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Chapter Text

Belle awoke as soon as she felt Rumple’s hand in hers. His long nails and rough skin brought her right back to reality. She wasn’t on top of that cliff in Arendelle, straining every muscle in her body to grab hold of the memory stone. Anna wasn't begging for her help – and not getting it. She was in the comfort of her own bedroom.

“Oh,” she breathed in relief. “It was just a bad dream!”

She pulled herself up to sitting, and Rumple sat down beside her, drawing her into a tense hug. His heart was pounding as fast as hers.

“You’re back early,” she said, remembering how he and Cogsworth set the clock for an afternoon arrival. “Does that mean something went wrong?”

“Yes,” he whispered as a hot teardrop rolled onto her scalp.

That perturbed her. She’d seen Rumple in the doldrums before, but she couldn’t imagine what it would take to get him to shed an actual tear.

“I told you I didn’t have a good feeling about this trip.”

“I should have listened.”

He was holding her so tightly, it was spooking her more than her nightmare. But just when she was starting to enjoy it, he pulled back abruptly and conjured up a Dreamcatcher. “I need to see your dream,” he told her, holding its circular frame over her head.

She pushed his hand away. “Why? It was just an unhappy memory.”

“Are you absolutely certain? Dreams can be prophetic, you know. Did you see someone in danger – someone you didn’t recognize? Or perhaps you saw yourself. . . on a boat?”  

A boat? She’d taken a ship to Arendelle and back, but that wasn’t the part of her journey that haunted her. “I know my own memories, Rumple.”

“Nevertheless,” he said, returning the Dreamcatcher to her head. She pushed back on it harder, making it fly across the room.

“Stop that. Please. You know how I feel about Mind Magic.”

There. She’d used one of his Magic Words. Now he had no choice but to listen.

He made the Dreamcatcher vanish. “All right, no Mind Magic. Just tell me about your dream.”

“Tell me what happened in the Victorian realm first.”

He sighed heavily. “I saw the Chamberlen Brothers. It turns out, they’re not such fakers after all. They have genuine powers. Powers beyond mine.” Just mentioning them seemed to heighten his panic. “Good Lord, your memory!”

Without explanation, he weaved his fingers through her hair and began rubbing her temple with his thumb. She felt the tingle of his healing spell ripple through her. The fear and guilt of her nightmare receded. It was so soothing, she might have relaxed completely, if not for his worry. In the kindliest of voices, he asked a deeply alarming question. “Did you dream your mother’s death?”

“He’s preparing me to relive it,” she thought, her stomach flipping over despite the calming effect of the spell. She leaned her cheek against his hand and let his caress steady her nerves. If she really was going to remember her suppressed trauma now, she was glad he was here to go through it with her. “Didn’t you say that memory was lost forever?”

“It ought to be, but I can’t be sure of anything anymore.”

Belle closed her eyes and braced herself, but no memories came. She opened them again. “I suppose it’s for the best,” she thought. Then another twinge of guilt hit her. She’d ruined Anna’s life, and for what? A memory she couldn’t recover, and as Rumple said, one that she was better off without.

“But what’s troubling him?” she wondered. “He’s so upset, he’s breaking all his own rules. He forgot to ask permission before touching me.”

He withdrew his hand immediately and sprung up from the bed. He hadn’t seemed able to read any of her thoughts until now, but he saw right through that one. To avoid looking at her in her nightgown, he turned to face the wall and said, “I know you’re very tired, but I need you in the library. It’s an emergency.”

“That’s fine,” said Belle, rather sorry that the head massage was over.

Without looking back, Rumple left her room. She got up, refreshed herself, and put on a robe and slippers. When she rejoined him in the library, he was sitting on the couch with the candelabra flickering beside him. He was looking over a pair of his contracts. He marked them both “PAID IN FULL.”

“Cogsworth’s,” he explained, placing them on the table. He pointed at each copy before making it disappear. “One to Speranza’s and one for my records.”

It was just like when Mama Bea was set free. Belle knew she ought to be happy for Cogsworth, but part of her was disappointed. He’d led such an interesting life, and he’d only just begun opening up about it.  

“I’ll miss him,” she said.

“So will I. He always kept me on the dot.”

She sat down on the couch. She had an urge to lay her head on Rumple’s shoulder, but thought the better of it. He would just shy away again. But when he took out his dagger, she understood that he was in a more serious mood than she had ever seen.

“Do you remember I once offered to take an Oath for you?”

Belle nodded. “To prove you don’t control the Mind Magic in the library?”

“Precisely. And because Book Magic is beyond my purview, we must put up our own line of defense.” He looked at her so gravely, it spooked her all over again.

“Rumple,” she said, putting her hand on his, “You don’t need to take an oath to prove anything to me.”

“I need it for me,” he answered, getting up and aiming the dagger toward the window. Just like on the night they signed the ogre peace treaty, it collected the moonlight. The engraved letters of his name lit up and glowed. Belle knew she was about to witness something awesome.

“You must stand up, too,” he told her.

She obeyed, and he knelt before her like a knight errant. He offered her the hand not holding the dagger. She took it.

“I hereby swear I will never hurt you, Belle. Even if you hurt me.” He closed his eyes and shook with passion. “Even if you run away. Even if you fall in love with a man who humiliates me. No matter what Dark thoughts enter my heart – jealousy, revenge – my dagger shall direct all my magic against me and spare you completely.” 

