harry was dead, has been dead for 29 years. No wait…twenty nine plus twenty eight…oh who the Hell cares! He's gone and he's never coming back.

Moe reached out and squeezed the man's arm. It was solid beneath his grip, so he clearly wasn't a ghost or a hallucination brought about by drink. This man was obviously an imposter. "Prove it," he slurred.

The imposter sighed and sank into the next stool. "You were my bodyguard, my most trusted knight. The last time you saw me, we were having a drink at a tavern in Avonlea, celebrating my betrothal to Princess Elena, remember?"

Elena? The room seemed to stop spinning at the sound of his late wife's name, sobering him up better than a dunk in a cold river. "My liege!" he garbled, willing the memories to surface through his inebriated mind. "You disappeared, never came back. We looked for you for months! Everyone believed you were dead."

"I was as good as," he murmured darkly. "I was cursed, unable to show myself. But I was still there. I saw how you all searched for me, worried about me. I saw…everything." He remained silent for a moment, sipping his own drink, whiskey by the smell of it, and gazed intently at Moe. "I saw you marry Elena."

Maurice swallowed audibly, looking at his Prince, his commander. "You were gone," he whispered.

Harold sneered. "Yes, I suppose I was. No matter. She was clearly distraught and you were there when she needed you. Thank you for taking such good care of her. I hear you made a fine King."

That was a bit of an exaggeration. Maurice had been a soldier, a knight. He was no governor. Elena had been the true power, the rightful ruler, although as the man he received all the credit. After her passing, the kingdom had slowly unravelled until there was nothing left. He had lost everything, but most especially his beautiful Belle.

As if Harold had access to his thoughts he added, "I heard about the…unfortunate situation with your daughter. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"She's not dead!" he declared, feeling some measure of emotion for the first time in days.

"She's as good as," he replied with a scowl. "She's with Rumpelstiltskin. What fate could be worse? Surely there must be something we can do. She must be saved."

"There's nothing that can be done, not as long as she's with him. He has no weaknesses."

"Oh, I wouldn't go as far as say that," Harold replied, smiling broadly. Even though Moe was clearly drunk, he could tell that the smile did not reach his friends eyes. He looked almost manic. "Barkeep! Another beer for my friend here. I have a proposition for you, Maurice."

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For the first time in Belle's life, she truly felt free!

She was free of the padded cell that had been her home for more than 28 years. She was free of the Queen's dungeon from which she was ensconced for a year and a half before that. She was free from the duties and obligations that came from being a Princess. She was free to make her own choices and live as she sees fit.

But most importantly, she was finally free to be with Rumpelstiltskin!

He held her tightly in his arms that first night, as if he expected her to disappear and never return. She had never felt such peace and contentment as she laid beside him, wrapped protectively in his warm embrace, him in his silk pajamas, her in a pair of his undershirts and boxers. For the first time in years she was not plagued with nightmares; his presence alone was enough to keep the bad dreams at bay.

Their reunion was perhaps not the passionate affair of their fantasies, but it was tender and affectionate none the less. They did not go further than indulge in kisses; Rumpelstiltskin was too much of a gentleman, and she was weak and abused from her imprisonment. They could wait.

There would be time for that. There would be time for everything.

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In this strange, new land she was just like any other citizen; awakened to find herself dueling with two sets of memories, two personalities, and two separate identities. She was desperately trying to reconcile with being both Belle, a princess who continuously sacrificed herself for the ones she loved, and Isabelle French, an escaped mental ward patient who was abandoned and forgotten by all.

"How do you do it?" asked Belle quietly, taking a seat in the back of the town hall meeting. Half of the town had shown up to hear the Charmings's speak and she wanted to avoid the inevitable stares. It had only been three days since the curse had been broken and Belle had quickly found herself to be a novelty. Everyone wanted to have a look at the beauty that chose the beast.

"Do what, love?" replied Rumpelstiltskin. Always love for her now; his signature dear was too common for her.

"How do you look at everyone here and see the people, not just the deals they've made with you?"

"I see both, I suppose. I also see what they've become because of those deals and the potential they now have for future ones. Why do you ask?"

"It's embarrassing," she said, turning a disconcerting shade of red. "But with the exception of a few, most of the men in this room have tried to bargain for my hand in marriage. All I can see when I look around is what they demanded and what I, or the council, was unwilling to give up."

He thread her delicate fingers through his own and discreetly brought them to his lips for a quick kiss. "I know it's hard to believe but people do change. Most of them aren't the same people they were before this curse. Take King Midas, for example. He made a foolish deal with me once to have the Golden Touch. He thought unlimited gold would bring him happiness but all it did was rip apart his family and cut him off from the world. He understands that now and I'd like to think he's better for it."

"When I look at Midas, all I see is that he demanded his mistresses' quarters be directly next to mine, so he wouldn't have far to walk between rooms."

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled and gently squeezed her hand. "Idiot. It's his loss, then. Who else?"

She discreetly pointed across the room. "The man with the short brown hair? He was a Duke with over a dozen daughters but no sons. He wanted me to birth a child a year until he got his male heir. The council feared I would die having so many children so they rejected him."

"Just as well. He angered me some years ago so I made sure he could sire nothing but girls."

Belle giggled despite herself. "I'm starting to understand why half the town thinks I really am crazy and the other half thinks you've cast an enchantment on me."

"Don't worry, love. No more than twenty percent think you're crazy."

They indulged in another round of soft giggles, then quieted when Snow White took to the podium. The former Princess, now school teacher, was trying to reassure the people of Storybrooke that they were doing everything they could to find the evil Queen and bring her to justice. They didn't dare disclose too many details though; Regina had eyes and ears everywhere.

Emma stood next to her mother, looking decidedly uncomfortable with all the attention and admiration being lavished upon her by the crowd. Belle could see a lot of James (no, she corrected herself, David) in her features. It had been a shock to hear of James's death, but even more so of Rum's outlandish plan of having him replaced by a secret twin brother. Had James been substituted years earlier, she was sure King George and her Papa would have forced them to marry.

Poor David! She was mortified at her behavior when he and Snow had come pounding at Rum's door, shouting, the morning after the curse broke. Assuming he was James, she had finally given in to her fantasy of pummeling him in the face as hard as her tiny fists could. It had felt so liberating!

David had been either too shocked or too much of a gentleman to stop her. Rum had apologized profusely to the royal couple, while desperately trying not to laugh, as he magically healed the broken nose and busted lip.

A gentle flush crept up her face as she recalled the embarrassing incident, and warmed even more at the memory of the passionate kiss Rumpelstiltskin had given her after the couple had gone.

She looped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder. Let people stare and talk. She was proud to be here with him, her True Love.

