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Chapter One: Beyond Desperate

The soldiers' dining hall had yet to take on its normally dreary feel- at least, as far as the warriors were concerned. They hadn't yet been to the battle field; that would be saved for tomorrow, when the whole lot of them would be dragged out to pasture and forced to fight the ogres in this awful war. And the worst part of it, the worst of it all, was that this room was lined from wall to wall with children. Nearly every seat was occupied by someone who was far too young to fully comprehend what they were giving up- no, no, they hadn't given it up, it was being taken from them.

It turned Rumplestiltskin's stomach.

He wasn't young enough to fight in this battle, nor was he fit enough for them to write off the age limit. The only thing he could do while he was here was provide food and take on some of the janitorial labors which would assuredly be in excess considering that there had to be at least a hundred pre-teen to teenagers in just this section of military base. For now, he was cooking. So far, he hadn't managed to find a word to say to anyone. Several of the adults, mostly military chaperones responsible for ordering the soldiers around, took their turns picking at him. They elbowed him into the cauldron where he was cooking, tugged at his head, tore at his clothes. Yet, he said nothing.

The only thing he was reasonably good at cooking was soup. He stood there, eyes intent on the ingredients suspended in water, mixing it around as though it would make any difference at all at this point. Really, he just wanted something to focus on other than the sneering and snickering of the royal soldiers throughout the place. By now, though, he was used to it; as a child, he was the son of a coward. Now an adult, he was the coward. The children looked at him like they weren't certain of him, and they probably weren't. They knew nothing about him.

It was unfortunate that Baelfire wasn't with him among this group- perhaps their confused opinions could be swayed- but maybe that would be for the best, as well. Perhaps then Bae would have been marked the son of a coward. While he stood there, drowning in his thoughts, two rough hands jerked his right shoulder and pushed him into the side of the cauldron, searing his already injured leg. He cried out in pain and fell over in the scramble to get away while the culprit stood behind him, arms folded.

"All meals are to be eaten promptly at six o'clock, coward," he said, throwing a clay bowl directly at his head. Rumplestiltskin flinched and raised his arm to protect it. "That means yours,"

Again, he said nothing, but picked up the bowl and the crutch he'd fallen over with and struggled into a standing position. Once on his feet, he tentatively served himself and then limped over to the nearest place to sit- a table with a somewhat diverse group of boys who were still showing off to each other in an attempt to look brave, noble, powerful. In days, they would be complaining to each other about the higher ranks. In weeks, they would be crying to each other about how much they wished to go home.

"My father is a professional military man," the largest boy at the table spoke, straightening up his spine with an arrogant gleam in his eye. It was hard to tell, thus far, if that 'arrogance' was deserved. "He could wrestle a whole ogre to the ground with his bare hands," that one came with a smile.

It was, undoubtedly, a lie. An exaggeration at best. The cook still said nothing.

"Have you ever seen one?" asked a small voice with a distinctively foreign accent; "An ogre?"

"Of course not," someone at the table answered for him, cutting off the enthusiastic lie he was about to tell instead. "None of us have. And if his father thinks he could wrestle a whole ogre to the ground, it's a fair bet he's never seen one, either,"

There would be some obvious conflict between the two of them. The larger boy narrowed his eyes at the challenger. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Yes," he responded, totally unimpressed.

"Save the fighting for the battle field, guys," the younger one piped up, obviously not enjoying the dissention between them. His psyche would probably be the first to crack among them, if he survived that long. Of course, these were teenagers he was speaking to.

"I'll make you eat those words, you...you...worm!"

The boy responded with a cold, apathetic gaze. Another one at the table, who hadn't spoken a word that Rumplestiltskin had heard, slurped the remaining broth from his bowl and muttered;

"Good soup,"

"It was okay,"

As the previously unseen boy finished the last of his broth, he began; "My father fought in two of the wars," he breathed; "died in the second. When I was a child, he told me stories of the land out here,"

"Like what?" inquired the little one, obviously the youngest of the group- that boy with the odd accent.