Then, without warning, he let go of her hand and slashed his own wrist.

“RUMPLE!” she screamed.

“It’s nothing,” he said, gritting his teeth against his pain. “I can’t die by my own hand. I’ll just be reborn as Dark One.”

Even so, she couldn’t bear to watch as he let his blood drip onto the dagger. It pooled inside the engraving and darkened the silver light.

“You can open your eyes now. I’m done,” he told her. When she did, she saw that he was healing his wound.

Belle was speechless. What could have occurred in the Victorian realm that he found this ritual so necessary? There was no danger of her running away and meeting another man, much less falling in love. How could she, after living with him and witnessing his good side? No man she’d ever met had his breadth of mind and depth of soul. And the gentle strength of his magical touch! She was longing for it even now, wishing they were back in the bedroom. But the moment she thought about it, the door shut with a slam.

“He did that, not me,” she realized. “He’s afraid of himself.”

They needed something to break the tension. She was grateful to see the teapot pop onto the table. It still provided solace, even without Mama Bea inside it. She poured a cup. “Here,” she said, giving it to him. “Things never seem quite as bleak after a cup of tea.”

It was rather a meager gesture after the violent spectacle of the Oath, but he took the cup to the couch and began drinking, if only to oblige her. She poured a cup for herself and sat beside him. It was the same tangy blend she drank with Wu Long that afternoon. She’d summoned him to help her translate the scroll she was working on. It was a heady compliment to be asked to participate in Rumple's magical research, and when she got to meet Wu Long, she really felt like she was hobnobbing with the upper echelons of wizardry. She was quite proud of what she’d achieved in Rumple's absence, but since he was in crisis mode, she assumed that showing him the translation could wait till morning. Yet as usual, the library was making its own suggestions. Her translated scroll, along with Wu Long's original, appeared on the table beside the tea tray.

Rumple picked up her translation. “You’ve been busy.”

“You did give me a stretched-out afternoon.”

How she'd needed that extra time! Chinese translation was difficult, even with Wu Long’s help. And there was that strict structure to adhere to. Line One must set the scene. Line Two should enhance the scene. Line Three, the only one to break the rhyme scheme, must introduce the conflict. And Line Four had to resolve the conflict. So much detail in four little lines! She watched eagerly as Rumple read the poem.

“By G-d, Belle, you’ve done it!”

He waved his hand in the air, and the couch rotated in a full circle with them sitting on it.

“So we’re celebrating now?” she thought, as they were showered in colorful confetti. It was a welcome change, but it sure was a sharp contrast.

“Where would I be without you?”

She smiled. Receiving his praise gave her a different sort of pleasure than his magical touch, but it was every bit as thrilling.

“I could never have done it alone,” she admitted. “I had to summon Wu Long for help.”

“I want to hear all about it, but not now.” He handed her the translation scroll. “Ready when you are.”

“For what?”

“Are you ready to read it aloud?”

“Oh!” She didn’t realize he’d ask her for more than the translation. Wasn't reading a scroll the same as casting a spell? That was much greater than filling the teapot by wish or need or however that worked. But she wasn’t new to magic anymore. She couldn’t appear unprepared. “All right. I’m ready.”

He cracked his first smile of the night. “No, you’re not. Not in the least.”

If she hadn’t been so relieved to see him cheer up, his teasing would have annoyed her.

“What does this spell accomplish?” he asked, taking on the manner of a schoolmaster.

“It’s about preserving relationships in case of memory erasures.” She paused and began putting the pieces together. “Is that what your trip was for? You went to meet that doctor, and you bumped into the Chamberlens. Are you afraid they’ll come after my memories again?”

“Indeed, I am afraid of that, but this spell is for a memory curse. That’s more complicated than erasure by potion.”

“But it comes down to the same thing. If someone tries to make me forget you –”

“Whether you forget me, or I forget you, or both, this will preserve what we are to each other. And now that I’ve taken the Oath, the timing could not be better. No matter how we end up, I will not hurt you.”

Perhaps that settled things for him, but she still had questions. What were they preserving exactly? They were more than just employer and employee. She considered him a mentor, though he would surely deny it, just as he would never say outright what they both knew was true. The attraction between them had become palpable. At bottom, they were a man and a woman, both discreet by nature, teetering on the precipice of love.

“I believe we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” he said softly, “but if it makes a difference to you, the spell will adjust itself based on future circumstances.”

“You mean, whatever stands between us now might not always?”

“Ah, the optimistic view. I can always count on you for that. Go ahead. Read the scroll.”

Two meet. Trust dawns. Friends draw near.

Links form. Take root. Each grows dear.

Storm strikes. Ties break. Strewn from view.

Lost bonds. . . still cleave. . . through cursed sphere.

When Belle looked up, Rumpelstiltskin was holding an ivory statuette of an elephant in the palm of his hand. He looked as surprised to see it there as she was.

“It’s another animal figurine, like the carved dragon,” said Belle.

Rumple nodded. “That's the Eastern tradition, but leave it to Wu Long to come up with such apt symbolism. Elephants have the longest memories of any creature in the animal kingdom.”

