The Chronicles of the Dark One: Heart of the Beast
Chapter 29: The Chronicles of the Dark One
Alonso. Krampus. Roonil. Lydia. Cleopatra. Philip. Amelia. Clarence. Leo. Tamlin. Gary. Isabella. Leota. Tamara. Edward. Dian. Crispin. Taylor.
He'd lived with them for two hundred years and yet…he was only just meeting them for the first time.
They were the invisible Dark Ones, those who had a voice in his head but such a bleak or small one that he'd never been able to ascertain a name from them. They were the ones that Nimue's presence overpowered. They were the ones he'd heard more in whispers and shivers and winces; he'd felt their emotions more than he'd heard their voices. But now…now he had names. Now he had stories to go with the names, however short they may have been.
Belle had been silent for a long time after he'd shown her the chronicles. She'd seemed to have given up on talking to him in order to explore them more when suddenly, after what felt like an eon, she'd looked up at him and asked, "Have you read all of these?"
He'd shaken his head. "I know that if things were reversed, and if it were you with my curse, reading them would have been your first course of action, but believe me when I say that I had very little interest in the writings of those who came before me. I only ever ventured into them when it was necessary. Which is why I say that it's possible there are answers in these books, but I can't say for certain."
That had been all Belle needed to take charge. She insisted that they needed to go through them. All of them right then and there, though looking at some of Nimue's ancient writing gave her pause.
"I'll take the older ones," he volunteered. "One of the benefits of being the Dark One and inheriting their knowledge is that I should be able to read their writing with little trouble."
"This is how you know so many languages," she realized. "How you've read more books than I could imagine."
He nodded. "Wasn't all done by me. Here. You should start here…"
He picked out the recent ones that he knew of for her, his closest ancestors: Morgana, Indie, who had killed Morgana, James, who had killed Indie, Hilaria, who had killed James, Gorgon, who had killed Hilaria, Zoso, who had killed Gorgon, and…well, she turned his away when he tried to give them to her.
"It's the strangest genealogy I've ever heard…" she muttered as he set them before her with explanation. He agreed before settling into his own seat and beginning to read, picking up with the ramblings of Nimue before she'd been killed by Bruno.
Frederick. Jennifer. Jenson. Norman.
That was proof that not all the stories and names he encountered were strange to him. Admittedly, he'd never known that the man who finally killed Nimue was Bruno, but given her prestige in the memories and her habit of leaning more toward jealousy, he wouldn't have been surprised if Nimue kept him quiet all the time out of spite. And the others were Dark Ones only briefly. Frederick lasted seven days before his wife killed him. Jennifer lasted two months before her first lover, Jenson, stole it from her. He lasted about a year before it went to Norman, the first name and story that was familiar.
He was the father of the twin girls he'd occasionally seen and heard from, Jennifer and Catherine. He had longed to be free from the Curse for as long as he'd had it, only accidentally acquiring it because he'd broken into the Dark One's home looking for riches, found himself under attack, and stupidly grabbed the blade the Dark One kept on him for protection. One lucky thrust and that was it for both of them.
Jennifer and Catherine had taken on the curse by attempting a loophole; the twins had held the blade together when they killed their father, hoping it would free him and be unsure of who to dwell in. They'd become twin Dark Ones instead. And prominent ones. Even in the memories, they'd been easily corruptible and were the only Dark Ones he knew of who had ever used the magic to purposefully age themselves up. They'd done a lot of work for Nimue, in her attempt to end Light Magic. They'd been killed when Frederick, another Dark One he couldn't identify, tricked Jennifer into falling in love with him against her sister's knowledge. He'd gotten her to show him the dagger, and to his disgusting joy, when he'd killed one, they'd both died.
After Frederick was Erik, Kazeem killed him. Gareth killed him. Hildegard killed him. Jovi, the Dark One who had taught him to transport himself from place to place, killed her.
Mortimer, Francesca, Percival, Claudia, Tomas…another name he recognized. He was the one who had taken advantage of Ophelia, who had made Tomas pay for it with his life. Oliver, the youngest Dark One, had freed her from her curse.
