Author's Note: As some of you who remember my story, "Open Your Eyes", concerning the Seer, Rumplestiltskin, and Reul Ghorm, I am still going for the whole, "BLUE FAIRY IS A VILLAIN" thing. Besides, this came to me like a vision...the answer to why Rumplestiltskin never left his home village although Milah was ready to leave him and practically everyone looked down on him AND there was a constant threat of being conscripted into war for Bae. So, here you are. Please forgive me for the quality...it's literally winter for my brain, and all the plot bunnies, not to mention diction dragons, are hiding deep within their hibernation caves. Oh yes! Please cheers for a girl who's learned how to properly spell 'Reul Ghorm'. Anyway, bless all you readers, please read and review! And courage, for Season 3 is just a MONTH away!

I Cast my Wish Upon a Star, but the Star was Blue and Cold.

A soldier stood on guard beside the tent flap of the supreme commander. His dark beard was trimmed with bits of frost and his body shivered periodically, but his grey eyes were razor sharp as he glared straight ahead, boots planted firmly apart in the inches-thick snow.

A tiny light like a blue firefly zoomed out of the air from behind the tent. Silent as a falling feather, it flew towards the man's ear and hovered there a moment. "There is a power that rules the night, older than any other power in the world. Reul Ghorm, Reul Ghorm! Make a wish upon a Blue Star, and the power will come to grant it, for it is the original power, greater than any other. Reul Ghorm, Reul Ghorm!"

The man slapped at the whisper angrilly, but missed and hit his cheek instead. The blue glow was gone. Yet the whisper refused to die away, wriggling into his mind, teasing his imagination. He couldn't help himself and, as soon as he was relieved that night, he passed the whisper on to his garrison, to his friends. And they passed it on as well. A whisper of hope, hope and blue stars and the ancient power, Reul Ghorm.

The first few bits of moonlight were swiftly crawling across the cottage floor when Rumplestiltskin rose from his pallet. Eyes wide as he tried to see in the darkness, he groped for the walking stick that stood against the wall by his bed. It had been at least six months since he came home, since he…since it happened, to his leg.

He never got over the way Milah looked at it, her nose wrinkled in disgust, her blue eyes burning white-hot with anger and disappointment. Never got quite used to the way she shoved by him when he hobbled across the floor to his spinning wheel, or the way she took Baelfire out of his arms if he hadn't spun all the wool. She didn't care about his excuses. In her eyes, he had no right to enjoy the safe, family life he'd maimed himself for. He didn't deserve to be coddled and rewarded for splitting his ankle open with a mallet just so he could come home to be with his son.

He never got used to it, but he didn't complain. After all, he believed the same thing they all did; he didn't deserve to live, to be the one who came back. He couldn't explain to anyone, not even himself, just why he'd done it. It had all been so clear back then, when his mind was trapped in an impulsive, agonizing storm of anxiety for his child…he knew once, why he'd done it. Love. So Bae would never be alone, never feel abandoned.

But nobody else understood that. Nobody could. Rumplestiltskin would never be able to explain it to them, not when all of their husbands had gone off and been killed. What separated him from them? What had posessed him? Why? With a lump in his throat, he stared down at the floor, at the ruined foot still bound in strips of linen. Why had he done this to himself?

The answer always eluded him, slipping away just as he awoke, leaving him to suffer the consequences of his choice (sacrifice) with a dim sense of pain and injustice. The only time he ever came close to remembering why, to understanding it as clearly as he did on that terrible, fateful night, was when he gazed into his baby's brown eyes, sparkling up at him as Bae smiled and reached for his father's nose, a nose that was so big and enticing to an infant's fancy, so easy to grab and hold.

Rumplestiltskin smiled at where he knew his son's crib lay. Hands tightening on his walking stick, he slowly straightened and limped towards it. Without even touching the side, his silent staff knew exactly where to halt. He shuffled the rest of the way and reached down into the shadow of the crib. His long, sensitive fingers brushed over a soft, smooth forehead covered with baby down. It moved down to the round, healthy stomach that swelled so gently with every breath, tickling over a tiny little nose and wet, squishy lips. A baby that breathed and laughed and crawled on its own was truly a miracle…everything about Baelfire was a miracle.

He was precious and beautiful and everything Rumplestiltskin had ever dreamed he'd be. And yet…he needed protection, proction his father would never be able to give him.