Belle reached over and petted its trunk, just to see what would happen. Since it wasn't a summoning tool, Wu Long did not manifest, and if Rumple was affected, he didn't show it.

“Take it,” Rumple urged her. “Keep it in a safe place.”

Belle hadn’t expected that. “What about your vault?”

“Magic as Light as that doesn’t belong in my vault! That little elephant has the power to defy curses. It belongs in your care.”

“Oh,” said Belle, blushing slightly. She felt like she’d just been raised a few levels. He was showing the utmost respect for her mind and abilities. No man, other than Prosper Villeneuve, had ever treated her as anything more than a pretty princess. It was worth preserving that forever, even if she had to endure all the unfulfilled physical longing that went with it.

She ran back to her room, placed the elephant in a drawer in her wardrobe, and ran back out again.

“Ready to make another?”

“Another? What for?”

“I want to assign a guard for you in case I am ever incapacitated.”

Was he expecting an attack that he was taking all these precautions? “Isn’t Brunhilde already my guard?" she asked.

“We need someone whose behavior doesn’t need to be curtailed by the threat of a curse.”

Belle saw the point only too well. It made her wonder if he knew everything that went on in the castle, even when he was away. She planned on keeping it to herself, but Brunhilde had begun taking liberties in touching her. At first, Belle thought nothing of it because Brunhilde was another female, if not an actual woman. But Belle soon understood that Brunhilde was lusting after her, and she wasn’t bashful about expressing it. Even Gaston showed more restraint. He at least observed the rules of chivalry to keep his bride chaste for the wedding night. Brunhilde’s wandering hands got so bold that Belle inadvertently turned her back into a broomstick. Her shrill scream rebounded all over the castle. Belle was sorry to have caused her so much pain, but she brought it on herself. Brunhilde had been inanimate ever since.

“What do you say to Chief Shrek?” asked Rumple. “His loyalty to you won't waver. All the ogres regard you as their heroine.”

Belle rather liked the suggestion, but she didn’t want to disrupt anything in the ogres’ realm. “Doesn’t he have other responsibilities?”

“He has a designated successor in case of emergencies.”

“And we don’t need him here to cast the spell?”

“No. All you have to do is envision him.” 

So Belle pictured the moment Chief Shrek kissed her hand and apologized for her mother’s death. It nearly brought her to tears. Then she read the scroll aloud again. When she was done, Rumple was holding a new elephant statuette, this one bigger than the first.

He tapped it on the head. “To Shrek with an I.O.U. note,” he said, sending it away. “Now, let’s make one more. You ought to have a woman friend. Not Mrs. Potts, though. This spell could get unwieldy if we involve a married woman. How about the friend who gave you the blue dress?”

“Gabrielle is married, too, and. . .”  

Her voice quavered and trailed off. Though she was wide awake, she was back in the grips of her nightmare. What a rotten friend she was! She burst out crying.

Rumple leapt off the couch and knelt before her once again. He conjured a handkerchief and held it out. "Shh, Belle, shh," he cooed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have asked so much of you in one night.”

She bucked up a little at the sound of her Name and the "I'm sorry," but Word Magic wasn’t enough to lessen her guilt. She tried explaining herself, but through her sobs, her story came out in a muddle. “Excuse me. . . it’s just that. . . my friend. . . in my dream. . . when I got the memory stone, she paid the price, not me. And it’s all my fault!”

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed harder.

“Belle, please take the handkerchief. It’s been treated with Ashwagandha. That’s a strengthening potion.”

Belle looked up, took the handkerchief, and sniffled into it. The smell was awful. She could tell he’d poured rosewater onto it to mask the odor, but it didn’t quite do the trick. The handkerchief stank like a stable.

“Horse sweat,” he told her. “It’s the active ingredient. Be glad I didn’t make you drink it.”

“That sounds disgusting.”

“It is.”

He gave her a moment to quiet down and then returned to his place on the couch. “Now, tell me if I have this right. You acquired a memory stone with a friend’s help. Why that particular friend? Did she have some prior connection to magic?”

Belle nodded. Skipping over how she’d run away from home, been introduced to the Grand Pabbie, and behaved so negligently toward the friend who had helped her, she jumped right to Anna’s capture. “Her aunt is a witch. She took my friend prisoner. All because I –”

“Hush,” Rumple interrupted. “You must stop blaming yourself. Witches are conniving. She probably had designs against her niece for a long while. You were just the unfortunate soul who created the opening. But I assure you, it would have happened without you. Witches always find a way.”  

Belle wasn’t convinced. She could never truly be at peace with herself until she knew that Anna was free and safe.

“I did ask Blue to help, but she said –”

“Let me guess. She refused to intervene in a family matter. Every family must repair its own wounds.” His eyes briefly flashed in anger.

“There was more to it than that,” said Belle, drying her tears. “Blue said her intervention could touch off a bigger fight. She made it sound almost like a magical war. So I was afraid that if –”

“That if you involved me, I would make things worse?”

He did not seem offended.

“Now, you see, here is where people underestimate the value of a deal. There’s no need for a fight if everyone gets something they want. All it takes is the right offer.”

Belle was still apprehensive. “But. . . all magic comes with a price.”

“Quite right,” said Rumple. “And I owe you for our elephant.”

