A/N. I'm beholden for the title to Fantasymaven on Tumblr. What a wonderful phrase, and a wonderful new job for Rumple!
He hears an angel calling.
At the same time, his fingers and toes tingle, as though the blood circulation is resuming after a long shut-down. He wants to sit up or roll over; he needs to move to force the blood to move through the rest of his body, and to release the cramps in his legs. He orders his body to rise, but something's holding him down. He can't quite tell what or where, but he's trapped, and that realization makes him try to flail about, fight off the enemy.
"Easy, easy. We've got you [unintelligible]." His cheek is stroked by a soft, cool hand. The voice doesn't go with the hand, he thinks: the voice is a man's, but the hand—the hand is familiar. Loving. Someone he trusts, and his instincts tell him there are damn few who fall into that category.
"Rumple?"
He relaxes into the cotton touch, the second, velvet voice. He trusts that one. Not the one pinning him down, but that one, smoothing his hair. He leans into her hand, leans into the blackness.
When he emerges again, he's still trapped, but she's there, squeezing his hand, calling his name, so he doesn't fight. He rests, eyes closed; he thinks about opening them but it doesn't happen and he can't figure out why. He gives up on effort of any kind. He'll just rest, float on this voice, against this hand.
When he awakens, really awakens, for the first time, he feels his chest rising and falling easily. His mouth is dry, his vision gauzy. "Just a minute. Close your eyes." The man's voice again. But he isn't afraid; her touch assures him. So he obeys, but he doesn't allow blackness to overtake him again. A nagging notion at the back of his brain prompts him to remain awake: there's something important he needs to do, as soon as he can think, as soon as he can speak.
He feels a warm, wet cloth pass over his eyes, then his face. "Okay. Open them." The man's hand falls away, but the woman's remains at his cheek. He opens his eyes, blinks against the light, tries to focus.
"Rumple?" "Gold?" They say together. Which is it: is he Rumple or Gold? He can't remember. "Can you talk?" "Are you okay?"
He nods.
"You're in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?"
He shakes his head.
"You've been in a sort of coma. Magic-induced, to protect your heart against the shock when the Apprentice—well, it's a long story. We'll get to it later. You've been in a coma for five days. But your heart is stable now, so we brought you out of the coma. You have a heart monitor and an IV attached; that's why your movements are limited. But your vitals are good. We may be able to send you home in a couple of days."
He manages a word through his irritated throat: "Who?"
"I'm Dr. Whale."
He shakes his head. That's not what he wants to know. He rolls his head to the side to look at the woman. She smiles brightly, as though she fully expects him to rise, take her hand and lead her away from this place.
"I'm Belle."
He shakes his head again. That's not what he's asking, though it's nice to have a name to go with the soft hand. He smiles at her and she beams. "I love you."
He can ask her. She'll understand. "Who am I?"
But she doesn't. She exchanges a worried look with the man.
He closes his eyes again and slides away.
When he opens his eyes again, the room is dark and the man and the angel are gone. He breathes a sigh of relief: now that he's alone, he can let the feelings creep in. He just can't figure out what they are.
Nor is he clear about who he is. He remembers now that recently, he was Gold (no first name–Regina's little joke), pawnbroker, landlord, husband (-ex?), sorcerer, grandfather. . . what does one call the father of a deceased son? There must be a term for it: it's a role like no other, with its own burdens and responsibilities.
And before that, he was the Crazy Imp, prancing, giggling, climbing walls. They called him Rumplestiltskin, but that wasn't who he was then. The Imp was nothing like Rumplestiltskin. The Imp was brash, flashy, full of tricks, delighting in people trapping themselves in their own foolishness. The Imp didn't last long, compared to his other incarnations—fortunately. At the end, when he was locked in Charming's mine-prison, there were days, weeks, when the craziness didn't feel like a game any more.
And before that, he was the Dark One, crushing people, literally, beneath his boot. The Dark One dined on others' misery, sipped the blood of agony. Rumple almost lost himself to the Dark One, but his love for Bae, and later Belle, gave him the strength to fight for himself. After Belle left—driven away by the Dark One, killed (he believed) by prejudice—that's when the Crazy Imp emerged, a shield to preserve the little humanity left in this old body.
