Ill Power

It was late evening. The sky was growing dark and the stars could faintly be seen, shining like little specks of silver on a black velvet blanket. Young Baelfire lay in bed. He did not feel particularly well but tried to stay silent. He knew that, if his father saw he was ill, he would try to cure him the only way he seemed to know how- magic. And Baelfire did not want that. Unfortunately, Rumpelstilskin had already noticed his son's condition. It was unlike Baelfire to not finish his dinner, say he did not feel hungry and go to bed so early. He knew something was not right.

Rumpelstilskin slowly entered his son's small bedroom. He saw Bae, curled up in bed beneath his blankets. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Rumpelstilskin gently lay his hand upon him.

"Bae, yer alright?" he asked. Baelfire didn't even turn his head; he continued to face the other way.

"I'm fine," he whispered weakly, hoping his father would leave without a fuss. Rumpelstilskin put his hand to Bae's forehead and noticed it felt hot.

"You've got a fever Bae. Don't worry, I'll have you better in no time."

"No Papa!" Bae shouted, "I don't want your magic! I'd rather stay ill! Just go and let me sleep!" To Rumpelstilskin, those words were like a dagger in his heart. His own son, his own flesh and blood, did not want to be comforted by him. His own son had told him to go away. It seemed as though his powers were tearing apart their bond and soon they would be forced their separate ways, like paper blown by the wind. Rumpelstilskin left his son to sleep in peace, only to return late that night, for he could not stop worrying. He watched over Bae for what felt like hours. The boy lay still in a deep sleep. It was a long time before he stirred. Letting out a moan, Baelfire tossed and turned uncomfortably in his bed.

"No... Papa...no!" he cried mid-nightmare. Eventually he woke startled, sitting upright in bed. He gasped, hands trembling, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. His skin, hair and clothes were damp with sweat and his deep brown eyes appeared full of fear.

"Oh Papa! I had an awful dream!" he cried, once calm enough to speak.

"It's alright Bae. You can tell me about it. But first, let's get this shirt of yours off. It's soaked!" Baelfire did as his father said, then lay his head back against the pillow. Though the horror of his nightmare still clung to him with its claws of fear, he felt somewhat relaxed by the cooling sensation of the damp cloth his father held to his burning forehead.

"Now Bae, tell me about yer dream lad."

"I think I was in a forest, surrounded by tall trees. You were there too. I... I was being pulled down into this green whirlpool. You were holding my arm but... but something happened and you let go!"

"Don't worry Bae," Rumpelstilskin assured his son, "It was only a dream."

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