Belle would have guessed that one elephant paid for the other, but if he wasn’t going to charge her, she wasn’t about to quibble.

“I have hurt many, many people in my long life,” he told her. “And I’ve watched others inflict pain, too. Unresolved conflict doesn’t just cast a shadow over our dreams. It reshapes our lives. So we will clear up your nightmares and your Fate in one shot.” 

“Oh, Rumple! I never should have doubted you!”

She didn’t stop herself this time. She leaned her head on his shoulder. She would have been content to stay in that position forever.

“We’ll take care of this after you’ve rested up, Belle. It’s been an exhausting night for you. Let’s stretch out the end of it, hmm?”

“Can you do that without Cogsworth?” she asked, as he conjured an ottoman for her feet and a blanket to cover her.

“A simple Time Shift like this? Of course! The sun shall not rise until Belle has caught up on her sleep.”

“Oh, Rumple!”

“Oh, Belle.”

She closed her eyes. “If only he would stroke my hair again,” she thought. But she did not want to seem demanding. She was already asking plenty by getting his help for Anna. Even still, she couldn’t resist curling up close to him before drifting off to sleep. And when her eyes blinked open again to a brightening sky, she could not tell whether she’d been lying there in the crook of his arm for minutes, hours, or days, but she saw he had not budged an inch.

“Better now?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She straightened up, and the blanket and ottoman disappeared. Now she felt refreshed and ready to take on the problem. Picturing the snow-capped mountains of Arendelle, she realized that Rumple would have to go away again. For a moment she was disappointed, but she quickly perked up. Perhaps he’d take her along! After all, she really needed to see Anna in person – to ask for forgiveness.

Belle couldn’t have been more eager to plan her first real adventure with Rumple, but then Brunhilde went and ruined everything by popping into the library. Her body was restored to flesh again, and she was wearing her helmet and shield. “Your wish is my command!” she announced, dropping to her knee like Rumple had.

“B-but I didn’t activate you,” Belle stammered.

“You must have. I’m not responding to him.” She jerked her thumb at Rumple with contempt.

He reacted with nothing more than cool indifference. “Well, well,” he observed. “It seems this task has fallen to you.”

“Indeed,” said Brunhilde, standing back up. “So go toddle off to your brewing room so that Belle and I can discuss it ourselves.”

“No!” cried Belle, reluctant to be left alone with her. In an instant, Brunhilde became stiff as a broomstick, though her human shape remained.

Her blue-grey eyes turned as hard and piercing. “Immobilize me if you will,” she spat, “but I am the one best equipped to fulfill your wish. If that weren’t so, I wouldn’t be awake.”

Belle hoped Rumpelstiltskin would contradict this, but he did not.

“Evidently, you’re correct,” he said. “But don’t think you’re leaving this castle to do battle for Belle until you’ve given her a proper reckoning.” He snapped a pair of contracts into his hand. “It’s high time she understood the terms of your service.”

Chapter Text

Brunhilde didn’t think it was possible for the Dark One to come up with a torture worse than the Curse of the Wood Flesh, but when he conjured her contracts to force her to confess her crimes to Belle, she knew she was in for a fresh, new humiliation. It was an exercise designed to demean her. And Belle was wary enough of her already.

Well, if Belle didn’t like her, she oughtn’t like him either. Brunhilde never asked to be saddled with these feelings. They were his originally, passed onto her by magic when he found them too overwhelming. He wanted to earn Belle’s love by fulfilling all her dreams and wishes, and so did she. He craved the nearness of Belle’s body, and so did she. He burned with jealousy because she’d been allowed to help Belle bathe, and now she was burning with jealousy because it was obvious that Belle preferred him. Never had she hungered for her warrior powers more than when she saw the two of them nestled together on that couch. She wished she could blast him out of the realm. Better still, turn him into a stick of wood. Then she’d grab Belle for herself.

Except she couldn’t. Belle didn’t want her to. Even when the Dark One wasn’t around to fight her off, Belle could protect herself. The Curse of the Wood Flesh was tied to her will, not his.

Brunhilde stood before them, her body stiff as a board. With a snap of his fingers, the Dark One overrode her Curse, but in the very same moment, he clamped restraints around her wrists. Belle did not raise a word of protest. The princess who had mercy on an ogre showed none to her devoted guard.

With an air of deep concentration, Belle began studying the Treaty for War Reparations. She knew that when it came to the Dark One’s contracts, that devil threw himself into the details.

“So that’s how you protect Avonlea!” she cried. “With Valkyries!”

The Dark One nodded.

“Taking all the credit as usual,” thought Brunhilde. “I’m the one who commands the troops.”

“But why is Brunhilde responsible? Gaston trapped the first ogre.”

“Not alone. No human could have gotten an ogre across my barrier without help. Standard magic couldn’t have done it either. It took the divine assistance of a warrior goddess.”

Belle turned to Brunhilde, her eyes flashing. “How could you? All those people . . . dead. . .even my . . .”

She blinked back a few tears. The Dark One handed her a handkerchief.

Brunhilde dropped to her knees and knelt before Belle. “I did it for the glory of war and Valhalla, but I would never do it again.” Though her wrists were in shackles, she leaned over and pressed her lips against Belle’s knuckle. “Forgive me, I beg of you. I’ve learned my lesson. I follow your lead now. I am pledged to serve you, my Princess.”

