She's waiting for him at the sign that marks the crossroads. One mile behind her lies the crumbling village of Loameth; five miles ahead lies the thriving city of Aradon. Aradon, where the duke of the Frontlands resides, of course, is the fair-haired child of rich farmland and a virile river; Loameth, where sheep outnumber children, is an orphan. Rumplestiltskin does a thriving business in Aradon; he's ignored the weak pleas for his aid that have come from Loameth. The sheepmen have nothing to trade but wool, and Rumple has no use for wool; he spins only straw these days.
In the days when he did spin wool, Rumplestiltskin lived in Loameth with Milah and Bae. And that's the real reason Rumple has never returned.
But she called and, knowing her voice at once, he has come. For her, and for her only, he'll make an exception, especially since he doesn't have to enter the village itself.
He intentionally crunches dead leaves as he emerges from the treeline, so he doesn't startle her. Normally he delights in startling people; throwing them off-balance gives him one more of many advantages over his customers. But he'll behave himself with her; he owes her a kindness for her past kindness to Bae. Hearing his approach, she spins, her holey cloak flaring around her stick-thin legs. "Hello, Rumplestiltskin." She isn't afraid of him, only wary, and that's how it's always been between them.
"Good evening, Morraine." He bows grandly. "How are you, child?"
"So you recognize me. But when you last saw me, I was a gawky girl of fourteen. Or is it the magic that tells you who I am?" Her eyes brighten. Such a curious one she's always been. Had she been given an education. . .but her grandfather, who raised her when ogres killed her father, was a thatcher and the girl was sent out to work alongside him and her mother as soon as Morraine could carry a bucket of mud.
"The magic could do that, yes, but I didn't need it to. You're not so very much older than you were then."
She laces her fingers across her stomach, drawing his attention there. "I feel much older."
"This village will age a child before her time. It's a shame you didn't leave." He should talk. He remained in Loameth much longer than he should have. If he'd packed up his family when Milah first asked him to. . . .
"Water under the bridge," she dismisses the thought. Still a practical one. A counterbalance to Bae's stargazing, she could have been. That the teenagers were separated before Bae was old enough to steal his first kiss from her is Rumplestiltskin's fault too.
She broaches the subject cautiously, but her curiosity's too strong to not broach it. "I wonder about him, you know. He was a good friend. If I hadn't told him about the Reul Ghorm–I wonder sometimes if I made a mistake telling him that."
"He would have run away just the same. Perhaps he would have run off to sea. . .become a pirate." He's standing sideways so she can't see how his mouth twists at that thought. "Trouble yourself no more, child. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's. . .well."
His magic tugs: enough chitchat; time to trade. "Why did you call me, Morraine?" Because of the information his magic sends him about her health, he already has a likely guess.
She strokes her protruding belly. "This would have been my fourth, except the other three. . . ."
"Stillborn," he surmises.
She chokes. "I need this one. I. . .My heart will break if I lose this one too. My husband, he tries; he pretends to have hope, but I've caught him crying." She rushes at him now, grasping the sleeve of his robes, ever the bold and practical child but pulling apart at the seams. "Save this baby. I know you can; you stopped a war. I know you will; you were the most loving father I ever saw. Bae was the happiest boy in town, until that last year."
He paces away from her, buying time to think before he comes back to her side. "Magic requires a give-and-take, my child," he starts delicately.
"I remember, and I'm ready to pay. I've given it a lot of thought, and I thought, what would be a fair price for a baby's life." She steels her spine and he jerks back, assuming the worst: assuming she'll offer her life for the baby's. She would do such a thing. Gods, what if such a woman had been Bae's wife, instead of some sheep farmer's? "I would pay anything, just like you would have, if it was Bae who was sick."
"No, dear. . . ." he says softly. He'll find another price, pay it himself if necessary.
"And then I thought, what would you care about most? You don't need treasure or titles, not that I have them to give anyway. Three times before, I was almost a mother, but I lost my baby. I think I know how you might've felt when you lost Bae, and I know that ache never goes away. As one left-behind parent to another, I thought you might understand what this baby means to me."
"I'm the Dark One, dear. . . but I'm a father."
She seems satisfied. "So here's my offer. For the rest of my life, on the second day of the second month after harvest, my family and I will thank you for saving this baby. On that day–"
"Bae's birthday."
"We'll set a candle in the window and pray that it will light Bae's way home. For the rest of my life."
He swallows hard. "Well!" Hands fluttering nonsensically, he scrabbles for words. "Well! That is. . .yes. That's a fair price. Very fair. " he collects himself–he is the most powerful of mages, after all–and approaches her. "Let's see if I can carry out my end of the bargain." He lays one hand on her back, the other on her belly, and sends a gentle magical probe into her belly. A picture forms in his mind, as clear as if his eyes could see it: the baby breathes, the baby moves, but four large lumps are pushing the baby's protective shell away from from the womb. The baby is not receiving the food and air he needs to survive.
Relieved, Rumple assures her, "I can help your baby."
"Will you?" She fixes him in an intense stare.
"I like the deal, my dear. Now, it's best if you lie down." He conjures a chaise for her, right there in the middle of the road, and she eases back onto it. She relaxes as soon as she's on her back: she trusts him. He kneels beside her, places his hands on her belly and, closing his eyes to see into her with his magic, he sets to work. Through his left hand, his magic burns away layer by wafer-thin layer, but through his right hand, his magic sedates her womb and shields the baby. The precision required forces him to proceed slowly; he must not deviate even a fraction from his goal, lest he lacerate the womb.
But two hours later, he removes his hands and rocks back on his heels. It's sunrise now; she will be missed if she doesn't return to her cottage. And how would her neighbors react, if they learn she's made a deal with the Dark One? He helps her sit up. She hasn't moaned or whimpered. "How do you feel, Morraine?"
"Comfortable," she smiles. "As if I slept all night. How do you feel, Rumplestiltskin?"
He smiles back, confessing, "Tired, as if I should sleep all day." He lifts her to her feet. The chaise vanishes.
"The baby?"
"When he is fourteen, he will be taller than most Loameth men."
"He." Morraine rubs her belly. "And he will never see an ogre in his life, because of you. But he will know who Bae is, and he'll stand beside me and his papa as we light Bae's candle."
"It was a good deal, my dear." With a final bow, Rumple starts to walk away–he will have to walk into Aradon, take a room at the inn and sleep: he's depleted for now. He glances back at her. "And you were a good friend to Bae."
She waves goodbye before turning toward the road to Loameth. "And you were a good papa to him."
If only that were true.