Taka had followed, then Georgina, Mary, Jadis, Timothy, Maya, Morgana, Indie, Liesel, James, Larry, Hilaria, Gorgon, Zoso, Rumpelstitlskin…Emma.
He swallowed hard as he glanced over at Belle and excused himself to go upstairs to fetch the coffee and delay himself further by making her some tea. Belle didn't seem to be having as difficult a time reading the Chronicles as he did, but that made sense. They were personal to him, the names, the journals, the thoughts; they were real to him in a way they couldn't be to her. The most he'd gotten out of her since they started had been when she'd suddenly looked up at him with wide eyes and asked, "If they've always been in your mind…does that mean that…when we were…together, they were there?"
He hadn't needed much prompting to figure out what she was talking about.
"No, the voices aren't alive like that," he'd explained. "They're echoes of memories. And even if they were…they're always silent around you. I think it's why it's so easy to sleep when you are with me. The voices are strongest when I'm tempted to stray from them. When you are around, I'm not tempted; I'm committed. They don't stand a chance against you."
She'd sighed with relief so great she hadn't even blushed at what they'd been talking about. He wished he could have shared in that relief, wished he could have looked at all the studying they were doing with the same kind of cold, carefree eyes that a researcher like Belle was capable of looking at it. But it was difficult, painful.
He hated the voices in his head, perhaps hated it even more than he'd hated the chains of the dagger. But knowing their names and their stories, watching as Nimue suppressed the memories of those who, like himself, hadn't pursued the destruction of Light Magic the way she wanted. He wasn't sure it was any better. It was easy to see why Belle would be so concerned about what they saw in his mind. There were several times he'd had to remind himself that they were not real, not souls, that they had passed on centuries ago. They were only an echo of a memory. And yet still capable of so much destruction.
With a deep breath, he took the tea and the coffee in his hands and headed back to the dungeon the basement felt as though it was becoming. At the top of the stairs, he saw Belle close her phone and set it aside before she dropped her face into her hands and rubbed. She'd made several calls over the course of the night. No one had picked up. If they were sane, they were asleep or napping, trying to get some semblance of rest before they were needed for Emma.
Given when Merida had woken him this morning, and when Belle usually woke up, they were both frighteningly close to hitting the twenty-four-hour mark. And he felt it in his entire body.
"I brought you tea," he muttered. "Still no word?"
She shook her head. "I can't find anything," she exclaimed, changing the subject. "She doesn't want the baby but Zelena. The only reason I can think she'd want that is if she wants to destroy dark magic, but that doesn't make any sense! I feel like I'm going in circles."
That was probably also the fault of exhaustion, at least in some part. He set the cup of tea down close, and she was quick to snatch it up and drink. She savored it, closing her eyes and sighing. And when she opened those eyes again…they landed on something that made her breath catch. He followed her gaze into the corner, where the boxes of his things were stacked. Obviously, this wasn't the first time he'd seen them, but she didn't know that. She didn't know that he'd been sneaking into the basement ever since he got back to town and already knew what was in those boxes.
Although, now that he thought about it, a clean shirt and tie would be welcome. He was fairly sure he'd been in this suit since before Isaac rewrote history. That thought alone made him want to burn it.
"I uh…I did it after you left," Belle choked out as he moved mindlessly over to the stack and opened one to see if there was a new change of clothes he could get out of it. "After I…made you…"
He didn't react. He wasn't entirely sure he had the energy to react, and even if he did, he wasn't sure what that reaction would be. Probably something akin to when he'd first come down here and discovered it months ago, but now…
"After I got home, you…you were everywhere, haunting me. I thought I wanted to move on, clear you out in every possible way so that I could carry on with my life and start a new one from the fragments, but…I think it was more to do with guilt. Sending you over the town line…I don't regret it…but at the same time, I do. I'm sorry I didn't handle things…better."
If he was honest, he was more worried about her. He'd known that doing what she did was going to leave her with guilt. He hadn't wanted that for her. And hearing confirmation of it…it was so strange not to have a black heart, not to feel vengeance. Only sympathy for the woman whose heart he'd felt breaking that night. He'd broken it. He'd given her very little choice in the matter.