A sharp sensation stabbed up Rumplestiltskin's ankle, hitting his knee and shattering into sparks of pain that burned. He wanted to fall to his knees and sob…not because of how painful it was, but because it just would. Not. Stop. Every wrong step, every cold draft, every morning, it hurt like this. So often that he wanted to weep from weariness, like an overburdened mule tired of being beaten that sobs at the sight of its master's whip. It wasn't too much; it was too long…he was just so tired of pain, exhausted. And he knew that it would be like this for his entire life.

But he held his breath, biting back the whimpers that rose in his throat. He'd had enough experience with pain. He preferred to be alone with it, rather than awaken Milah and hear the scorn in her voice, the impatient irritation in her face as she grudgingly helped him care for a problem he had, in her mind, brought upon himself with his cowardice. She was the one, after all, who had to get up in the middle of the night if he fell out of bed or visitors came knocking. She shouldn't have to get up at those godless hours because of him.

He'd taken enough from her already…he couldn't bear to add any more to the list.

Milah was, he knew, asleep in her pallet by the corner. They'd been sleeping in separate beds ever since he came home because of how sensitive his leg was to the slighest pressure or touch. But even now, when he was growing healthier and throwing off as much of his frailty as he could, often through sheer willpower and the determination to be an invalid no longer…even now, she stayed away from him. She didn't want to see his face in the morning and be flooded with shame and regret. She wanted nothing to do with him. But how could he blame her?

He stared for a long time at her corner, where her raven hair spilled over the pillows. He stared with regret and longing. Then, slowly, he turned and silently limped towards the door. It creaked as he pulled it open and as the moonlight spilled over him and cast an ancient silver sheen over his hair he froze, listening for any noise from his family. All he heard was a soft baby snore from Bae's crib.

Relieved, he moved on. He stepped out onto the dirt road and limped quickly down it, avoiding the ruts from wagon wheels…if he stepped in one of those it would hurt for days, as he'd discovered from painful experience.

It was hard to shake off the feeling of burning gazes, eyes full of disgust and dislike and worst of all…pity…as they watched the cripple swaying in the shadows. He could still hear the whispers that had bounced back and forth from the crowds when he first stepped out of his hovel again. He couldn't believe his ears then, couldn't understand how so many people could hold a grudge against someone they didn't even know. Now, he understood perfectly. He was a coward who took the easy way out…for his son. Not for him. His son. Not himself. He felt like he was forgetting that…he had to remember, had to have that last shred of light to cling to, to excuse himself with.

His hands whitened as he applied more weight on his staff and his ankle began to ache from the icy cold sludge on the road. Dewfrost hung heavy in the air and steam swirled and twisted from between his open lips as he panted. His sweat froze on the crown of his forehead.

He rememered taking this path to the woods less than a year ago…he was a young spinner, searching for his sheepdog. He had just married Milah. He'd seen the tall, green, wild forests beyond the farmlands and he'd raced towards them on both of his long, strong legs. Took him less than fifteen minutes.

Now, it was nearly an hour before he finally staggered into the outskirts of the forest. He slumped against a tree trunk, wincing as the rough bark dug into his cheek. He took deep, slow breaths, listening to his heart as it stopped racing and the chill began to seep down his neck. He was growing cold.

On a night far, far colder than this he'd been a young soldier, crouching in the dirty snow that lined the road into camp. The sentries there realized it was slightly warmer in the rubbish pit than above ground so they all tumbled into it, wrapped their cloaks around themselves, and began swapping tales.

Rumplestiltskin, being the newest, was forced to tell them a simple fable he'd heard from the Spinners who raised him. It was the same one they told him every fortnight, if they had nothing else to do. The soldiers were quickly bored. They began talking over him and elbowing each other roughly, so Rumplestiltskin fell silent and merely listened.

"Listen, mates," a soldier addressed all of them, but his eyes were focused soley on Rumplestiltskin, the new recruit. "If you're looking to get out of this war, there's only one power on earth that'll help you."

"There's whispers," one of them leaned towards Rumplestiltskin, smelling like sweat and old iron as he grinned, his breath puffing out like steam in the frigid air, "whispers of a power, the Original Power. A power that rules the night and it'll grant you a wish if yore heart is true."

A hand latched onto his shoulder. Startled, Rumplestiltskin's head swung around to stare at the other soldier, his eyes wide.