Belle pulled her hand back. “Brunhilde, get up. And please don’t touch me again. Or call me ‘Princess.’”

“I’d rescind that last order if I were you,” said the Dark One. “She ought to address you by your proper title.”

“But I’m no longer –”

“Surely you didn’t think you abdicated when you came here. If anything, your power was amplified.”

Belle stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Your wishes shape policy at Avonlea. I’ve seen to that from the moment you first called me. Your mother may not have envisioned this particular arrangement, but I daresay the outcome is what she would have wanted.”

When the library began to hum the tune to “The Call of Gideon,” Belle covered her mouth with the handkerchief as though it was keeping her from keeling over.

“Next Contract,” said the Dark One, passing it to Belle. “As you will see, Brunhilde is working off two debts. The first is to Avonlea, but the second is to you personally. I suggest you pay special attention to the conclusion.”

When she came to it, Belle read it aloud: Brunhilde’s service shall end when Princess Belle, in her ethical judgment, determines that Brunhilde has sufficiently absorbed the values taught by the late Queen Colette of Avonlea.

“In other words, you have the option to free Brunhilde at any time. Avonlea will be protected regardless. The term of that treaty is forever. But Brunhilde’s personal service to you is at your discretion.”

Belle looked from the Dark One to Brunhilde and back again. She couldn’t decide what to do.

The Dark One used her silence to slip in his own advice. “Brunhilde has been empowered for the mission of saving your friend. It’s part of the amends she must make to you. But in spite of how much it means to you, Belle, I wouldn’t recommend freeing her until she returns here. Otherwise, you’ll never truly know that your friend is safe.”

Oooh, that vile maggot-mouth! He was saying everything he could think of to smear her, eroding what little remained of Belle’s trust.

“I was hoping to talk to her myself,” said Belle.

The Dark One shook his head. “Too many loopholes in that plan. Even a highly skilled witch can shapeshift, and Brunhilde can do much more. She has the power of divine inspiration. She can exploit that guilty conscience of yours and plant all sorts of false ideas into your head.”

“But wouldn’t the Curse –?“

“The Curse of the Wood Flesh would finish her off, yes,” said the Dark One. “Especially given your antipathy to Mind Magic. But if she returns here bearing a seashell record that your friend is safe, and I inspect it for fraud, we’ll know she complied.”  

He grinned at Brunhilde smugly, convinced that he’d backed her into a corner. She glared back because for the most part, he had. This task was so important to Belle, she might actually earn her release by doing it, but if Belle rejected her love, it would mean goodbye forever. Regaining her freedom would hurt! Only the Dark One could stick someone in so cruel a paradox.

But Brunhilde knew she had advantages that he lacked. She didn’t need a Dreamcatcher or one of those pathetic wet rags to see into Belle’s mind. The great Seer was blocked, all because Belle, in her shame, was hiding the full story from him. But she was getting a clear picture – of Belle in Arendelle! Traipsing around the jagged cliffs with no less than Princess Anna as her guide, she made a choice she would always regret. She ignored Anna’s pleas for help, and now Anna was in the hands of a witch.

“It’s all my fault! I must fix this! It’s all my fault!” nagged Belle’s conscience over and over again.

Human morality was such a nuisance! Belle had an outsized sense of it. Her mother was to blame, of course. She was the reason Belle’s values were so perverse, why she disdained an honorable soldier like Gaston, yet somehow found worth in the Dark One. Her concern for Anna was part of the same problem.

“My poor deluded baby," thought Brunhilde. "I’ve got to knock some sense into her book-addled brain.”

And this mission was her only chance. She'd just as soon leave Anna to the witch, but if saving her would conquer Belle’s heart, it was worth doing.

She could have laughed in the Dark One’s face. He might fancy himself omniscient, but when it came to the basic facts of Belle’s torment, he was stone blind. Her vision was superior. She could see everything Belle wanted to hide. She was exposing her vulnerabilities as carelessly as she used to undress and reveal her naked body.

A fresh bout of lust churned through Brunhilde. How did the Dark One hold himself back? If she were in his place, she’d have carried Belle off to her bedroom and ravaged her by now. Well, more the fool he. Let him play the gentleman if he wanted. It was a weak man’s tactic. She was taking action. She would be Belle’s hero!

“I will not disappoint you, Princess,” she said, bowing. “I will fulfill your wish with all the glory befitting a Valkyrie, and I will come back here with the seashell to prove I’ve done it.”

It was more than he was doing. But would it be enough? He already had Belle under an almost unshakable spell.

Brunhilde watched Belle’s reaction. She was hesitant, but her worry over Anna won out. Brunhilde’s shackles broke right open.

“Perhaps I’ll end up paying for this in some uncomfortable way,” thought Belle, “but I can’t put myself first again.”

“My naïve beauty,” thought Brunhilde. “Everyone puts themselves first.”

And so, with Belle’s lukewarm sanction, Brunhilde left the Dark Castle. She sailed over the green forests of Misthaven, northward to Arendelle. A flock of white tundra swans joined her in the clouds. The further she flew, the longer the procession became. When she reached the snow-capped mountains and clear blue fjords of Norse country, she dove down to the beach with the swans in tow. As they splashed around and cawed in joyful chorus, she chose a scalloped pink seashell to enchant. She swooped back up again to a tall mountain peak, and from there, sang an ode of praise to the pristine, magnificent land.