As the meeting concluded, the pair reluctantly made their way to the front of the hall. Emma's new war council, of which they were now a part, wanted to have a word with all the former rulers of the Enchanted Forest to convince them that it was in their best interests to help. While most were furious with the Queen, few were willing to stand up against her.

Belle would have preferred going back to Rum's house; crowds made her decidedly nervous. A small gathering remained, some now seated around a rectangular table, others in front of a portable chalk board, crudely drawing the blueprints of a building.

"Excuse me, Belle?" She turned around to see a be-speckled red-headed man in a sweater vest. He smiled warmly at her and offered his hand. "My name is Jiminy Cricket…or Archie." He cleared his throat loudly and looked sheepish. "Um…Let's try this again. I'm Doctor Archie Hopper, the town Psychiatrist. Could I have a moment?"

At the mention of his profession, Belle instinctively backed away, gripping Rum's arm tightly. Her breath caught in her throat as she desperately looked around for a quick exit.

Sensing her panic, Rumpelstiltskin gently put his arm around her waist and tilted her face to meet her gaze. "It's all right, love," he whispered. "Dr. Hopper is a friend. I've known him for more than a century and I can guarantee he's not here to take you away. You can trust him." His voice rose slightly as he looked back at the younger man. "Isn't that right, doctor?"

Dr. Hopper turned several shades of pink before ending on fuchsia. "Of course," he stammered. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I just wanted to let you know that I had no idea there was a secret ward in the hospital! If I had, I would have done everything in my power to get you out of there."

Belle visibly relaxed enough to let go of Rum's arm, leaving his expensive suit wrinkled and ruffled. He rubbed her back soothingly then discreetly left her side, giving her some privacy with the doctor.

"So how are you adjusting, Belle? I can't imagine what you've been through."

She lowered her head and studied her new shoes as she tried to organize her thoughts. "I'm doing okay. Rumpelstiltskin has been wonderful, helping me every step of the way. And if you're here to suggest I would be better off away from him then I'll stop you now. There's nothing that can make me change my mind."

Archie sighed and looked over at Rum, currently in a heated conversation with King Robert. "Like he said, we've known each other for more than a century. I can honestly say I've never seen him more protective of anyone or anything than he is with you. I know people will talk and say that he's a bad influence on you, but I have to admit, I think you're a better influence on him. He needs you. If you're happy together, then who am I to judge?"

"Thank you, Dr. Hopper," she replied, smiling shyly and feeling another blush creep up her neck. "I suppose talking to you wouldn't hurt too much."

"So what can you tell me about your time in the hospital?"

"Not much to tell, to be honest. I remember long, boring days of isolation, with the sporadic visit by Regina or doctors and nurses, usually there to drug me. Speaking of doctors…I've just spotted an old friend. Oh, John?"

John, son of the Duke of Bluebeard, had been furiously texting on his phone underneath the table. He looked up in surprise and not without a trace a fear. "Uh…hello, Belle. How are you?"

"Just fine. I was actually wondering about you. How is your artwork coming along?"

John cleared his throat loudly and his skin turned a sickly gray. "I'm afraid I haven't had a chance to…create…here in Storybrooke. Being a doctor is very time consuming."

"I'm sure it is," said Belle, seriously. Conversations seemed to quiet all around them as others took notice of Mr. Gold staring at Belle with a mischievous grin on his face.

Archie took notice of the odd exchange and asked, "Artwork, Dr. Whale? I didn't realize you had a hobby. What kind of art do you make?"

"Oh, you know, I'm not sure," added Belle before John could respond. "He's a very private man and doesn't share his work with anyone."

John suddenly looked very smug and visibly relaxed in his chair. "I dabble in a little of this and that. I'm just an amateur."

"Don't be so modest, John!" she said, smiling brightly. "You were quite proud of your work back when we were engaged."

Many eyebrows were raised at that piece of information. "You two were engaged?" asked Charming. Knowing the true reason why she and his twin brother had broken up, he looked menacingly at Dr. Whale. "What happened?"

"We just weren't right for each other, I guess." Belle shrugged, watching John relax even more. "However, it might have had something to do with the fact that he enjoyed murdering the servants, carefully dissecting their bodies and keeping the limbs as trophies!"

John jumped out his chair, knocking it over in his haste. His face contorted in rage as he turned to Rumpelstiltskin and hollered, "We had a deal, Gold! She wasn't supposed to be able to reveal that to anybody!"

Rumpelstiltskin continued to smile but remained silent, allowing Belle her moment. "Don't you remember your end of the deal, John?" she asked innocently.

"Yeah, he said I couldn't marry you or kill you," he replied exasperatedly, as though it had been some great sacrifice.

"Ah, ah, ah!" she admonished him, waving her finger in imitation of Rum from all those years ago. "You couldn't do that OR ever hold me against my will again. Tell me, where have I been for the last 28 years?"

Crestfallen, he replied, "Locked in the basement in the hospital."

"Exactly! Under the sub-par care of a Dr. Whale. You voided the deal, dearie, meaning I can tell whomever I want what a sick bastard you really are." She turned triumphantly to Emma. "Sheriff Swan? I'm sure you will find that John has been leaking your plans the last couple of days. Check his phone. He's nothing but one of Regina's pawns."

John flipped the table over, eliciting several cries of surprise. He raced to the exit, knocking over a young, dark haired man in a nice suit who had been lingering by the door. Emma and her father quickly pursued.

"Oh, good Lord!" cried Snow White, holding her stomach. "I once slept with him as Mary Margaret! He could have killed me!"

"I'm sure you were quite safe, dear," said Gold, looking very satisfied. "He couldn't remember his past life any more than you could. It is amazing, though, the dirt that Belle seems to dig up on everyone who wants to marry her."

"What can I say? I have a thing for contracts, I guess. You wouldn't believe what noblemen put in those betrothal documents. Speaking of which…Midas? Robert?"

The two kings stiffened at the sound of their names and their eyes widened in alarm. "Yes, Belle," said King Robert, swallowing hard.

Belle smiled innocently and asked, "You two were just about to commit all of your support to Snow White and her cause, weren't you?"

The king with the former Golden Touch cleared his throat loudly. "Yes, of course, I was. You have my full support, Princess."

"And mine as well," added Robert quickly.

"Fantastic!" exclaimed Belle. "Anyone else still unsure?" She looked pointedly at several of the men, all of whom avoided her eyes.

The two former Princesses exchanged glances and smiled conspiratorially. "Out of curiosity," Snow whispered, "exactly how many times have you been engaged?"

"Engaged? Only four times. Proposed to? Approaching two thousand times…and it seems I know all of their secrets! That's quite a powerful feeling."

"I hate to ask, but does Rumpelstiltskin have one? A deep dark secret, I mean? Anything we should know about?"