"Well," the boy leaned forward on the table. "According to my father, this battle ground out here used to belong to an ancient kingdom," Rumplestiltskin shifted his eyes over to the speaker. He had heard this story a few time before- once being long ago, when he was a soldier instead of a cook at the military base. He didn't expect them to still be talking about it this long after. "It was protected by a magic so strong that the ogres couldn't even touch the grounds," even the littlest boy was skeptical at that.

"Where would someone get a magic like that?"

To that, he smirked. "That depends on whom you ask," he was definitely an educated boy, this one. "Some say it wasn't really magic that protected the land, but a peace treaty. Others say the king was an expert in protection spells...but I'll tell you what my father told me," as he continued the story, he folded his left arm over the table and leaned into it; "The residents of that castle had an agreement with the most powerful wizard in all the worlds. That wizard was known as the Dark One,"

"What would the most powerful wizard in all the worlds want with a kingdom of this universe?" the boy who seemed intent on challenging every spoken word pushed back at him. The story teller, not falling prey to the antics, merely shrugged.

"Legend has it," he explained, turning his head; "this 'Dark One' can be controlled by a simple weapon- his dagger. Whoever holds the dagger controls him; if you kill him with it, you become the new Dark One," this lead to yet another disapproving scoff from the table skeptic. "Perhaps that dagger simply fell into their hands, and the kingdom was absolved once he retrieved it. What do you boys think?" he added, lightly tapping his fist against the table.

Even in a land filled with magic, there was lore about still more magic. Of course there was no such thing. Only a man truly desperate for more power would believe such a thing.

Rumplestiltskin didn't have time to listen to their answers. He felt a sharp knee dig into his lower spine. Instinctively, he dropped the bowl- still half-full of hot soup broth- all over himself, burning his skin and causing a few blisters as he fell down to the ground, hitting his shoulders first as he held his head up. His flesh screamed in agony, and he let out a long groan of pain, holding his hand over the throbbing patches on his stomach.

"Have a nice bath?" mocked the brutal soldier with a joyless smile. "You've had enough storytime," he turned to the whole room, cupped his hands over his mouth, and hollered; "Meal time is over! Everyone is dismissed!" then he threw the older man's crutch down onto his chest. "That means you, too. Maybe tomorrow, you'll eat more punctually,"

He laid there, writhing and seething until nearly everyone had left the room, then painfully hoisted himself up on his crutch. Now that everyone was gone, it would be his job to work on clean-up. Sighing deeply, he decided he may as well get to it and started about the room, gathering the utenisls they had used for eating. The military men had gone with the new recruits to brief them on what to expect from boot camp, leaving him alone for the time being.

Perhaps he shouldn't have come. He had been thinking that ever since the royal soldiers finally gave into his pleading to be allowed along, then told him he wouldn't be allowed to fight. Once the contract was sealed, it was sealed- and curse his fate that he couldn't read. It didn't help that they wouldn't accept his sacrifice in the place of the one person he came for. Heaving a sigh, he sat against the stool in front of the wash basin for the dishes, extended his leg so that it didn't ache, and began washing them up spick and span. As he cleaned up, his mind wandered- back to that tale about the ancient kingdom or whatever. It seemed like it had changed a little since the last time he heard it, probably evolving down the line as the few people still telling this story (soldiers, beggars, and criminals, mostly) continued on with their rumors.

Thankfully, no one bothered Rumplestiltskin while he tended to the chores- not even after the briefing. When he exited the dining quarters, he came across another room lined up with several sleeping bags (the monarchy didn't see fit to give their warriors adequate sleeping materials where it interfered with their imported teas, he supposed) and children stationed at each one of them- still chatting somewhat jovially, though the more delicate ones were starting to express a little sadness as the night came on. The royal soldiers all probably had a much nicer place to stay, and so had left the soldiers alone, as though they were adults who could fend for themselves. He hobbled over to the one sleeping bag that wasn't occupied, situated in the middle of the room, and sat down on top of it. He would have preferred a more isolated spot, but didn't expect to get much say in the matter. The only thing in the room apart from the sleeping bags was a large fire place, big enough to illuminate the room when lit. It was barely smouldering right now, though, leaving just a red hot glow beneath the wood and a thin veil of smoke in the room. If he remembered correctly, they used it year-round not because it was cold but because they might need to see if they were spotted in the middle of the night. It seemed that no one had bothered to stock it properly, though. The cook heaved a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. The burns and blister marks on his stomach still nagged at him, particularly when he moved and fabric brushed against them. They weren't his first, and they wouldn't be his last if these other army generals had anything to say about it.

