A Dangerous Game: Part I
A Once Upon a Time Fanfic
The woman almost glows, a beacon amidst the darkness. Silvery hair cascades down her shoulders, and her white dress pools around her feet, dragging further on the filthy prison floor with every move she makes.
Under any other circumstances, Killian would love finding himself alone with such a beautiful woman, but standing in the Dark One’s castle, with his hook dipped in dreamshade and a vial of squid ink to ensure his victory, all he feels is anger.
“Where is he?”
She steps forward slowly, watching him as though he might vanish any second. He’s sure he’s doing the same to her. In a place like this, nothing is as it seems. “They–they left.”
“They?” The Rumplestiltskin has no companions, not since he gave up his son and sent away his housekeeper.
“Rumplestiltskin and the little boy.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, as though that should explain it all. His expression must tell her otherwise, because she frowns. “Were–were you not looking for the boy? I thought you were here to kill Rumplestiltskin.”
“I am. What does a boy have to do with that?” He’s fast losing patience. The Dark One should be dead by now–blackened corpse lying at his feet, finally fulfilling the revenge he’s sought for so long. But the crocodile is cunning, slipping through his fingers once again.
He tried to keep his voice calm, catching more flies with honey and all that, but he mustn’t have succeeded, because she flinches. “I don’t know. Rumplestiltskin just brought him here and was talking about a prophesy and the boy being his undoing, and–and then you showed up after they left, so I thought you were trying to find him so he could kill Rumplestiltskin.”
A prophesy.
He may be a sea-faring man, but he’s never considered himself particularly superstitious, especially compared to others in his crew, but he’s spent too much time surrounded by magic to discount it entirely. Could this be why everything he’s done to defeat the Dark One has failed? Could it truly be so simple?
He smiles, some of the urgency he’s felt since stepping into these miserable halls finally drifting away. “And what, exactly, did the Dark One say about this prophesy?”
She bites her lower lip, drawing his attention there, even though he really doesn’t need the distraction. “I don’t remember exactly. It was a few days ago, and–” She cuts off with a small inhale, then her eyes dart away. “I’m not sure.”
“No, you know something.” He leans closer, wrapping his hand around one of the bars. “And I suggest you remember that you’re the one still stuck in this prison, and I’m the one with the ability to get you out.”
She hesitates for only a second, glancing longingly at the little bit of sunlight coming through the tiny window in her cell. “Fine.” She turns back to him, the light catching in her green eyes just for a moment, and the sight nearly takes his breath away. “He has something upstairs. A magical object that can show a person’s memories. It might show more than I can think of.”
He grins. “And let me guess, you need me to free you in order to find and use it?”
She shrugs. “I’m guessing you don’t know much about magic, and you have no idea what it is.”
He leans on the bars, watching her for another moment, and she keeps her gaze fixed on his until the lock clicks. He swings the door open, grabbing her arm before she has a chance to dart away, and pulling her against him. “Very well.” He keeps his voice low. “But you’ll be sticking very close until I get what I need.”
She presses her hand against his chest, just over his heart, to keep herself steady, and her gaze dips low before snapping back up to his eyes. “What a hardship,” she murmurs, tongue darting out to wet her lips.
He smiles.
The room she leads him to is nearly empty of furniture, just a long table in the center of the room with a small chair. The table is littered with wooden rings, balls of colored string, and piles of small objects. It would be a curious collection if it weren’t for the room’s unique decor.
Twine-covered circles hang from every inch of the ceiling, each containing its own personal web, dotted with beads, seashells, and feathers, seemingly at random. It’s far more beautiful than anything he would have expected from Rumplestiltskin.
He knocks into several of them, hitting one with his head or shoulder every time he tries to avoid another, and the clatter of twine-softened wood fills the room within seconds. Somehow, the woman walks straight through without touching a single one.
The woman stops at the chair, picking up another finished circlet waiting on the table. “It’s not hanging up. Hopefully it hasn’t been used yet.”
He turns around, bewildered by the sheer number of circlets hanging around him. “These are the magical objects you referred to? Are they all full of memories?”
He reaches out to touch one, but the woman catches his hand. “Don’t.” She shudders. “His memories aren’t pleasant.”
She lets go of his hand, and he resists the urge to reach for her own again. Her skin is smooth and soft as a noblewoman’s, but for small callouses on her fingertips, and he wonders where they came from.
She holds up the circlet so he can see her face through the woven web, and she frowns in concentration.
“Are you sure you can use this?” he asks. It doesn’t seems like the usual sort of enchanted object. More like a tool one would use for a spell.
“It’s simple enough.” She closes her eyes, and it’s only then that he comes to the obvious conclusion.
“You have magic.” He had wondered what she was doing in Rumplestiltskin’s prison.
“A bit.” Her lips purse into a frown. “I never learned how to use it. My parents were too afraid of it. But I think I can figure out this.”
Sure enough, the crocodile himself appears amidst the web of twine, holding tightly to a young boy fighting to get away.
“Ah ah, not so fast dearie!” The voice, still so familiar after these centuries, sets his teeth on edge. “You and I are going on a little trip. After all, you can’t be my undoing if you’re dead!”
The boy looks directly at Killian, sending a chill down his spine–until he remembers this is the woman’s memory, and likely the boy was looking at her. “Help! Help me–”
The memory cuts off abruptly, the woman’s blank face now all he can see though the wooden ring.
It’s true.
It’s all true. This boy is Rumplestiltskin’s downfall, and if he can just find him–
“I can help you find him.”
He looks up at the woman, startled.
“I have magic,” she reminds him. “I can do a tracking spell.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And what would you get out of this arrangement?”
“You take me with you. I don’t want to stick around waiting for Rumplestiltskin to find me again.”
He’s just about to say no–he can find someone else with a tracking spell or track the boy himself, and he doesn’t want to bother with having a strange woman aboard his ship when he’s so close to getting his revenge–when she shifts, her necklace glinting in the light. He hadn’t noticed it in the dim cell, but now he sees a swan etched into the metal.
He knows that swan, knows that crest, and he’s sure the woman before him is the princess of Misthaven. The beloved princess the kingdom has been searching desperately for.
A smirk curls his lips. “Aye, milady. Let’s see if we can help one other.”