Belle smiled fondly at her True Love. "Well, to be fair, he hasn't asked for my hand…yet. But yes…I do know his deepest secret." She winked and lowered her voice even more. "Deep down, underneath all his layers, he's a sweet, kindhearted man. And he'd kill me if he knew I told you that!"

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Rumpelstiltskin stood by and watched as Belle approached Prince Thomas and his young family on the far side of the room. He was relieved to know that she was making friends in this blasted town, despite her shady association with him. It was hard not to love Belle the minute you met her. Her smiles were always genuine, her kind words always sincere.

Cinderella watched Belle suspiciously as the Prince picked her up and swung her around in his arms, looking like two former lovers. She even hesitated when Belle reached out for baby Alexandria, sending a scathing look in his direction.

It's not as though this was some elaborate plan for Belle to steal the baby, for goodness sakes! Hopefully the Prince didn't tell his wife that he had once asked for Belle's hand. The dumb blonde didn't need another reason to despise his family.

His family. That's how he saw Belle.

For the first time in centuries, he felt like he was given a second chance. He had brought them to this world to find Bae, but now he couldn't imagine his family being complete without Belle by his side.

Putting his hand in his left pant pocket, he sought out the tiny box he had placed in there that morning and gave it a squeeze. Inside was a ring he'd found in his shop his first day in Storybrooke. From the second he first saw it, he knew he could never sell it. It had reminded him too much of Belle and their time together at the Dark Castle.

It was a gold band, shaped like a rose. Each petal was delicately covered in fine diamonds, with a two carat solitaire in the center of the bloom.

He had no intention of proposing today, but he was prepared in case the right moment presented itself. He wanted them to take their relationship slow, give her time to make her own decisions. While he would have loved nothing more than to take her straight to the justice of the peace the moment she regained her memories, he could never do that to her. He would never make those decisions for her. Then he would be no better than her father.

Speaking of which….Moe French, former King, had just entered the hall. He looked as though he had made of effort of dressing for once; not a speck of soil or fertilizer on his Sunday best, and his hair was washed and combed.

Maurice sent him a dark look that would make Cinderella proud and quickly joined his daughter and the royal couple on the other side of the room.

Rumpelstiltskin flexed his fingers and squeezed them into a fist. Now was not the time to give the King a piece of his mind. He knew how badly Belle had been hurt the other day when they went to see her father, to let the man know that his only daughter was in fact alive and well. He had even brought along the repossessed van as a peace offering. What more could he have done?

It wasn't enough. Maurice had given her an ultimatum; her father or her True Love. For the first time in Belle's life, she had chosen love. She was now disowned.

If he was here to make amends, then Rum would not interfere. Hopefully the man had realized what an idiot he truly was and was here to beg her for forgiveness. She would give it too, unconditionally. Belle was not one to hold grudges.

Rumpelstiltskin immersed himself in the blueprints of Regina's mansion in an attempt to not stare at his beloved. He even made idle conversation with the grumpy dwarf, who informed him that while he had never gotten as far as proposing to Belle, the two had in fact once shared a drink at a tavern. His beautiful Belle seemed to charm all kinds of creatures.

After a while, movement caught his eye and he looked up in time to see Maurice exit the room. Quickly searching the hall, he spotted Belle sitting in the corner, wiping a tear from her cheek. He went to her immediately.

"Is everything all right, love?" he asked quietly.

She gave him a watery smile. "Yes, it's fine. We talked for a bit. I think things will be okay, in time." She hooked her arm through his and cuddled up closer. "He wants me to have dinner with him…tonight, at his house. I hope you don't mind, but, you're not invited. I did ask, though. Sorry."

He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and chuckled. "That's fine, love. Have dinner with your father. There's a war council tonight anyway. I think I'm far more suited to planning murder and mayhem than I am at polite dinner conversation anyway. Although, getting your father and I together at a table would probably include a bit of both."

She laughed thickly, standing up and grasping his hand. "You always know the perfect thing to say to cheer me up."

"I aim to please, my lady," he said, bowing deeply. "Does anything else ail you?"

"Hmmm…" she grinned mischievously. "Nothing that ice cream can't cure."

"Ah! As it happens, I am a connoisseur of frozen treats. I think the council can do without me for an hour or so. After you, love."

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Belle stood outside her father's home with some trepidation. She studied it closely, the memories of a fake life bubbling to the surface. They were vague and fuzzy, like a long forgotten dream. She knew the house's layout like she knew every corner of her cell in the hospital. The now-broken Curse reminded her that this was her home, yet she had never set foot inside. It was a difficult thing to process.

She wanted to turn around and never come back. Her home was with Rumpelstiltskin, whether he lived in the Dark Castle, or the beautiful pink house. This house was a lie.

It was a simple, insignificant building, one that she had passed a few times on her walks around town but had never noticed. Despite her father's career as a florist, his own lawn was neglected and bare. Shingles peeled away from the roof and paint flaked from the old clapboard, as if they too did not want to stay. An old, faded sign welcomed her to the French's.

King Maurice exited the front door and descended the steps with a buoyancy of one half his age. He lifted her into his arms and swung her around like a child, clutching her tightly. She let the tears flow freely as she laughed and hugged him back. This was real, at least.

"Oh my beautiful, beautiful Belle! I'm so happy he let you out to see me!"

"I'm not his prisoner, Papa!" she scolded. She was growing tired of constantly having to defend Rumpelstiltskin and her choice of staying with him. "He's been wonderful to me, truly. Please, don't worry about me."

"Oh, Petal, you may as well ask me to stop breathing then." He sighed deeply, the sickly sweet smell of alcohol wafted from his lips, burning her nose. Even in this world, it seems he would imbibe too much, too often. "Come in out of this cold, have a cup of tea with me."

He led her through the door, into the sitting room. The air was as stale as the dust was thick. By the looks of the pictures scattered throughout the cluttered room, she hazarded a guess that this room brought about too many painful memories to be used often. She was mesmerized by one picture in particular of herself and her parents, obviously taken when she was still a child. A very young Belle sat demurely in her mother's lap while the two watched Moe as he blew out candles from a cake. Though she knew the photo and memory of it was false, she couldn't help the tears from forming in her eyes.

She missed her family dreadfully, most especially her mother. If the empty liquor bottles stacked neatly in the corner was any indication, Maurice had still not come to terms with Elena's death either.

Moe quickly returned with steaming cups of tea in two old coffee mugs; his declared him as the world's greatest dad; her mug informed her that florists do it in flowerbeds.

"How has your life been here, Papa? Truthfully." She took a careful sip of the hot tea and almost gagged at the taste. It was burnt, weak and full of sugar. "Do you – do you mind being a florist?"