The number of years on his existence were impossibly too long. He was just middle-aged, but it felt excessively long and tedious. When he fought in the war, they never would have chosen children to be soldiers. It was beyond disgusting. These children should be at home, learning to hunt and mend shoes and put carpeting down on floors, not chatting with each other about how many ogres they were going to skin on the battlefield. Not stealing glances at each other in concern for who would be the first among them to die.

This was beyond hopeless. How did the monarchs expect a group of kids to be able to march out onto the battlefield and stop powerful, magical creatures when the town's best fighters couldn't? Their sacrifices would all be for naught. Here they were, being dragged from their homes and lives to be trained by brutal soldiers, and for what? Their families would die anyways. The entire kingdom would die, anyways. At the very least, they could have let these children die in their parents' arms.

Sickened at the thought, Rumplestiltskin realized he couldn't tolerate himself as long as he was looking at their faces, and got up again. Gathering firewood for the nearly-dead fire provided a good enough excuse, should anyone ask, though he knew they wouldn't. Because there was no window inside, he was surprised when he left to find the world around him nearly completely dark. There were but a few streaks twinged with gray. It was still muggy and the air was thick with humidity. The crickets, however, neglected to chirp their nightly songs in this place. There were no sounds of birds or of anything else except what was made by the wind and the trees. He sighed deeply and limped around to find firewood- which proved to be quite a daunting task with a bum leg and no blade with which to cut from trees. Before he knew it, the only light around him was the half-moon in the sky. He had gotten all sweaty, the constant motion aggravated the patch of blisters on his stomach, his whole throat was dry and his legs both ached from the ambulating- not to mention the horrid time it was to carry a stack of firewood with only one hand. One clumsy step into a small dip in the ground he didn't notice and he dropped everything, including himself.

The man heaved a frustrated sigh, but anger did him no good. He couldn't see anything, so he blindly grabbed around to find his crutch, searching with his eyes. Right about the time he found it, a strange gleam caught his eye from under the tree that wasn't far from him. The moonlight glowed off of it. He narrowed his eyes and shakily brought himself to his feet again. Then, out of curiosity, he stepped towards the small object. It looked like some sort of oddly-shaped weapon with an engraving on it that was probably someone's name. He reached for it, both wanting to see what it was up close and thinking it might belong to one of the boys so he should return it.

"Are you just going to take that?"

Rumplestiltskin immediately stopped and pulled himself back. He hadn't heard anyone else around, no footsteps or anything, and yet, there was clearly someone here with him. Had he been baited, somehow? Was this some sort of trap by the enemy troops? In response to her question, he merely shook his head.

"Looks like I've dropped something," the girl mumbled to herself and pushed past him, then picked up the small object. Her accent was...unforgettable, to say the least. Her voice sounded lovely with it. There were females among the troops, but none in the camp he was staying at, so she couldn't be from this group. Once she turned to face him, he got a better look at her and was left aghast.

Her skin was almost scaly in appearance. She even seemed to be shedding in some places an ashy-white flesh. It looked rough, like he might scratch himself on her skin if he touched her, and she stared at him with emotionless blue eyes. Her gaze was the most human thing about her, and even that was cold and hard. She smirked at his terror.

"Don't you think it's rude to stare?"

"I...I..." he made himself look away. "You're right. I'm sorry,"

She giggled and took a few steps closer to him, making him visibly uncomfortable with their proximity. "Preparing the troops for war, I see," the girl mentioned, directing her gaze back towards the camp for a second, then back at him again.

He wasn't anticipating any more conversation than that. Still, Rumplestiltskin nodded. This man was not very interesting to talk to. She could stand here all night asking questions like that just to get him talking, and it wouldn't work.

