A/N – I had to put aside "Healing Hearts" briefly. Ironically, I had a cousin suddenly pass away of a heart attack in his mid-50s a couple of weeks ago. I am back working on the story, but one particular section of the next part is giving me fits (I plan to have it fixed this weekend). In the meantime, this little plot bunny hit me and wouldn't let go. It is mostly Rumple/Henry bonding with a side of Rumbelle at the end. The story takes place during the episode "Lily" after Rumple returns Belle's heart to her (just to give you an idea of Rumple's state of mind during his conversation with Henry) with the ending taking place within a few days after the Storybrooke gang goes to Camelot at the beginning of season 5. I'm not happy with some of the spoilers I've been hearing, so consider this my little fix-it regarding Belle's presence in Camelot.

Henry stepped through the wet grass, his sneakers squishing in the mud from the morning's rain. He was being drawn to his destination by a feeling he couldn't quite put a name to – he just knew that he had to come out here. This was only his second time coming this way since his memories had come back. He had come after taking a few days to sort through the competing sets of recollections in his mind, but it had been too hard to deal with the pain, so he hadn't come back since then. A part of him had wished he could just forget again, that he could go back to thinking of his deceased father simply as the man who'd walked out on his pregnant mother, the man who'd never been a part of his life.

As he stepped through the first row of tombstones, he paused, recognizing the back of the figure standing in front of his father's grave. He knew that he probably should turn around and come back later. That was what everyone else would tell him, but the voice in his head was telling him otherwise. He was a bit stubborn about following that internal voice, a stubbornness he came by honestly – from both sides of his family. It didn't matter. He was positive that his presence in the cemetery had already been detected. Squaring his shoulders, he continued forward until he was standing next to his grandfather, his head bowed, his gaze focused on the words carved on the stone in front of him.

"Your family probably would not be happy about this," Gold said quietly. Gone was the usual biting sarcasm that he used with most of the town or the more moderate tone that he managed with those closest to him. If Henry had to describe his grandfather's tone, it was tired.

"What about you?" Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw a flash of surprise, quickly concealed, in his grandfather's dark eyes.

Gold was quiet for a long moment before he finally admitted, "I'm not unhappy."

"I'm glad," Henry said with a slight smile. The surprised look was back, his grandfather half turning to study him intently. Henry shrugged. "I am the adopted son of the Evil Queen."

"I am sure everyone would tell you that my situation and your mother's are quite different," he replied. The word "mother" was practically spat out and Henry wondered for a moment about that. Had his mother and grandfather had some kind of confrontation recently that he knew nothing about, an incident that had his grandfather quite angry with her?

"You're both searching for the Author so you can get your happy ending, right?" Henry countered. He looked up at his grandfather, trying to decipher his expression, but it was carefully masked once again.

"Villains don't get happy endings," Gold repeated his words from an earlier time, almost as if by rote. Henry closed his eyes, remembering that day vividly, watching his grandfather and great-grandfather disappear in a flash of blinding light, watching Belle sink to the ground crying in despair, seeing a look of indescribable pain on his dad's face, remembering his mom's arms around his shoulders and his own disbelief at the scene he'd just witnessed.

"Then why search for the Author at all?" Henry wondered, opening his eyes to focus on his father's grave once again. "Why make a deal with the Snow Queen to escape the Spell of Shattered Sight?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw his grandfather's eyes widen in surprise. "I, uh, might have overheard Hook telling Belle about that after, well…."

Gold snorted. "I am sure the good captain could not wait to inform Belle of all manner of things after I departed Storybrooke," he muttered.

"Were you really going to take me with you and Belle?" Henry asked.

Gold studied him for a long moment and Henry couldn't figure out if his grandfather was trying to decide what to tell him, or if he was even going to answer the question. Finally, he replied, "I was immune to the spell. While almost everyone else in town save your mother and Elsa would have torn each other apart, nothing would have happened to me. I made a deal with the Snow Queen to allow me to leave town with you and Belle. Once we were beyond the town line, the two of you would have been freed from the effects of the spell and we could have gone anywhere, seen the world as…Belle always wanted."

"Thank you for telling me the truth," Henry said, trying to ignore the way his grandfather's voice nearly broke at the end. It was the most emotional he had ever heard his grandfather in, well, pretty much his entire life and he was sure that it was for the best to give his grandfather a moment to rein himself in.

After a moment, Gold waved his hand. "It hardly matters now," he said.