"Well, it doesn't always pay the bills, sweetheart," he sighed, running a hand through his bald spot. "It's been hard making ends meet. But yes, I love working with plants. They remind me so much of your mother, in both worlds."

She reached out a hand and clasped his, squeezing it gently. "She always did love flowers."

"I asked her to marry me in the castle gardens. It was the only place we ever had any privacy," he winked and smiled wistfully at the memory. "Speaking of the old days…do you ever remember me telling you stories of my best friend Harry? Prince Harold?"

When she nodded he continued. "I thought he was dead; dead before I ever fell in love with your mother. Turns out he's alive and well. In this world his name is Robert Croaker and he's a lawyer. I'd like for you to meet him. You would never have been born if it wasn't for him."

She smiled warmly at him. "Of course I'll meet your friend, Papa. I would be honored to meet the great Prince Harold."

"Come on in, Harry!" he hollered in the direction of the kitchen.

Belle's first thought was one of surprise; what was this man doing in the house and how long had he been here? Her second thought was that this man could not be the same one who grew up with her father. Why, he was about the same age as herself!

Harold was almost as tall as her father, but lean and dressed impeccably in a dark suit. While no one, in her own biased opinion, could pull off a suit as well as her True Love could, she had to admit he appeared very dashing. His dark eyes traveled up her slim frame slowly, resting for a moment on her chest and throat, before finally meeting her own. His gaze darkened as he licked his upper lip.

"So this is the famous Beauty of Avonlea. Congratulations, Maurice. She is quite stunning. Not, if you'll excuse me, as beautiful as our dear Elena, but quite alluring in her own right." Belle grew uncomfortable with his staring, as he slowly circled her, admiring her from every angle. She felt like cattle up for auction. "She'll do."

"I'll do?" The sour taste of bile rose in her throat as she absorbed the Prince's words. "What is he talking about, Papa?"

"I'm sorry, Petal. Our Kingdom needs you and you need to be married to rule. We cannot allow Rumpelstiltskin to lay claim on our lands. Harold will make an excellent king. He was to be the rightful ruler in the first place."

Belle slowly backed away from the two men. "You want me to marry a man once engaged to my mother? Oh, Papa! How could you?"

She felt her back connect with something solid. Glancing over her left shoulder, she realized she was nowhere near the wall.

"It has been decided, Princess," said the oily voice of Bishop Malthus as he placed his two cold hands on top of her shoulders. "You will marry Prince Harold…tonight. Our kingdom and your soul depend on it."

"You can't be serious!" she cried, trying to escape the cleric's grasp. "There is no way I'm going along with this! You can't force me to marry!"

"Belle, please," implored her father. "This is for your own good. I have to protect you from that monster. If this is the only way, then so be it."

"Besides," said Harold smugly, running the back of his finger down her cheek, "the contracts have already been signed. You belong to me now, Belle. Body and soul."

"Put this on," ordered Malthus, handing her a white, satin sheath dress.

"No. I refuse to go along with this!"

"Oh, my beautiful Belle," whispered Harold, his lips brushing against her ear lobe. "Either you willingly put this dress on…or the nice Bishop and his clerics here will do it for you. And trust me when I tell you, they are not the pious, celibate clergyman everyone believes them to be. They would truly enjoy undressing you. As will I, tonight."

At their sniggers, Belle took the dress and allowed herself to be escorted to the house's only washroom. Once safely locked inside, she vomited into the toilet.

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"Was that really necessary?" demanded Maurice, watching the clerics leer at his daughter as she was led out of the room.

"Don't worry about it, Maurice," assured Harold, handing him a bottle. "Here, have another drink. This is a celebration, after all!"

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea." Moe downed half the beer in one gulp, praying that it would provide him with the courage he desperately needed. "This isn't like the other times. She was always willing to do her duty before. She's different now. Maybe she needs more time. For God's sake, she was just released from being in a mental institution for 28 years!"

"We need to save her soul, your Majesty," declared Bishop Malthus. "The devil has bewitched her! We will all burn in Hell if the Demon's spawn rules over our lands! This is our only hope."

"This is an order, Sir Maurice!" said Harold. "She will marry me, tonight, with or without her consent."

Tears brimmed in Moe's eyes as he tried to plead his case. "Please, Harry, not my little girl. I won't let anyone hurt her; not Rumpelstiltskin, not you!"

The Prince and Bishop exchanged dark looks. "I'm sorry to hear that, friend. If you're not with us, you're against us. And I don't leave enemies at my back."

Strong arms grabbed his hands and forced them behind him. He felt a sharp tug as his wrists were bound with twine and his mouth was gagged with a tea towel. He fought hard to breathe as blind panic overtook him.

"Shhh…it's okay, friend," soothed Harold. "I'm not going to kill you. You're my little insurance policy. As long as I keep you alive, she'll do as she's told."

Bishop Malthus banged sharply on the bathroom door. "Come out, woman! You'll only make things worse for your father if we have to break down the door."

Belle emerged from the room, looking as green as Rumpelstiltskin in the old world. The dress covered all the essential areas but little else. It ended just above her knees and was completely open in the back, revealing her perfect skin. She hugged her arms, rubbing them for warmth or courage. Maurice was shaken to see his little girl wearing something so skimpy.

"Hitch that skirt up a bit, sweetheart," crooned a blond cleric, causing the others to laugh and slap each other's backs. Moe recognized him as one of the dock workers here in Storybrooke with a seedy reputation.

Oh gods! What has he done?

"Shall we begin, your Majesty?" asked the Bishop to Harold, ignoring Maurice completely.

With a curt nod, Malthus began the ancient ceremony from their home. "No other human ties are more tender and no other vows more important than those you are about to take. Both of you come to this day with the deep realization that the contract of marriage is sacred as are all of its obligations and responsibilities. You come together today in the understanding that you are no longer two individuals, but one symbiotic partnership, each providing what the other lacks."

He turned to Harold. "Prince Harold, do you take Princess Belle into this marriage? Do you promise to provide her safety, security and protect the children she will bring to your hearth?"

"I do."

Turning to Belle, he asks. "Princess Belle, do you take Prince Harold into this marriage? Do you promise to honor him, obey him, and love the children you will bring to his hearth?"

Sniffling, Belle looked down at the floor, still clutching her arms to shield her from view. Harold roughly grabbed her upper arm and squeezed tightly, eliciting a cry from her lips. Maurice struggled against his restraints but the clergymen surrounding him held him in check. The crude cleric from earlier produced a knife from his robes and held it against Moe's throat, drawing blood.

"Say it, Belle!" commanded the Prince. "Say the words or your father's throat will be slashed." He dropped his voice low and whispered mockingly into her ear. "Everyone has a choice, dearie. Make sure it's the right one."