But before all of those, before the magic, there was Rumplestiltskin, con-man's rejected son, motherless child, deserted deserter, cuckolded husband, spinner. But above all that, father. Only that role gives him comfort, so he zeroes in on it, reliving every moment he can remember of Bae's life, no matter how inconsequential; they all matter to him. He must have been smiling in the reliving, because in the distance he hears the angel exclaim, "Oh, look, Victor! He must be having a happy dream."
He remembers who he was, but who is he now? He doesn't feel like any of those men any more.
"I don't think this is a good idea," a man's voice is saying.
Another man argues, "It's been five days. She's suffering. We can't wait any longer."
He feels his shoulder being shaken, feels breath fanning the hair covering his ear, hears his (former) name being called by a woman. He tries to argue with them: don't disturb me. I'm happy where I am. For he's beside a lake, fishing with ten-year-old Bae, and when the sun sets they will take their day's catch home and fry it, and Belle will come home from the library, tired and hungry, and they will eat, and they will share the abundance of their catch with the neighbors because there is far more than they need.
He wants to stay, but they're dragging him away. His eyes open before the dream is finished. He scowls. "Leave." He's commanding them to leave him alone, but he can't get a full sentence out. His brain is still dreaming.
"Gold, it's me. David Nolan." Charming! He looks worried, tired.
The patient blinks to focus, but he doesn't stop scowling. He looks past Charming to the other man: Whale. Belle is not here. The patient closes his eyes. "What?"
"Gold, I'm sorry. Believe me, I wouldn't bother a sick man unless it was important. It's Emma. We don't know what to do. You're the only one who would understand what she's going through, how to control it. You controlled it for three hundred years, right?" Charming licks his lips. "It can be controlled, right?"
"What?" The patient repeats. Every word is an effort.
"He doesn't know about Emma," the other man says, annoyed. "He was unconscious before the Apprentice did the exorcism or whatever the hell it was. He's been unconscious, except for brief periods, ever since."
It's tiring just trying to follow the conversation. He wants to see her a moment, see that she's okay, then fall back into his dream. Charming wants something: the patient doesn't care. Charming always wants something. Let him go to his pet, Regina.
"Five days ago, you collapsed in your shop. Cardiac arrest," the other man is saying. "Apparently, your third. You're not out of the woods yet. The Apprentice put you into a magic-induced coma, then he chanted some spell that sucked the Dark One out of you."
"Gone." It's not a question. The patient is assessing his own condition: he feels the absence of the spirit that shared his body for three centuries. The whispers in his head are gone. It's strangely quiet, almost lonely. He wants to go back to the dream.
"Three days ago, you woke up briefly."
"True Love's Kiss," Charming explains (and Whale snorts). "Belle kissed you."
The patient's shoulders rise and fall. Who else would it be? Only Belle loves him.
"Your wife," Charming misinterprets the shrug. "Belle French. The librarian."
It's the patient's turn to snort. "I know who my wife is." His throat hurts from talking so much. He coughs and Whale holds a glass of water with a bendable straw to his lips. The patient sips tentatively, then drinks deep as the cool water soothes his throat.
"Good. Take all you can. Water," Whale glares at Charming, "and sleep are what you need now."
"Belle."
"I sent her home for the night. She's been living here all week." Whale half-smiles. "She needs a decent night's sleep too."
"The Dark One," Charming butts in. "It went into Emma. The Apprentice died. How do we extract it?"
The patient winces. "One way. Stab her with the dagger."
"She'll die!" Charming yelps. "Won't she?"
"Die," he admits.
"But the apprentice got it out of you! Something he recited. You must know it or have it in a book somewhere. Gold, please, she's in agony! We had to put Pan's cuffs on her—she went crazy! She burned down the Rabbit Hole. She overturned a school bus—there were no kids in it, but the driver broke a leg. She uprooted the apple trees at City Hall. She climbed up the wall of the library and jumped off the clock tower—"
The patient shook his head. "Can't. No suicide for the Dark One. I tried."
Charming's mouth falls open in alarm.
"She couldn't even injure herself. Not even a bruise," Whale adds. "She tried to drown herself in the ocean, hang herself in the woods, shoot herself."