               Now do I see the earth anew!

               Rise all green from the waves again.

               The waterfalls rush, and the swans fly,

               catching fish beneath the cliffs.

The pantheon rejoiced at seeing her and regaled her with their own song of welcome:

                East over water you have fared,

                bearing poetry's waves to our shore.

                By the war god's heart your course was set,

                and now, at last, you are home!

How she would have loved to soar through the skies to salute Odin, Thor, and the rest, but it was understood she was on a quest. “To the palace!” called the gods in their ethereal voices.

The palace sat atop the most commanding mountain in Arendelle. Brunhilde flew there, letting the cold, crisp air invigorate her. “Hail, Queen Elsa!” she sang out. “Long may you reign!”

But now was not the time to bolster Elsa. She must rescue Anna, the younger, lesser sister. That misfit’s warmth was emanating from the depths of the dungeon. Brunhilde manifested in the cell where she lay, knocked out and unconscious. Yet despite her surroundings, Anna was not suffering. There was a fairy blessing upon her, protecting her from further harm.

“Belle’s own, created with Reul Ghorm’s assistance,” noted Brunhilde in surprise. Belle’s blessing was giving Anna such a pleasant dream, she did not perceive the dank, mouse-infested prison she was locked inside. She felt herself in the comfort of her own bedroom where she lacked for nothing.

Damn that devious Reul Ghorm! It was just like her to impose her brand of magic where it didn't belong. And naturally, Anna was the tool. She had always been Arendelle’s weakest link. That girl would sell out the whole pantheon given the chance. She even had influence over Elsa, the favored daughter of the gods.

But Brunhilde saw that she was in a position to achieve something truly epic, provided she leveraged Belle’s wishes strategically. She’d defeat both the Dark One and Reul Ghorm in one fell swoop! The pantheon would be restored to dominance!

“Odin will own them all!” she crowed. 

The ends of her braids were turning to straw, but Brunhilde wasn’t about to let the Dark One’s Curse stop her. Her path was clear, and her powers were holding out.

She turned her focus to the sleeping Anna and tried probing her thoughts. “Just what mischief have you been up to?”

Under the fairy-induced trance, Anna’s mind was locked more tightly than her jail cell. All Brunhilde could sense were her sappy dreams. She tried breaking the spell, but her arm seized back in a nearly paralyzing cramp. Spasms of pain shot through her. The tips of her fingers began hardening into wood.

“It’s Belle’s wish, so I cannot undo it,” she told herself. Twirling her wrist to revive sensation, she resolved to proceed more slowly.

She flew upstairs to seek her answers elsewhere. Floating invisibly through the grand hallways of the palace, she soon made another discovery. Time was frozen here. Under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn’t have noticed. As an immortal, Time had no relevance to her. But Belle and Anna were human, and Time was how they measured their lives. It seemed that what Belle experienced as months were mere hours for Anna, and it wasn’t because of Belle’s blessing.

“It’s the Dark One’s doing,” Brunhilde deduced, “for some nasty scheme of his own.”

She laughed and spun in a jubilant circle. Whatever he’d done, it was bound to disgust Belle. All she had to do was get her to see it.

“And then she’ll finally be mine!”

Her next step was to unfreeze Time. Normally, Time was in the Dark One’s domain, but he’d allowed her small snippets of his power just for this task. With a wave of her hand, she got everyone in the palace stirring again. The servants began bustling about. Queen Elsa went back to giving orders in the banquet room. Preparations for a feast in her sister’s honor were underway. Elsa had no idea that Anna was stuck in the bowels of the dungeon.

But unlike everyone else, Anna did not awaken in the Time Shift. Belle’s blessing persisted in spite of it. Anna was still dozing away under the illusion of peace and plenty.

“Belle’s blessing supersedes his power?” wondered Brunhilde. “Impossible!”

An explanation came to her in an echo from Belle’s memory. “Can you do this invisibly so the witch doesn’t know it?” she heard Belle asking Reul Ghorm.

“Tricky,” the fairy answered, “but let’s see what we can do.”

Reul Ghorm's trick was maddeningly clever: a reverse of the Sleeping Curse. Sweet dreams to replace the endless cycle of nightmares, and instead of True Love’s Kiss to break the spell, Anna would only awaken when the witch who cursed her was nearby.

Brunhilde cast her mind back to Belle’s vision of Anna’s capture. A fierce and formidable woman was towering over Anna, but Belle was too far away to get a clear view of her. Now that Brunhilde was paying closer attention, she recognized who it was. Tall, regal Ingrid – the exiled Snow Queen. She suspected it all along.

Like Elsa, Ingrid possessed the glacial magic of the Norse lands. The pantheon contended that she was the rightful heir to the throne. If not for the meddling Rock Trolls, she would be. They said she had a spiteful streak and wasn’t fit for leadership. To keep her out of power, they used their unique magic to erase her memory from human consciousness. It was as though Ingrid had never existed.

“Sniveling traitors,” thought Brunhilde. They were as bad as the fairies.