The man wasn't grinning. He looked dead serious; his hazel eyes dark and intense as he silently commanded Rumplestiltskin to pay complete and utter attention to him. "If you go out in the middle of the night and you look up, you might, just might see…a blue star. You know what you do then, ay?"

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. He knew they were joshing with him, feasting off of his insecurity as the youngest, newest soldier, fresh from the village. But what enthralled him was the fact that they actually believed every word they were saying and his gut told him that he should believe it as well.

The man pointed at the sky. Rumplestiltskin looked up, shifting his boots in the mud to get a better balance. The stars above were like shavings of ice, bright and white in a wintry black sky, swept clean by the cold wind and mist.

"You call its name." He said solemnly. Rumplestiltskin's mouth was dry.

His partner grabbed Rumplestiltskin's other shoulder, hard. Rumplestiltskin barely flinched…he listened with the same open-mouthed awe of the boy he had once been, listening to bonfire stories during village holidays. The soldier grinned, and his teeth seemed strangely sharp, "the name…of Reul Ghorm."

Abruptly, they released Rumplestiltskin and roared with laughter before settling down to flapping their arms about and slapping their sides, trying to get warm as they gossiped about their new training commander and criticized Rumplestiltskin's nose in a rough, friendly way.

The spinner was barely listening. He was staring up at a blue star.

The night wasn't so cold now. No snow. Just the silent greenery of the forest, thick and heavy with the scent of leaves and mulch. But the stars above his head, when he looked up between the treetops, were just the same. Bright and white. Except one wasn't white…it was blue.

Suddenly, Rumplestiltskin felt warmer. His heart began hammering in his chest, making him feel slightly dizzy as he straightened away from his staff, trying to make it look like he wasn't leaning on it for support. He looked up at the blue star and licked his dry lips. The breeze brushed over them and made them feel like they were covered in ice. But it didn't matter.

He remembered the thoughts that had made him leave home and join the war, the same thoughts that kept him warm at night and unwavering in his nightmares. He had often been seized with terror, but he'd always refused to listen to it. He'd soldiered on, drawing strength and hope from that one thought…family.

And family was why he was here. He planted the staff firmly in the ground and threw his head back, forgetting the hostile village and the pain and the empty side of his bed. He only remembered the crib with the giggling, warm litte human in it, a precious little human all his own. "Reul Ghorm!" his voice echoed between the trees, so loud it startled him, "Reul Ghorm, I need you, please!"

The answer came almost immediately. The trees shivered under the blue light of the star as it suddenly, inexplicably seemed to flare brighter and lean down towards the peasant, all alone in the woods. A voice, a cool, female voice, thrilled through the air. "I hear your wish, Rumplestiltskin! No need to shout."

Rumplestiltskin blinked against the blue ball of light that suddenly hovered just before his face. At first, all he could see was the glow. Then he realized it was a very small person…a little woman with wings, wearing a strange blue dress with a very low neckline. Her brown hair was piled on her head, wrapped by tiny blue flowers and bits of silk. In her hand she held a wand no bigger than a your thumb.

Stunned by this revelation when he'd been expecting a giant shadow demon with terrible power, Rumplestiltskin gave a cry and stumbled backwards. "You…you're a…"

The woman laughed. "A fairy. I am the Blue Fairy, the greatest of my race."

Unable to tear his eyes away from her, Rumplestiltskin swallowed, searching for just the right words to use in the presence of this fine lady. "They say…begging your pardon, milady…they say you grant wishes."

"Yes indeed," she smiled, her wings fluttering as a waterfall of sparkling dust disappeared into the dark earth beneath her. She waved her tiny wand in a circle. "Any wish made with a true heart."

"Will you grant me a wish?" Rumplestiltskin stepped forward in sudden eagerness, a light burning in eyes that had been dull and dark for months now. He pointed at her with a shaking hand. "Will you?"

She gazed thoughtfully at him. Her eyes, although they were large and round and lined with blue rouge, seemed strangely empty. They lustered, but they seemed to lack emotion…empathy…kindness. As if all she really cared for were her pretty dresses and her blue, cold power. But she smiled again, and her echoing voice seemed kind. "Perhaps. What is this wish?"

Nervous yet hopeful, Rumplestiltskin forgot to not lean on his stick as he began gesturing with his hands descriptively. "I have a son at home, a beautiful boy of seven months. His name is Baelfire."

"Baelfire," she interrupted him suddenly, trying out the word on her tongue. He gave her a confused look. She noticed and waved him on. "It's a lovely name."