"The Dark One can't die. Was never born. It was created from primal energy, at the same time as the Light. They're both immortal. They can just change hosts."
"Are you saying there's a Light One?"
He shrugs. "You call her the Savior."
"Emma's a primal power?"
"One of them. There may be more. Legend says there were many, in the beginning. And many Dark Ones, until the most powerful of the Light Ones imprisoned them in an underground vault." A wry smile flickers across the patient's lips. "I know that exists—saw it myself."
"When you stabbed yourself with the dagger," Charming guesses.
"Don't let her try that. She won't kill herself; she'll just send herself to the vault. Forever."
"Snow has the dagger. She's controlling Emma with it; that's how we got the cuffs on her. We locked her in a cell. It's breaking Snow's heart, that she has to command her."
"It will turn her heart black, eventually."
"We can't live this way. You have to do something, or tell us what to do. A potion, a spell, whatever. Gold, please, she's in pain."
"The Light and the Dark are at war within her."
"Do what the Apprentice did! You must know how—nobody knows more about magic than you." Charming dips his head into his hands.
"If I knew that spell, don't you think I'd have saved myself? Do you think I wanted to be the Dark One?" He looks at Charming as if the young man is crazy. "My son feared me! Belle despised me!"
"A book, it must be in a—"
"I collected every book about magic ever written, in every language. None of them even mentioned a spell for exorcising the Dark One. I didn't know such a thing was possible."
"We searched every inch of the Sorcerer's mansion and the Apprentice's house. We found nothing," Charming moans.
"An apprentice never knows more than his or her master," the patient points out. "When his knowledge exceeds the master's, he becomes a master."
"Merlin! While he was dying, he said, 'Find Merlin.'"
The patient's eyes widen. "Merlin! He lives?!"
"He's from my land, though long before my time. What do you know about Merlin?" Whale asks.
"A great deal, through books and legends. Of course the Dark Ones would want to study their worst enemy. Too much to tell now, so suffice to say, the first Merlin—there have been successors who took his name—was one of the primals. It was Merlin who came up with the dagger idea, as a way of controlling the Dark One. And it was he who led the war that sent the Dark Ones into the vault."
"But one of them escaped, apparently, and it's got Emma."
"It was released, dearie, by a power greater, and let us hope, wiser, than all the Dark Ones and the Light Ones combined. There must be choice, the theory goes: man must be allowed to choose between Light and Dark, Good and Evil. Love acts as the mediator between the two, and exists only where there is trust. Trust exists only where there is knowledge of the truth and the freedom to choose it or run from it." Something Gold denied Belle; something Rumple must apologize to her for.
"Who is this power?"
"That, children, is the question man has been trying to answer since the dawn of time. Perhaps we are too small-minded to ever find the answer. Or perhaps it's under our noses and we're too selfish to see it."
A woman's voice answers from the doorway. "Are you talking about God?"
The patient grins in relief, the strain disappearing from his face. He struggles to sit up and Whale and Charming assist him. Once up, he holds out his hands and the woman rushes to him, taking his hands in hers—delicately, because he's still bound to machines. "Belle." He rests his forehead against hers.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, the words tumbling over each other. "I didn't understand. I loved you, I just didn't understand, but I do now, and I'm sorry and I love you."
"I'm sorry too. I didn't understand either. I love you too," he babbles. Then he sinks back against his pillows and one of the machines is beeping. Whale reads the monitor, presses a button for a nurse, urges the patient, "Breathe through your mouth, deep and slow. You just pushed yourself too far for today. Your visitors have got to leave." He clasps Charming's and Belle's shoulders. "Now."
Guiltily, they rise from the bed and walk toward the hall.
The patient calls to them, "If Merlin exists in this world, whatever form he's in—he–or she—is not beyond our puny minds' ken. Merlin is your hope for Emma's release."
"Where do we start?"
The patient shakes his head as he closes his eyes. "I have no idea."
"The library," Belle suggests. "I'll round up helpers and we'll begin researching there."
"A town meeting," Charming decides. "Someone in town must know something."
"When can I come back?" Belle asks from the hallway.