"Isn't it sad?" she pushed. "All those children in there, having their whole fates planned out by someone who will never have to give anything of themselves,"

Although he shouldn't have, he eased up as she spoke to him. He knew, logically, that she could literally be anybody saying anything to get him to go against his rulers and then he'd be in for a rude punishment, but he nevertheless relaxed and brought his eyes back to her.

"Yes," he nodded, choosing his words carefully still. "I wish we could just end these wars- at least for them,"

Her eyes glimmered, as though she had finally gotten something she was looking to acquire, and he noticed a small smile on her face when he looked hard enough. "Oh? Really?" she asked in an attempt to probe, reaching out her hand and stroking his cheek. He flinched and drew away from her touch, leading to a small laugh as she pulled her hand away. "What would you give up for that, then? If someone offered it to you?"

And he wasn't really thinking when he answered "Anything they wished in exchange,"

She chuckled, twirling the dagger around in her fingers at her side. "Is that so?" she asked.

"Yes, but..." he let out a defeated sigh; "it would be impossible,"

"Impossible?" she hovered a few inches from his face by that point, only stopping where she was because if she got any closer she'd have a hard time staring into her eyes. "Have you ever heard the Legend of the Dark One?"

He nodded, because he most assuredly had. That story had plagued him for the last several years of his life, making his seconds- minutes- hours- torturously long. "Some legends are just legends," he told her calmly. "N-now, if you don't mind, I'd really...better be getting back,"

And the strange girl giggled at him again as he tried to back out of the space they shared. With a slight tilt of her head, she told him in a soft voice; "I shall make sure you keep that promise,"

Those were the last words she spoke before she vanished. Rumplestiltskin stood there and stared at the spot, motioning his hand over the space she had occupied. An illusion? A mirage? He didn't know, but he hardly considered himself ill enough for that, even though there was absolutely no evidence she had been there at all. He slowly made his way for the dropped pile of wood, re-gathered it as best as he could, and slowly headed for the camp site, where the large group of teenagers were all still awake- some of them even rough housing in an attempt to show off.

Whatever just happened, he knew he could never explain it to anyone.

xxxxxxxxxx

By the next morning, that conversation already felt like a dream- like something he had made up in his mind while he was out. Yet, it still stood out in his mind, if for no other reason than because he could not have concocted that sort of visage in the wildest parts of his imagination.

He woke up an hour before the rest of them as instructed to make sure they had food at promptly 7:00am. For breakfast, he made oatmeal. The army generals didn't arrive until ten minutes before breakfast time, and they made their presence known beyond uncertainty:

"WHAT ARE YOU SOLDIERS STILL DOING IN BED?!" bellowed out a man with a deep voice that frightened Rumplestiltskin from the other room; "UP UP UP UP UP UP UP..." he imagined that they were scrambling to their feet, and they had all piled into the dining hall before he knew it. Exhausted and confused from sleep, they stood in a silent, single-file line, trying desperately to tense up their muscles enough to stand at attention while the royal soldiers circled them.

"What are you waiting for?" one of them shoved into his shoulder blade. Hands shaking, he picked up the bowls and began serving each of them in line. All one hundred of them were expected to be served by seven; he didn't know how, but that had actually succeeded. Then he took his own bowl to a table and sat down. Only a few had the energy to still be talking at this hour. Most were loud enough that extraneous chatter from the tables wasn't missed by those sitting there.

Rumplestiltskin wasn't hungry in the slightest. This room was full of corpses, and it was more real to him now than it had been the previous night. The last thing he wanted to do was eat. He wanted to take these children out of here and get them back home before they had to see any of this. Yet, what could he do? He was a powerless man with one working leg and scarcely enough to eat on. He had no influence. He was a no one. The adult soldiers chose not to heckle him this morning, as it seemed they were running late for something. One of them hollered out to the room;

"Time to get going now! Move out!"

And they left their dishware there immediately. The cook gave up on eating once he was sure they were gone and scouted the room. A few of the boys evidently had the same queasy feeling in their stomachs; either that, or they didn't like the food. With everyone gone, he did his jobs at leisure- which, in spite of the crippling injury, was quite fast as he tried to do so much that he didn't let his mind wander. It could only be helped so much.