"Actually, it does to me, Grandpa," Henry said quickly, before he could lose his nerve. He turned to face his grandfather. "When I wanted you to alter my memories a while back, you didn't just tell me no and send me on my way. I was upset that you said no, but when I thought about it, it meant a lot to me that you explained why you wouldn't do it. I'm not a little kid anymore. I think the others forget that sometimes."

"Ah, Henry," Gold replied, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards in a small smile, "it is the wish of every parent that their child stay young for as long as possible. A parent's first instinct will always be to protect their child, just as it is the child's instinct to assert themselves as they grow older, to spread their wings."

"Was it like that with you and Dad?" Henry asked, turning towards the headstone again.

"Times were different then," Gold said, shrugging, "but yes, to an extent. In many ways, children were forced to grow up faster, especially in the Frontlands and there was so much that Bae had to help out with because of our…circumstances. You do not have those worries and you certainly do not have to concern yourself with being dragged off to fight ogres on your next birthday."

Henry's eyes widened. That had never occurred to him, that he was nearly the same age that his dad had been when his grandfather had taken on the curse of the Dark One. There was so much that he still did not know about his dad and only one person could really tell him.

He turned to his grandfather again. "Do you think," he began hesitantly, "maybe when all this craziness is over that you can tell me more about Dad? There's so much that I still don't know."

"Perhaps," Gold replied noncommittally. Henry knew that was probably the best he could hope for at the moment. Even once they got past the current situation with the Author, his grandfather was still pretty much persona non grata with the rest of the town. The rest of the family probably were not going to be happy if he suddenly expressed a desire to resume spending time with his grandfather – whether at the pawn shop or elsewhere – anytime soon. Well, he probably had time to worry about that later.

For a few more minutes, grandfather and grandson stood silently side by side, staring down at the grave of the man who bound them together as family. Tentatively, Henry reached up and wrapped his hand around his grandfather's. He could sense his grandfather's surprise, but after a moment, Gold clasped his fingers around his, squeezing gently before he let go and turned to walk away.

Henry watched his grandfather leave, feeling better than he had in weeks. After his grandfather disappeared from sight in a swirl of maroon smoke, he turned back to the grave to find that the inscription had changed while his attention had been diverted with his grandfather's departure. He squatted down, his fingers tracing over the new engraving. "Thanks, Grandpa," he whispered.

Beloved Father
& Son

Neal
Cassidy

"Baelfire"

THAT NIGHT

Henry climbed the stairs to the loft, kicking off his shoes in the general direction of the dresser. His grandparents had been busy with baby Neal and too excited by the news that his mothers had called to let them know that they would be home the next day to question where he had been. He grabbed a pair of pajamas out of the top drawer of the dresser and started to toss them onto the bed, stopping when he noticed a pair of leather-bound books laying on top of the bedspread.

Curious, he dropped his pajamas at the foot of the bed and picked up one of the books, opening it and finding a folded sheet of paper. Taking it out and unfolding it, he recognized his grandfather's precise handwriting.

Henry,

I know you wanted to hear some stories about your father. You will find many of those in these pages. I wrote them down in the early days after I lost Bae, unsure whether the Dark One would eventually take over my consciousness without Bae to ground me. I took the curse for him and I never wanted to forget what I had sacrificed for him. It was while I was writing down these stories that I began looking for a way to get to him. As you are already aware, it took over 300 years, but I eventually found that way. I had hoped when we found your father in New York to show this to him so that he would know that I had never forgotten, but events conspired against us and eventually it was too late. I fear it will soon be too late again, so I leave this to you now. I have known you your entire life – ironic it is that I arranged for Regina to adopt my own grandson – and you have often reminded me of Bae, even before we knew of our connection. I hope that you will find the boy your father was in these pages and perhaps something of yourself as well.

The second book I have been working on since your father left us – since I was freed from the witch's control. You thanked me for telling you the truth earlier today and that is what this second book is, the truth of everything that has happened over the last few months. I had hoped to show this to your grandmother someday so that she could read what she would not let me explain at the town line, but she is not ready yet. Perhaps someday she will be and you can give these to her so that she might understand. I know it may not have always appeared so, but everything I have done has always been out of love for my family.

Your grandfather,

Rumplestiltskin

Henry read the letter a second time and then a third as if he might find some new meaning in the words the more he read them. It almost sounded like his grandfather was saying goodbye. He stared blindly out the window behind the bed, his fingers tightening on the letter in his hand.