"In hindsight, if I handled things like our marriage better, we wouldn't have been at the town line in the first place," he added. "I'm sorry I didn't consider my choices better."
Because he understood now that there was a choice involved. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, and from his perspective now he could see the opportunities he'd had to be truthful with her, to ask for her assistance, to tell her the things that he'd struggled to get out of his mouth when Nimue was in his head. And he'd known that doing those were better options! For him and for her, but Nimue and the other Dark Ones, they could just be so convincing! Perhaps that was why he was so determined to be truthful with her now. He didn't want to go through that again; he didn't want her to carry guilt or have doubts.
"Belle," he turned away from his past and stepped up closer to her, as close as he felt she was likely to allow him without pulling back or flinching. He knew that reaction was one that he'd caused, one that might take her some time to unlearn after what had been done, but it was also one of the reasons he wanted to be close when he repeated the words he'd said before. It was only through repetition that he was going to get her to see she could trust him again. "I meant what I said before, when we were at the shop. I want to be the hero that you deserve. I want to become worthy of the love that you once had for me. That I hope you still have for me. If we could start from the beginning…"
From the beginning…when he'd been cursed and couldn't let it go because of Baelfire? When they first got here, and he'd been terrified of anyone figuring out what role he'd actually played in the Curse? When she'd come back to him, and he'd feared what she'd see so much he'd practically held her prisoner in the house?
"I don't regret it, but I do" was what she'd said about sending him over the town line. It seemed contradictory, but he understood it. He understood it because it was nice to say that if they went back to the beginning, then they'd do everything differently. But the reality was that he wasn't sure he would. He could only do this moment differently, this moment and every moment they had together until the end. But would it be enough?
Belle cleared her throat and pulled her hands out of his grasp. He hadn't even realized that he'd reached out to hold them until she did. Now he felt their absence as his flesh cooled where she'd left her imprint.
"There has to be something here," she muttered, turning back to her books. "We can't do this; we have to keep looking."
He took a steady breath and tried to tell himself that she was right. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't a rejection, just…logical.
But how logical was it if they were both bone tired and walked away in a few hours with nothing to show but a sleepless night? Maybe he had missed something in the earlier Chronicles. Maybe it would be a better idea to have this conversation later. Maybe he could get more done on his own.
"Rumple, I-"
"You know, if the others haven't called you yet and nothing has happened, then it's safe to assume that we have a bit of time," he dismissed for her. "You look exhausted. Perhaps you should go upstairs and rest for a while. I'll continue to look through the Chronicles."
Belle sighed and rubbed her forehead as she looked out over the books on the table before them. Clearly, she was torn between wanting to stay and help but also give in to her body's desire to sleep. It was probably also a secret desire not to spend so much time alone with him in the room when he kept making it awkward. He wanted to be patient; he wanted to wait for her…but oh how he wished they could truly just soar over this awkward in-between phase they were in and get right back to where they'd been before. He hadn't been "gentle" and "timid" and "slow" with her since the castle. He wasn't sure how long he could do that now.
"Yeah, that might be best," she finally nodded, grabbing the tome of Zoso's that she'd been reading before he left and clutching it to her chest as she moved around him to the stairs. That had taken less argument than he thought it would. Was that good?
"Rumple…"
He lifted his head to find her at the stairs, looking just as bone tired as he felt but with uncertainty in her eyes. "I can trust you, can't I? If you find something…you'll tell me?"
He stopped himself from opening his mouth to answer in the affirmative. What good would that do? He could name a dozen times in their life, their marriage, when he'd told her that she could trust him and then he'd turned around and destroyed it. Wasn't that the reason some part of her felt as though she had to ask the question in the first place? Because his trust was worth nothing at the moment?
In this moment…
"The only way to prove it to you is if you give me the chance," he said instead. It seemed a better answer than "yes." And he watched for a moment as she considered those words, as she rocked a little, vacillating between staying and going. But in the end, she climbed the stairs before her and left him to his work.