Maurice managed to work the gag from his mouth and pushed it away with his tongue. "Don't do it, Belle!" he wheezed. "I'm old. I've lived my life."

The eyes that locked with his were full of regret and sadness. "I – I do."

"Then by the powers that be, I now pronounce you man and wife. May the Gods bless this union and the sons you will sire."

Harold turned Belle towards him, forcefully tugging her gaze away from her father to meet his own. "You know what they say, my wife," he whispered, lowering his lips to hers. "You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your Prince."

Maurice turned away as his former best friend roughly kissed his daughter. His poor little girl squeezed her eyes shut as a tear flowed freely down her cheek. When he finally released his hold on her, she crumpled to the ground and vomited on the floor.

"Ugh! Disgusting!" cried Harold, quickly stepping away. "Release Maurice's hands. Let him help her up."

Maurice picked up his trembling daughter and held her tightly as she sobbed. The clerics, now gathered around the Prince, ignored them and began to speak in earnest. Moe felt Belle stir in his arms and look over at the men who once held so much power in their world. "Papa, listen to me very carefully," whispered Belle calmly. There was no trace in her voice of the hysterics he had just witnessed and her eyes were dry and determined. "You must get Rumpelstiltskin. Tell him what's happened. He'll come for me."

"What? I can't go to him, child! He's a monster!"

"No, Papa, he's a good man! The real monsters are right over there. They're going to hurt me. Don't you understand that? Harold doesn't want me! He wants to be King. And with the Bishop's blessing there's nothing that can stop him now. Nothing…except Rumpelstiltskin. You have to trust me."

"What if he doesn't believe me?"

"Tell him idiot number five has me. He'll understand. Get away the first chance you – " Belle choked up into another round of fake sobbing and clutched his shirt in a death grip.

"Stop sniveling, woman," ordered Harold, grabbing her hair and forcing her to stand. "We have to get to the church."

Maurice stood shakily to his feet. "What are you talking about, Harry? We just had the wedding!"

"Yes, but before I can…take…Belle as my bride, I need her to be purified. God knows what the imp has done to her. Bishop Malthus will take it from here."

"You don't have to do that," pleaded Belle. The fear radiating off her was palpable. "I'm still a maiden! I'm still an innocent!"

"I highly doubt that," said Malthus, leering at her figure-hugging dress. "But even if your body is pure your soul is not. You have been corrupted. The ritual will take place, for your sake as well as ours."

Belle wrapped her arms around Maurice's large frame. "Go, Papa," she whispered. "Find him." As the clerics led them out the front door and to a row of cars, Maurice kissed the top of Belle's head and squeezed her shoulders.

"I'm gonna be sick!" he slurred, stumbling away from his daughter towards his neighbor's bushes. Once the arms gripping him hastily slackened, he regained his stance and ran as quickly as possible down the darkened road.

"Run, you drunk!" Harold cried after him. "No one will help you! Your daughter is mine, now!"

Sweat ran into Maurice's eyes as he jogged through Storybrooke. Damn Gold for living on the other side of town! The streets were eerily quiet for this time of night. Not many residents wandered about after dark now. With the curse broken and memories restored, the town was no longer the safe haven it once was.

It was more difficult now to spot the monsters.

Larger houses now filled the streets. He didn't need the street signs to tell him where he was. He recognized his own handiwork in the landscaping. Gold's house was just around the corner, though the cheap bastard had never used his services.

The garish pink house was awash in light. Despite the lateness of the hour, the street was well lit and he quickly made his way up the stone path. Before he could reach the porch steps, however, he connected with something solid and was thrown back.

What the hell was that? he wondered, wishing desperately for a drink to clear his head.

"GOLD!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. He jumped once more at the invisible barrier and was unsurprised when he was thrown back, landing hard on his back. By gods, he hated this imp! "Rumpelstiltskin! Gold!"

Picking himself up again, he backed up for a running start and launched himself once more towards the house. His body continued forward, landing unceremoniously in a heap at the steps.

He was through.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The dining room of the notorious pink house in Storybrooke, Maine had never been so crowded. In the twenty eight years since the curse had been enacted, Mr. Gold had never had more than one guest at a time.

Today there were no less than ten people sitting on his antique furniture, drinking his expensive alcohol and looking decidedly uncomfortable being in the beast's lair It had been his idea to organize the war council at his home because it was the only place in town he could guarantee Regina could not access. At least the blasted Blue Fairy wasn't there. She couldn't get through his wards even if she had wanted to enter his house.

If there was one thing he despised, it was Fairies!

He was comfortable with Sheriff Swan, her newly reunited parents and the cricket, but the rest he barely tolerated. He had been counting on having Belle there as a buffer.

She was his soul mate – his better half. But more importantly, she was the one with people skills!

Unfortunately, she was meeting up with her father tonight. He had wanted to say no, to lock her in his house for ever, to keep her safe from the outside world. ..but no, he couldn't do that to her. Then he would be no better than Regina.

"Like I've already said twice, Puppet," Rumpelstiltskin snarled at the newly restored wooden man, "the Queen does not yet have the full extent of her powers and she has yet to leave her mansion. Now is the perfect time for a pre-emptive strike!"

"She wouldn't have any power at all, imp, if you hadn't brought magic back in the first place!"

His reply about firewood died on his lips as the house rocked with such fierceness that the scattered knick knacks rattled on their recently dusted shelves.

"Someone's trying to get through my shields," growled Gold, craning his head to look out the window.

"Gold!" someone cried, outside. The house shook again and the lights briefly dimmed. "Rumpelstiltskin! Gold!"

"That's Moe French," said Leroy, frowning. "What's he doing here?"

The florist launched himself once more at the invisible wall. With a wave of his hand, Rumpelstiltskin lowered the wards, allowing Moe to gain entrance. He fell hard, clearly not expecting the broken barrier, and raised shakily to his feet.

He burst through the door, not bothering to knock. The former King stopped short at the sight of a dozen people crowded around Rum's enormous rectangular dining room table. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was a damp, tangled mess atop his head.

Emma Swan stood up, her shiny sheriff's badge still hooked to her belt. "Mr. French, are you all right?"

His shoulders hunched dejectedly and he licked his lower lip. Rumpelstiltskin glared at him from the head of the table, closest to the door. Without so much as a word, he made his way over and grabbed Rum's tumbler of amber liquid and quickly tossed it back in one gulp. "Bloody Hell that's good!"

"Now that you've managed to consume about $50 worth of my Scotch, would you mind telling me what the Hell you're doing here?"

"This is all your fault, you know that?" he panted. "You ruined her! Why couldn't you just leave her alone? Why did you have to interfere?"

Rumpelstiltskin felt his blood boil in his veins as he looked at the drunken King now downing Dr. Hopper's drink.