"Henry?" Mary Margaret's voice called up from downstairs.

Henry was startled out of his thoughts and he looked down, realizing his grandfather's letter was crumpled in his hand. Carefully smoothing out the paper, he called back, "Yes, Gram?" He glanced down and could barely glimpse her downstairs, rocking Neal in her arms.

"We're getting ready to go to bed," she said. "Do you need anything else down here?"

"No, I'm good," Henry replied. "You can go ahead and turn off the lights. I'm going to read a little bit up here before I go to bed."

"Okay," she replied. "Good night, Henry."

"Good night, Gram," he called back. "Good night, Grandpa."

"Good night, Henry," David called up from his and Mary Margaret's bedroom.

Henry quickly changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed. Settling his pillows against the headboard, he leaned against them, opened one of his grandfather's journals and began to read.

A FEW DAYS LATER
CAMELOT

Henry entered the chamber a helpful sentry had directed him to, finding it empty. A glowing bell jar sat on the bedside table, so he knew his grandmother could not be far. She almost never left the jar alone and when she did, she was never far from it. He looked at the rose inside, breathing a small sigh of relief that the rose was still in the same state that it had been that morning, three petals laying at the bottom of the jar. His grandfather's condition had not deteriorated any more than it had already back in Storybrooke.

He sat down in a nearby chair to wait, setting the two journals he carried in his lap. His gaze wandered to an unshuttered window a few feet away. He could see some knights working on their sword fighting skills in the tilt yard below and he thought he recognized his grandfather and Killian among them with Robin on the sidelines watching.

After a few minutes, he heard voices in the hallway – one his grandmother's and a second female voice that he did not recognize. The second voice was accented, a melodious sound which in the Land Without Magic he would have pegged as Scottish, which brought a pang of sadness as he thought of his grandfather's own brogue – the curse had given him memories of a childhood in Scotland to match the accent from his home in the Frontlands, his grandfather had explained to him once. The door opened and his grandmother entered with a slender woman with bright curly red hair.

"Henry," Belle said with a sad smile. "How good to see you. Have you met Princess Merida yet? Merida, this is Henry, Emma's son."

Henry stood, setting the journals on the chair and crossing the chamber to join the two women. He gave his grandmother a hug and Merida a slight bow – having been given a quick lesson in courtly etiquette by his royal mother and grandmothers the evening after their arrival in Camelot. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Princess Merida," he said. "I understand you ran into my mother."

"The pleasure is mine, young Prince Henry," Merida replied with a curtsey. Henry almost started at the title – he still wasn't used to being referred to as a prince. "Aye, I met yer mother briefly. She ran off not long after and I offered my help to yer family to find her."

"Thank you, Princess Merida," he said. He returned to the chair and grabbed his grandfather's journals. He held the books out to Belle. "Grandma, I promised to meet Mom and Gram before dinner, but I wanted to drop these off with you now that I'm finished with them."

Belle took the journals, flipping open the top one, snapping it closed as she recognized the handwriting. "Grandpa gave them to me," Henry quickly explained before she could try to hand the journals back to him, "right before, well, you know. One of them he wrote after Dad went through the portal and the other he started after Dad died. I ran into him the day after Cruella kidnapped me and I asked him if he could tell me some stories about Dad. I found these on my bed later that night. There's a letter in the first one that explains the story behind the journals. The second one is actually for you, but he wasn't sure that you were ready for it yet, so he asked me to give it to you someday. It explains…well, it explains a lot."

Belle glanced down at the books in her hand, her expression unreadable. "You've already read both of these?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "They make for pretty interesting reading. I got pretty engrossed in them. A lot of stuff makes a lot more sense now and I think, especially after reading the first one, I kinda understand what Mom must be going through right now. There's some stuff in there from right after he became the Dark One. I worry…in the letter, Grandpa said that the reason he started the journal was that with Dad gone, he was worried that without Dad to ground him, that the Dark One would completely take over…and he was right, at the end…he lost everyone he loved and the Dark One was taking over…"

"Oh, Henry," Belle said, stepping forward and pulling him into a hug, "we're going to find a way to help Emma. We'll find Merlin and figure out a way to banish the Dark One, once and for all." Her eyes flicked over to the bell jar. "Your grandfather, too. We'll find a way to help them both. Bae would expect nothing less of us."