The first of two very strange incidents happened shortly into the day. While he was cautiously dragging a mop and bucket around to get all the floors cleaned, a 'thump' vibrated against the door. Startled, and frankly panicked at the thought of the soldiers returning early, he approached the door. There was another 'thump,' this one with two fists. He'd have to open the door sooner or later. 'Thump.' Finally, he opened it.

There, standing before him, was a man dressed in military attire. He didn't look like he was from this camp. Something about him, though, was incredibly familiar. He was certain he knew the man's name, if he could only access that memory.

"Can...can I help you?"

The question earned him a long stare that struck the cook as confusion mixed with curiosity.

"Where is everyone?" he sounded frightened of something. "...what...what happened?"

Rumplestiltskin drew his head back slightly; "I have no idea,"

The man grabbed his head. It looked like he had a migraine at first, but the cook soon realized he was feeling around for signs of wounds. "...I...I got injured..." he shook his head at himself.

"...well," he pulled the door back; "why don't you just come in? I'll...I'll fetch you something to eat," they didn't have extra anything in this place, and Rumple was under strict orders not to use more than necessary, but as long as everything remained quiet, a small indiscretion shouldn't be made a big deal. Nevertheless, the soldier standing outside shook his head.

"No," he said; "No, I just want to get back,"

And with that, he walked away.

What exactly just happened? He stood there a small while before shutting the door, trying to puzzle through it. Eventually, he gave up and decided it didn't really matter what it was, but that poor man was going to be in a lot of trouble for lateness. He may as well have just stayed at the camp site.

By the end of that hour, life had returned to normal- or at least, things were going the same way they had been before the incident. Some of his appetite had gradually started returning, so he nibbled a little more at the now-cold oatmeal left over in his (or...he hoped it was his...) bowl. He was still sitting there, loitering about, when the door nearly came falling in from the force of a fist pressed against it. He jumped in alarm and fell to the ground from the chair. An early arrival of that force could not possibly have been a good thing. Uncertain of what to do, he laid there, sprawled out against the floor while he waited to be smelled out.

Stomping, heavy footsteps pounded outside, growing ever closer. It was probably a good idea to stay on the ground in case they decided to mock him some more. The man who walked in, he now saw, was one of the highest-ranking generals. He'd lost a few shades in his skin color and his pupils were constricted. Rumplestiltskin didn't dare speak.

"..." the man glanced around the room, then shook his head and stared straight at the man as though he'd known he was there the whole time. The table had likely been blocking his view. He shook his head again. Finally, he said something; "There was an attack at the course today," he mumbled.

"An attack? Is everyone alright?" the cripple strained for his crutch and pulled himself up as quickly as possible.

The soldier glared at him. Yet again, he shook his head, as though he was trying to get something out. His heart sunk. The children. The children! They were all dead- and in the middle of training! The ogre's hadn't even waited until they knew how to hold a sword!

Disheartened, he limped into the main quarters- the 'bedroom,' where the tale became even stranger. Every soldier from his camp site, and even a few extras, was hustling and bustling about. The soldier who'd just been speaking to him exited through the kitchen and huffed;

"Pack up," to the scraggly coward. "We're going home,"

He was confused, but didn't dare ask him any more questions. He couldn't even bring himself to agree. Since he'd had nothing worth bringing, he had nothing to bring back- save for all the children who were here.

While in his silence, he listened to their recounts of what had happened on the training field. Evidently, the day had started off as planned. It had been abrupt when a whole group of ogres, on their way to the battlefields, came ominously close to the training grounds. One of the boys had been literally in the hand of one of them, when a girl- "the most beautiful girl I've ever seen" was how they described her- arrived just as suddenly as the ogres had. As the story went on, she evidently raised her arm towards the towering monsters, ordered the captor to let go of the soldier ("gently"), and- just like that- she'd made the fighting stop. She sent them on their way, told them to go destroy their own kingdom if they liked destruction so much, and they obeyed.

He considered it for a few seconds. This couldn't have to do with the woman he'd met the previous night, could it? That was impossible.

...of course, so was running off to Neverland.

You would think that someone like the Dark One would have introduced herself.