He changed his mind. If there was one thing he honestly, truly despised, it was Moe French!

"If I hadn't interfered, as you so eloquently put it, your daughter would have been slaughtered by ogres, or worse, spent the rest of her life with that abusive oaf, Gaston. If I hadn't interfered, she would have died at the hands of Prince Humperdinck when he used her as a human shield to protect his own pathetic self. If I hadn't interfered, she would have been sliced and diced into pieces by creepy Dr. Whale and made part of his collection! If I hadn't interfered, she never would have survived the injuries she sustained from that bastard Prince James throwing her off the cliff! So don't you dare tell me that I ruined her! I love her more than you ever will."

"What the Hell are you talking about, Gold?"

"Every man you forced on her has tried to kill her, you idiot! You've been too damn drunk to notice! You have no idea how brave and intelligent she is! How much she's willing to sacrifice for her people. She knew she would be my price and yet she still called me. That's who Belle really is! Now where is she?"

"He's got her," he wheezed, collapsing into a chair. "He has her at the church. She told me to tell you…idiot number five…said you'd understand."

"I'm sorry," said Charming, always wanting to come to the rescue, "but who or what is idiot number five?"

Gold ignored the Prince and asked coldly, "Who is it? Give me his name."

"Harry. Prince Harold."

"Do you mean to tell me, after everything, EVERYTHING, she has gone through, you've arranged another marriage? You realize, of course, that she won't go through with it, right?"

"She already has. The wedding was twenty minutes ago."

"What?"

"She had no choice. They were going to kill me!"

"They?" he whispered dangerously. "Who is 'they'?"

"Clerics."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Where are you taking me?" asked Belle, feeling a sense of déjà vu. In that case it had been a dark and gloomy dungeon. She couldn't imagine there were any real dungeons in Storybrooke, but her cell in the hospital was as close as they came. She could only pray they wouldn't take her back there.

"Somewhere safe from your little boyfriend, darling," he drawled. "Don't worry. Soon you'll forget all about him."

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

"We're going to save your soul, Belle. Then you'll be mine, forever."

The cars pulled up in front of an old church, parking as far away from the only street light in the parking lot. Malthus and the clerics disappeared into the darkness, bi-passing the building and heading instead towards the cemetery.

"Bishop Malthus is the town priest," explained Harold, guiding her forward. "He thought it best to do this here, but not inside the church. Far too messy, and he does have mass in the morning."

Someone set up a search light, momentarily blinding her. The hand that held her arm tightened sharply; a silent warning not to run. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw the clerics busy at work, building a bonfire and removing objects from a rusted chest.

"Bought these this morning at your boyfriend's shop," said a cheery voice to her left. Her wrists were shackled with ancient iron cuffs and the rusted chain was tossed over the high branch of a deep-rooted oak tree. "Let me know if it's too tight."

She cried out in pain as the chain was pulled tightly by four men, forcing her body upwards. Her toes barely touched the cold ground and her arms quickly went slack.

"Beautiful," Malthus whispered, caressing her bare back with a lover's touch.

Belle struggled against his touch, wanting to vomit again, though her stomach was empty. She must remain calm. She must stall them until Rum arrives!

"Harold, wait! Why me? You're a handsome, successful man in this world and a prince in the other. Surely there are lots of women who would kill for the chance to be with you. Why not one of them?"

"I'm getting my revenge, love," he replied, removing a leather whip from the chest. "It's time for retribution. This is my happy ending!"

"I don't understand." She tried to keep her voice steady but the ache in her arms was getting to be too much to handle. Her fingers were already numb from lack of circulation. She didn't know how long she could last. "Explain it to me."

"I was the fifth and youngest son of a poor King. My brothers fought and even killed each other for the throne but I wanted nothing to do with it. I had bigger plans. King Gareth's lands were vastly wealthy but he had no male heir. His wife and son had died of the fever, leaving him with only a useless daughter. The law stated that she must be married to inherit and Gareth had fallen ill. He decided she needed a husband, and fast! As you know, finding a suitable mate takes time. He took a different route. He held a tournament and the prize was your mother's hand in marriage. Every eligible Prince, Duke, Earl and Baron attended."

"I heard about that," she gasped, feeling a trickle of blood running down her arm. "My mother said it was an archery contest; one of the most difficult competitions ever held in our lands. So you won?"

"I was no marksman. I didn't stand a chance with a bow. My father had us study the sword; a gentleman's sport. Archery was for hunters; for commoners! I needed an edge; I needed Rumpelstiltskin. He gave me a special bow whose arrow always reached its target. Always. It worked. I easily beat everyone! All my dreams were suddenly coming true. Elena and I became engaged; I was to someday become King of one of the wealthiest realms. Everything was perfect."

"So what happened?"

"Rumpelstiltskin happened! He came to collect his payment but I didn't have it. I was supposed to steal some magical books from the library but I never found them. I asked the caretaker and he said they had been locked up, where no one but the King himself knew where. I tried to trick the King into telling me where they were but he grew suspicious. I couldn't reveal why I needed the information."

Harold grew angry, flexing the weapon in his hands. "No one breaks deals with Rumpelstiltskin and gets away with it. He transformed me into a frog! A God damn frog! The only way I could turn back was if I was kissed by a Princess. Your mother loved flowers so I spent weeks in the gardens, trying to get her attention. It finally worked. I couldn't speak but I could get her notice me in other ways. She thought I was so clever, the way I bounced around, fetching her flowers. It was humiliating! Finally, she held me in her palm and was about to raise me to her lips, when he showed up!"

"Rumpelstiltskin?"

"No! Your father! That traitorous bastard just couldn't leave her alone. He made his move the second I disappeared. She ran into his arms and they walked away, leaving me all alone. The weather took a turn for the worst and she didn't return to the gardens. I had to find shelter before I froze to death. I spent almost thirty years as a frog, until this blessed curse brought us to this world without magic, and I regained my true form."

The bonfire crackled loudly and warmed her back. The clerics began a slow chant that increased in pitch with every moment. Whatever was about to happen, would be happening very soon. Her time was up.

"My mother told me how she and Papa met," she said quickly, trying one last time to reach him. "She said that her fiancé had been killed. They believed it was an assassination attempt by his brothers, and my father was ordered to stay by her side, as protection. They never meant to fall in love, but the heart wants what the hearts wants. They didn't intend to betray you, I'm sure of it!"

"Intent is meaningless!" he cried, slashing he whip down upon her bare back. The sharp leather cut into her skin like a knife, drawing blood and a scream from her lips. Her back was suddenly on fire with pain. The clerics continued with their ancient song.