Because of the Rock Trolls' spell, Ingrid had been so completely forgotten, she was able to hide in plain sight. Her fortress was in the palace itself, and everyone, from Queen Elsa down to the lowliest servant, avoided the east wing without knowing why. But as a demigoddess, Brunhilde could find Ingrid easily. She followed the gust of icy magic blowing through the east wing and entered the secluded tower chamber where Ingrid was sitting alone in front of an enchanted mirror.

Brunhilde did not really understand Mirror Magic. Like Time, it was something she was accustomed to dismissing. Mirrors were weapons for common witches, not Valkyries. But she’d gained some begrudging respect in the Dark One’s castle. He covered his mirrors as though they contained something volatile, and as much as Brunhilde despised him, she knew he must be right. He made a strict point of keeping Belle away from them. The one exception was the night he transformed her bedroom into a spa. Since Brunhilde got infected with his love in the same transformation, she remembered everything about it vividly. She was standing behind Belle, combing her hair, and all the while, the Dark One was talking to her.

Standing in the same position behind Ingrid, Brunhilde could see that she wasn’t using her mirror as a means of communication, but it gave off a familiar aura. She detected love charms from Frigg combined with battle blessings from Thor.

“You crafty witch!” thought Brunhilde. The union of opposites would turn the fondest of hearts against one another. Ingrid was planning to use it to break up Elsa and Anna. Then, instead of deposing Elsa, she would ally with her, and the two of them could rule Arendelle as sisters in magic.

“Divide and conquer,” said Brunhilde. “May it work for both of us.”

There was no need to implant a single idea into Ingrid’s mind. All she had to do was assist. It was surely by the grace of the gods that Belle had only asked her to free Anna and not avenge her. Belle, in her mawkish pacifism, lacked such foresight. For once, it was working in her favor. Destroying Ingrid would have been like harming her own beloved child.

“The prisoner still sleeps,” Brunhilde whispered. “And you are the only one who can wake her.”

Ingrid gave a primp to her hair and straightened her high, stiff collar, but she did not leave right away. She flicked her long fingernails against the mirror. It shattered into the shape of a spider’s web. Holding her palm open, a few silvery shards floated out. She dropped them into a tiny pouch, and then slipped the pouch under her billowing sleeve. Then she crouched down behind the mirror and pulled out another enchanted item - a golden urn. It was polished to a shine and decorated with finely-wrought carvings. Even without knowing what its powers were, Brunhilde was certain that its magic was what enticed the Dark One to Arendelle.

Greedy old bastard! He always wanted everything for himself. It explained the Time Freeze, too. As long as Belle was willing to canoodle with him, he’d stay in his own lair, but he wouldn’t risk losing an exotic piece of magical treasure to anyone else, so he froze Time until it was convenient for him to return.

“And that probably just scratches the surface,” thought Brunhilde. How much lower had he stooped?

With her magical weaponry assembled, Ingrid went down to the dungeon. Brunhilde sailed invisibly behind her. True to Belle’s blessing, Anna awoke as soon as Ingrid arrived. “What? Where am I?” she asked groggily.  

“Exactly where you belong,” Ingrid answered coolly.

Anna sat up, looked around, and recognized she was in prison. She rushed to the door of her cell. “You can’t just lock me in here!” she cried, uselessly shaking the iron bars. “Elsa won’t stand for it!”

“Even when she finds out what you were planning to do to her?” challenged Ingrid, pulling the urn out from behind her back. “Using this to strip away her magic?”

“Thor’s hammer!” thought Brunhilde. No wonder the Dark One was after that thing. He could trap plenty of enemies in there. . . unless someone cleverer trapped him first. One more reason to align with Ingrid.

“No, that’s not why I had it,” said Anna. “I found it with a man that our parents sought out.”

“A man or a monster?” questioned Brunhilde.

Probing Anna’s mind was easy now that she was awake. The beast’s hideous image came to the fore, and the rest of the story soon followed. Just like Belle, Anna signed a contract to become his maid, but unlike Belle, she escaped. With a bit of stealth, she’d taken the urn with her. Arguably, she’d bested him, but she considered herself lucky to get away. She was worried he’d hunt her down to seek revenge.

“I may be able to kill two birds with one stone,” calculated Brunhilde. What appalling acts would the Dark One be driven to after he saw that Belle’s darling friend was none other than the girl who’d given him the slip and taken the urn? Brunhilde could stand back, let him do the dirty work, and take poor, disillusioned Belle under her protective wing. Then, to complete her triumph, she’d throw him into the urn.

Brunhilde was well satisfied with her plan, and she saw that it fit Ingrid’s, too. The sisters would have to come together before the mirror could tear them apart. Anna could even walk free for a short while – just long enough for Brunhilde to capture her image as commanded. Belle would see exactly what she wanted to see, no magical manipulation necessary. It was perfect!

Ingrid left the dungeon to start working on Elsa. She told her where Anna was and about the lies and tricks that got her there. After that, she described the urn and its power to trap magic.

“She wants to take away what makes you special,” said Ingrid.

“Anna would never do that!” cried Elsa.

“That’s what I thought about my sister,” said Ingrid. “Your mother.”

Ingrid went on to tell Elsa the story of their rift. “Anna is just like her,” she concluded.

