A figure waits at his gate, has been waiting a fortnight. In the beginning, the sad thing rattled or pounded and pleaded (but he's much too old to feel mercy), bargained (but all she has to offer is herself, her sharp mind, the labor of her two strong hands, and Rumplestiltskin has no use for these), until all she has left is a lame threat: she won't leave his gate until death or his magic takes her away.
Or until he lets her in.
It's only loyalty to Bae–for he feels nothing for, owes nothing to this girl–that drives him finally to face her. There's so little left of her, just loose, pock-marked skin and a fever in her eyes. "Your people?" He demands.
"Gone. All of them. You saved us from ogres, but where were you when the ships brought the rats and the rats brought the plague? We called for you."
"I had better things to do." Let them cry; he would never go back there, after the way the villagers treated Bae. "What do you want, dearie?"
"A home. You know what will happen to me with no family to protect me."
Indeed. In the alleys of every city he's seen what a young girl, unprotected, unsheltered, will become. "I suppose I could find you a family. Clean you up, cast a spell to pass you off as a governess or someone's distant cousin."
"No. A home here. Teach me. I don't want to ever be powerless again. Make me your apprentice."
"Don't be daft, girl. Don't you realize who you're talking to? I don't do good deeds. Getting rid of the ogres wasn't for you and your people; it was for him."
"Make me your apprentice. You know me, Rumplestiltskin. You know how hard I work. You know I'll keep your secrets."
"You're fifteen, girl! You know nothing of what I am." He walks away, then walks back again. "Look at me! Do you see anything left of the lame spinner? Look, and see the monster! I'm a fate worse than death. Stand up and I'll do this for you: I'll clean you up and send you to a proper home." His hands glow as he tries to lift her.
But she wrenches away. "I won't leave. Teach me magic and I'll cook and clean for you. Give me the knowledge to protect myself against ogres and plagues and pimps and pirates." She sees she's stabbed him now; she thrusts the dagger of guilt home. "In honor of Baelfire, give me a home."
No curse could have bound him more tightly. "One year. For his sake, I'll give you a home for one year and teach you enough to keep you safe. Expect nothing from me but a home and lessons. I will be your master, not your father. One year, then you will leave and never come back."
She stumbles to her feet. "Thank you, Master."
"For him, not for you. Go inside and wash, dearie, and have something to eat. Then we shall begin." With magic he opens the gate to her. "Welcome to the Dark Castle, Morraine."