"Princess Belle," boomed the commanding voice of Bishop Malthus. "You have been found guilty of cavorting with demons. You are guilty of laying with beasts. You are guilty of being bewitched by dark magic. Confess your sins for salvation."

"Go to Hell!" cried Belle, spitting in the cleric's face.

Malthus nodded to Harold, who brought the whip down upon her back again, slicing her skin over the bleeding wound.

"Confess, whore!"

"I am untouched, you bastard! He never took advantage of me! He is a good man, better than any of you!"

The whip connected a third time. Her body buckled in pain, blood now pouring from her chafed wrists.

"What did he have you do, woman?" Malthus commanded dangerously.

Belle laughed bitterly, sweat and blood soaking her white satin dress. "Skin children for their pelts. Cook babies into stews. They're quite delicious with gravy, you know."

At a nod from the Bishop, one of the clerics withdrew a poker from the fire. A metal pentacle glowed red from the heat. He jabbed it roughly against her left shoulder, searing her skin and forever marking her with the ancient symbol of dark magic.

"Anything else you'd like to add, Princess," asked Harold.

"Yeah," Belle replied, panting heavily. She looked each of them in the eye. "Rumpelstiltskin is really going to enjoy killing you."

The whip connected with the charred skin. She felt the cool earth collect between her toes as they curled, digging into the ground. Her last thought, before the darkness consumed her, was of Rumpelstiltskin.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Rumpelstiltskin had never been more grateful for magic than he was at this moment. While he no longer had the ability to materialize at will, what little magic he did possess was able to heal his crippled leg the moment he had regained his power, allowing him now to run out of his house faster than he had in decades.

Clerics; his worst nightmare come to life. For thirty years he had dreamed of his beautiful, innocent Belle being tortured by the crazed religious sect for no reason other than having been associated with him. He had believed Regina so easily because he knew what the clergymen were truly capable of. They had magic of their own; weak and insignificant compared his power, but magic nonetheless.

They were ruthless, cruel and sanctimonious bastards! If they touched but one hair on Belle's head they would beg him for death. Despite his fearsome reputation, Rumpelstiltskin did possess compassion.

They would never know it.

He drove erratically down the empty streets of Storybrooke, heading to the church that sat on property he owned, but one he had never stepped foot upon. Even if the despicable fairies were not nuns in this world, he still would have nothing to do with the Church; Christianity and the clerics had far too much in common for his liking.

Pulling into the parking lot, he briefly wondered if anyone else from the war council was following him. He wondered if any of them even realized the seriousness of the situation! Probably not. They were all idiots.

He spotted a bright light out in the cemetery and followed it, noting that the old building was still locked and dark. His short stature and black suit were enough to hide him from prying eyes, allowing him to come up behind the spot light unseen.

There she was! Her arms were bound above her head and her body was slack in the shackles. She was clad in a revealing crimson and white dress that he knew she would never wear willingly. She must be freezing.

As he crept closer, he realized that her dress was not in fact red but covered in blood! He could see it dripping down her bare arms. He had not felt rage like this since Bae had disappeared through the vortex. No longer caring about the element of surprise, he sprinted between the tombstones, desperate to get to his beloved.

Before he could reach the clearing near the tree, however, he was thrown backwards, landing hard against a granite monument.

They had wards; wards he could not penetrate.

"Do my eyes deceive me or did I just see Mr. Gold flying through the air?" a mocking voice said in the darkness. "Are you hoping to earn your fairy wings, Rumpelstiltskin?"

Rum struggled to stand as the clerics laughter echoed around him. "Is that you, Mr. Croaker? Funny how I suddenly have a craving for frog's legs. You won't be needing yours after tonight."

He saw the group of men surrounding the bonfire, chanting the magical words that created the invisible barrier. Already they showed signs of fatigue. They couldn't keep up the singing forever.

"What's your plan, Croaker? You know these shields won't hold for long."

"You don't say?" said the former frog Prince. He brought the whip down once more onto Belle's back. Her body bounced from the hit but she remained blissfully unconscious.

"You bastard!" he screamed, lunging at the invisible wall once more. It crackled around him.

At least she hadn't felt that one. He couldn't bear to hear her scream. Oh he was going to enjoy killing these men. If only he could penetrate the wards…

"Revenge is fun, is it not?" asked Harold, handing the bloody whip to the Bishop and getting a leather flay in return. "Just think how many people I can ruin by hurting one insignificant girl."

He raised the flay over his right shoulder and aimed it at Belle's ruined body. "Wait!" cried Rumpelstiltskin. "If you want revenge then strap me to that tree. There's no reason to hurt her."

"There's every reason to hurt her!" he screamed, bringing the weapon down on her. "This isn't all about you, you know! I hate her father. I hate her mother. I hate the fact that I lost out on an entire Kingdom because of you! If anyone deserves to pay, it's her."

Rum kicked the ground hard in frustration; he hated feeling so useless, so desperate. Shattered fragments of stone and dirt went flying everywhere. Some pieces landed just a few feet away from the bonfire…inside the barrier!

People could not pass, but objects could!

"Be a man for once, Prince Harold!" shouted Rum, vying for time. If only he could get the prince away from Belle long enough… "Maurice was only a knight and he was able to earn Elena's love. You couldn't even win her hand in that tournament without cheating; without help from me! Now you're hiding behind a group of cowardly men to justify your revenge. You're pathetic!"

Harold threw the flay to the ground and approached Rum, several feet away from the barrier's edge. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a Princess to kiss you?"

Rum withdrew the gun from his suit pocket and leveled it right at the Prince's chest. "As a matter of fact, I do."

The bullet penetrated the magical shield easily and pierced the Prince's sternum. His eyes rounded in surprise as the force of the shot sent him falling backwards into Bishop Malthus. The remaining clerics jumped at the sound of the gun, ending their insistent chanting. The wards shimmered then flickered out completely.

Rumpelstiltskin carefully set one foot into the clearing and, finding his path unobstructed, stepped the rest of the way in. Malthus heaved the body of the former prince off of himself and quickly crawled backwards, away from the sorcerer slowly coming towards him. The clergymen stood transfixed around the bonfire, too scared or stupid to run away.

"Rum?" called a faint voice to his left. Turning his gaze briefly from the men, Gold locked eyes with Belle, who seemed to fall in and out of consciousness.

"Don't worry, love. I'm here," he replied, unsure if she had even heard him.

Suddenly, a blond cleric made his way to Belle's side, withdrew a knife and brought it to her throat. "Stay back, Demon, or your sweetheart gets it!"

"Oh, dearie," said Gold. "That was a foolish, foolish mistake."

He still had the gun but was unwilling to use it so close to Belle. Instead, he slowly lowered it with exaggerated caution. When his hand was mere inches from the ground, he let the gun drop and quickly scooped up the whip that lay on the grass. With a flick of his wrist, the whip shot out, slicing the cheek of the blond idiot.