Rumplestiltskin smiled at this praise, hugging the staff to himself as he nodded in emphatic agreement. "He's a lovely boy, my Bae. But he needs protection." He rushed on as she stared thoughtfully at the ground, "there's a war in this land, a war with the Ogres. I've been there, I've seen…we can hold them off for years, but we'll never stop them. They'll be vagrants, thieves, slavers…" he swallowed painfully and looked away like a nervous stag before turning back to her, barely daring to acknowledge his lame leg, "and I'm…I can't protect him." His voice was thick. He limped forward suddenly, desperate, "but you…you've got power. You can protect him!"

The Fairy wasn't smiling anymore. She gazed solemnly at the spinner. "It's true. I can protect him with magic. Magic is power. But magic also has a price."

Rumplestiltskin's feeble smile fell. "Price? I don't…I have nothing."

"You have a chance, a chance for a new life," she said, gently floating closer to him, "your wife wants you to move."

"Aye," Rumplestiltskin answered slowly, his brown eyes starting to look a little distrustful, "we've talked of a village where no one knows us, and I think it's a fine idea…"

"In return for the safety of your son, you must give up any chance of a new life for yourself."

Rumplestiltskin halted; he ran his hand nervously up and down his stick, glancing in the direction of the village. "But Milah…she hates it here. Isn't there something else I could pay?"

The Blue Fairy shook her head, her voice sad. "One life is made secure, another must be made unbearable. The magic of the world is kept in balance. But you made a choice like this before, Rumplestiltskin…you know why you chose it. Remember that; it will help you now."

Yes. He remembered why. Baelfire. Milah loved her son as well. If she believed in fairies, or if she even believed in Rumplestiltskin, he was certain she would be making the same choice right now. Baelfire was their child; brought into the world by their love…their love must sustain him. He stopped fingering the staff and looked up at the Fairy.

He thought of the jeers in the street, the suffocating hatred that followed him everywhere, even in his own house. He thought of the shame and the indignity and the regret that would poison every day of his life, with absolutely nothing to look forward to at its end. He would lose what little love Milah had left for him, and Baelfire, someday, would turn those sparkling brown eyes to his father, and they would be filled with pity. Pity for his own father, the crippled coward.

He swallowed. His voice burst from his throat, clawing out an answer before any more selfish, craven thoughts could seal it off. "Deal."

The Blue Fairy merely nodded her head, a smile pulling at her lips. "It is done. Go home, Rumplestiltskin, go home and…and be happy."

The last three words hit him like bitter arrows, causing his stomach to clench in on itself as he flinched visibly. Happy? He wondered how long ago he'd used that word for himself…maybe, maybe it was when he'd held his baby and heard Bae's laugh for the first time, while Milah sang songs of mystery and longing outside. The fire was warm and his leg didn't hurt, and Bae was solid, warm, and heavy in his lap.

Happy.

But when he looked up to answer the fairy, she was gone. The blue star was cold, dim and silent in a shrunken sky, while the frosted woods seemed to push at Rumplestiltskin, urging him to leave. He looked up at the star and whispered, "thank you, Reul Ghorm."

He would call that name again, years later when his baby became a boy and his wife was gone and the slavers came to his house wearing the uniform of the Duke, stealing away his child to serve and die in the war. He called and she never came. So he, overcome with desperation, would become the Dark One.

One more time he would call her, when he had become something as powerful as the false hope she had given him, as enraged as the wound in his heart where Baelfire's accusing screams still lingered. The Blue Fairy had forced Rumplestiltskin to rely on his own courage, which had snapped brutally under his weight and left him lying on the ground, his son gone, vanished through the cold earth. He would deny her, threaten her, attack her, because she had not only failed to protect his son, she had stolen him away. She hadn't just forgotten her promise…she had broken it.

But for now, the lonely spinner limped home. The thought of the future made his stomach cold, but the thought of his son made his heart warm and happy. He burned with the love of his family, revelled in the fact that he had just protected them with the last thing he had left; his future. Yes, he was certain that the future, although painful, would be full of Bae, Milah, love, and warmth.

Yet above his head, the stars were frozen in a firmanent of icy black. The wishing star glowed brighter than any of them, but it was blue. Blue and cold. As cold as death. As cold as lost hope and broken promises. As cold as a ruined future…and an empty heart.

FINIS