The story hit Elsa hard. Her eyes welled up with tears of confusion. She was not yet of a mind to renounce Anna, but the seeds of doubt were planted.

Ingrid left Elsa alone to stew in her suspicions. As predicted, she went down to the dungeon with the intent of freeing Anna, but the mistrust was taking root. Before she let Anna out, she confronted her with everything she’d heard. Only when Anna began whimpering her excuses did Elsa’s heart thaw. She dismissed the guards and unlocked the cell.

“Oh, it was a ruse!” Anna breathed in relief.

Elsa nodded, and the two sisters embraced. Standing by with her seashell ready, Brunhilde captured their entire nauseating exchange. Anna appeared to be headed toward a happy ending. Belle would be gratified.

But Brunhilde wasn’t finished. She still needed something that would turn Belle against the Dark One. She trailed behind the sisters as they sneaked around the castle in search of the urn. Fully confident they were about to outwit Ingrid, they had no idea that she was lying in wait for them.

“To the east wing,” whispered Brunhilde.

“Let’s try the east wing,” said Anna.

The girls tiptoed into an old, neglected parlor. The cracked mirror looked like it belonged amid the dusty, slipcovered furniture. When Elsa ran her finger along it, Brunhilde knew the curse was working. Elsa’s face grew sad, and she began to muse to Anna about their mother, Ingrid, and their estrangement.

“Knowing Ingrid, I’m not surprised things got ugly,” said Anna. “But that could never happen to us.”

“That’s what you think,” thought Brunhilde as the girls gave each other another revolting hug. Itching to be over and done with this task already, she urged Anna toward the armoire where the urn - and Ingrid - were hidden. The doors burst open, and out fell the frozen figure of Hans the Insurgent. Anna jumped back in fright, but the tension was quickly broken by celebration. Elsa pulled out the urn.

“Praised be the gods of victory!” cried Brunhilde, clapping the seashell shut. When the Dark One saw this, he would writhe in greed, and Belle would finally see him for the wretch that he was.

Now Brunhilde could return to Belle and declare her mission accomplished. Ingrid would handle the sisters on her own. She left the palace and headed southwest. With the bright sky above her and the fjords shimmering below, she was enveloped in a dazzling shade of blue that matched Belle’s eyes. Eager to reunite with her lovely one, Brunhilde merged their thoughts.

But contrary to her expectation, Belle was no longer fretting over Anna. She’d already let go of her worries, and the undeserving Dark One was reaping all the benefit. He was at his wheel as always, while she was standing on top of a ladder, struggling with the window curtains. Neither of them could stop stealing shy, wistful glances at the other. Belle was asking about his spinning, laughing at his jokes, and all the while, dispelling his gloom.

Brunhilde refused to stand by and watch. “NO!” she shouted impetuously, forgetting she was already in Belle’s mind. It startled Belle so badly, she lost her balance on the ladder and fell. “NO!” Brunhilde yelled again as the Dark One rushed over and caught her in the nick of time. Another rescue, with him as the hero.

For a few long moments, he held her in his beastly arms, both of them too overcome to speak. He looked upward at the ceiling as if to gauge what quirk of Fate dropped such a precious package into his hands. When his eyes met hers, she gazed at him with pure gratitude and trust.

“Thank you,” she murmured through her rose petal lips. Her simple words conveyed everything she was too ladylike to say out loud. She wanted him to do all the things Brunhilde fancied herself doing. She wished he would carry her to her lacy canopy bed. She was willing to let him have his way with her, and she would not scream or resist. She expected to enjoy it.

Yet even with Belle’s all-but-spoken consent, the Dark One did what no normal man would have. He continued to restrain himself and put her back down on her feet. He, in his tangled reasoning, had some compunction about taking her while she was still his captive. He considered it a violation of their contract. And for that, Belle loved him even more.

Brunhilde saw that no matter what heroic feat she might perform for Belle, she didn’t stand a chance. “May Odin strike them down, and Freyja kill their love!” she shouted, hurling the charmed seashell down to the shore below. When it crashed, its magical message was released where only the mindless swans could hear it. She’d done exactly as Belle wished and freed Anna, but she was damned if she’d let that little ingrate know it. Let her go back to wallowing in guilt for the rest of her life.

Brunhilde’s limbs were starting to stiffen. The pain was nearly unbearable, but she must force herself. Just one last ploy. . . to be executed by Gaston.

“Go rescue Belle from that monster,” she commanded him. “She is your betrothed. That beast doesn’t deserve to have her.”

She felt her rallying cry gird his loins. She wished she could do more to assure his success. He would only have himself to rely on. But he was a skilled warrior. Perhaps he had it in him to defeat the Dark One.

The splintering began. A million sharp stabs pierced through her, yet instead of bleeding, she was ossifying. Her body was going dead, bit by bit. She screamed in agony, but she would make her last moment count. With what remained of her voice, she croaked out her final ode:

               In the Halls of Valhalla, I finally take my place

               With my sword and shield, I enter Odin’s realm

               I am an immortal spirit with a heart of steel

               With the gods on high forever, I laugh at the fears of man.

But Brunhilde did not enter Valhalla. She just fell through the skies and crashed on the beach beside her seashell. The mighty warrior goddess of eld was now a broken broomstick.