The man cried out in pain, clutching his face and dropping the knife.

Rum jumped at him, knocking him to the ground. Malthus quickly followed, wrapping his arms around Rum's midsection. Although much taller, the Bishop's reactions were too slow to avoid the elbow that smashed into his mouth.

Gold was dropped hard to the ground, twisting his ankle. Ignoring the pain, his hand grasped the fallen knife and swiftly slashed upwards, catching a surprised Malthus in the chest. The other clerics quickly joined the fight at the sight of their fallen leader.

A muddy boot connected with Gold's temple. His vision blurred long enough for another kick to make contact, this time with his ribs. The resounding crack dropped him to the ground as he desperately fought for breath.

"Behind you!" cried Belle.

Her voice had never sounded sweeter to Rum's ears. Unfortunately, the warning wasn't enough to penetrate his foggy thoughts. Hands roughly grabbed him, forcing him to stand. He swayed, unable to support his weight. His trembling fingers grasped onto the arms that held him, noticing for the first time that he still held the knife.

"We're going to have fun with your woman, Gold," grunted a man he recognized as one of his deadbeat tenants. "Now we're all gonna have our revenge on you."

"No!" screamed Rumpelstiltskin. He thrashed the knife into the man's chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. He quickly spun around on his good foot, sending a burst of magic into the face of another cleric, this one exploding into dust. Two set of hands grabbed his arms, pinning him in place.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated all of his energy to his fingertips. Two balls of light grew from his palms, growing with every thought. Finally it crested, discharging beams of pure energy that sliced through the cleric's bodies like a hot knife.

"Rum?" panted Belle. Opening his eyes, he realized that everyone was dead but him and his beloved. "Look at me, Rum!"

"It's all right, love," he soothed. "Don't be afraid."

She squeezed her eyes shut but the tears still fell. Her breathing was too heavy and rapid. Before Rumpelstiltskin could reach her, she had once again fallen into unconsciousness. His fingers trembled as he tried desperately to unhook the chain. Once released, she was finally lowered to the ground, relieving the unbearable pressure from her wrists.

"Belle? Belle! Wake up, love!"

She didn't stir. Blood poured from her arms, her back, her lips.

"Oh, shit, Gold! What happened?" cried Sheriff Swan, suddenly appearing next to the spot light.

"She's injured, Miss Swan! Badly! I have to stop the bleeding!" Gold's fingers trembled as he ran them over her gaping wounds, willing them to close like he had the first time he laid eyes on her. She had been broken and beaten worse then and had survived. She had to live now! He couldn't bear to lose her again.

"We need to get her to the hospital, Gold," pleaded Emma.

"I won't send her back there!" he cried. His magic wasn't working. Her injuries were not healing. Concentrating harder, he put every last bit of strength into the effort. Slowly, the wounds began to close, leaving faint white scars from where blood had been gushing. Moving to her wrists, the purple mist enveloped her hands, revealing smooth skin underneath.

The area around him began to darken. His first thought was that someone had removed the spot light. He then quickly realized the darkness was inside of him, pulling him into unconsciousness. He fought it with what little strength he had remaining.

"Wake up, love." Belle began to stir beneath him but had yet to open her eyes. Leaning over her carefully, he lowered his head and brought his lips to hers. Her lashes fluttered open and he finally caught a glimpse of the most beautiful shade of blue.

Smiling weakly, he allowed the darkness to finally consume him and he collapsed next to his beloved.

xxxxxxxxxx

Rumpelstiltskin awoke slowly in the familiar comfort of his own bed. His arm sought out the form that should have been next to him and was disappointed when he felt only the cold, silk sheets. He thought perhaps the past few days had in fact been a dream, that the curse had not been broken, that his darling Belle had not returned from the dead. Then he caught the faint scent of roses on the next pillow. She was real. She really had been here.

He opened his eyes slightly and was immediately drawn to the faint light emanating from the window. She was there, sitting on the window seat, wrapped in one of his old sweaters, a small lamp illuminating her features. She had been crying. Her pale, gray skin was marred only by a few smudges of dirt around her temples that she had either missed or hadn't yet noticed. She stared forlornly at something in her hand, something small that reflected the light back into his eyes.

She had found the ring.

"I know it's tradition to ask the father's permission first," he grunted as he sat up, eliciting a gasp from her lips, "but in this case, I figured he's played too large a role in your engagements."

She laughed thickly and swiped away a tear that escaped her tired eyes. "I think he's forfeited any more involvement in my love life, after tonight." She carefully unwrapped her legs from underneath her and slowly made her way to the bed. She looked weary as she sat next to him, her hands shaking slightly. "So this is for me?"

"I was waiting for the right moment. I didn't want you to feel pressured into anything. I wanted you to have time to adjust to this life, to be sure before I asked you."

"I'm glad you didn't ask," she said quietly, looking at the ring.

His heart shattered in his chest. He knew it was too good to be true, that one day she would come to her senses and see what a monster he really was, deep inside. He must have truly scared her last night, watching as he methodically killed the clerics and her…husband.

Idiot, he thought to himself. It was so similar to Bae that it hurt. It didn't matter that he did it for them, that he thought of nothing but their safety. The fact remained that he gave into his hate and killed. He was a murderer. He was no better than any of the bastards that had been lucky enough to call her their fiancé.

Now he had lost both of them.

He turned his head away from her and willed the hot tears pooling in his eyes not to spill. He didn't want her to know just how badly her rejection hurt him. He wanted her to be able to leave here with her head held high, knowing she made the right decision for herself.

A small, warm hand brushed a few tendrils of hair off of his face. She placed her fingertips underneath his chin, gently tilting his head to face her. When he finally opened his eyes, it was to see her bright smile shining down on him, a slight blush creeping up her throat to her cheeks.

"I'm glad," she whispered, "because I wanted to ask you."

For the first time in his life, Rumpelstiltskin, the famed Deal Maker, the spinner of words, was speechless. His breath hitched in his lungs and his throat constricted painfully as his mind tried to catch up to his ears.

Smiling mischievously, Belle dropped down to one knee and placed his cold, shaking hand into her own warm one. "Rumpelstiltskin, you are the only person that has ever given me a choice to decide my own fate. Because of you, I was able to be brave and strong. I once promised you forever. Now, I'm asking you to promise me the same. Will you marry me?"

Unable to respond, he took the ring from her grasp and very carefully slipped it on her delicate finger. It was a perfect fit.

"It would be an honor, my lady," he whispered, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a lingering kiss. "I promise to love and protect you, forever. I promise this won't be like the others."

"I know," she whispered, as he gently wiped the hot tears that rolled down her cheeks. "This time will be different."