"After breakfast." Then Whale amends his order: "I don't know how early you get up, but we serve the patients breakfast at eight a.m. No sooner."
"I'll bring you some books," Belle promises the patient. "And your iPod. I love you, Rumple."
"I love you." Rumple. That's what she calls him, so that's who he is, who he wants to be. He drifts back to the dream lake.
Slowly, he's granted increasing levels of freedom. First he's released from the machines and allowed to stand. With an orderly holding his elbow, he's allowed to walk to the bathroom. He glares at his audience as he stands over the toilet; Whale chuckles and nods; the orderly backs out and closes the bathroom door, and now he's alone. He takes care of business, washes his hands and face, inspects himself in the mirror. Rumple, not Rumplestiltskin, not Gold, not Dark One. He's satisfied. He returns to his bed, walking unaccompanied (if slowly), before they can decide he's been gone too long and needs rescue. From the glance in the mirror, he concludes he's lost weight, but he doesn't raise that subject. He knows the less he draws attention to his physical well-being, the sooner they'll let him out. They must know, of course, how much better he could rest at home, and how much faster he'd recover if Belle tended to him.
On the second day of his recovery, he's allowed to lean on Belle's arm and walk up and down the corridor, for one trip. He's allowed to sit in a chair and read, so he assists with the research, translating a book written in a language no one but Blue is old enough to remember. Each day, his trips lengthen, and eventually he's allowed outside in the floral garden. Each day, he sits up longer and translates more. Each day Belle comes, for as long as Whale permits. Sometimes Charming comes with questions: the poor father is trying to understand what his daughter is experiencing, sharing her body with an evil spirit.
"Any news?" Charming always begins with false cheer.
"Well, this," the patient closes his book, "relates a story that, if true, means we have something that belonged to Merlin. The story goes that Merlin fell in love with a woman named Niviane. As a token of his affection, he gave her a locket containing a snip of his hair."
"How romantic."
"More than romantic, Mr. Nolan. A lock of a sorcerer's hair contains a trace of his magic. Merlin was the most powerful socerer, ever. It's also said he taught her magic. Unfortunately, she never really trusted him, so the affair went nowhere. But that locket was stolen from her, and the thief sold it to a sultan who sold it to a pirate who sold it to a duke who sold it to me."
"You have Merlin's hair?" Charming yelps. "Can you use it to do a locator spell or something?"
"No. Not unless he's hiding in Storybrooke. And I doubt if Cora, Pan, or the Snow Queen could have gotten away with their shenanigans if Merlin lived here. But maybe that locket will have sentimental value that we can take advantage of, when we find him."
"Well. It's a good story, anyway. I'll share it with Snow tonight."
"Over dinner at La Tandoor. And then show her An Affair to Remember. A perfect night of romance."
"Well, I guess that book was good for something."
Once Snow comes. She's left the dagger with Charming; she must have a break from it. She's exhausted, frightened, her nerves shattered from the responsibility of controlling the Dark One. He can relate. "You're giving her a break, taking on that responsibility," Rumple assures her. "Emma can concentrate her energies on the war within her."
"When will it be over?"
"Never."
"What? Why?"
"As long as the Dark One is within her. He's incredibly persuasive and persistent. He doesn't tire and he doesn't give up. And the Light inside her is his equal. Unlike the rest of us 'hosts'; we were just ordinary humans; we weren't created saviors. For the rest of us, the Darkness pounded away until it killed off the last speck of Light in our hearts."
"That's what was happening to you, at the end. Those heart attacks."
"Yes. The Dark One was winning."
Snow ducks her head. "I'm sorry. We didn't understand. I wish. . . ."
"So do I. Is she sleeping? Is she eating? You must make sure her body has what it needs while this war is going on."
Snow's voice drops. "I have to command her to."
"It's a great deal of responsibility."
"I feel like I'm neglecting Neal. He practically lives with Granny now."
"I'm sorry."
Her eyes fly to his. "You had a child when the curse. . . ."
"Bae was fourteen."
"Henry's fourteen."
"Bae ran away from me. I scared him—the glee I took from causing mayhem. It was the Dark One doing all that damage, but I let him. Sometimes I was too weak to fight—sometimes I wanted it to happen. It won't be that way with Emma. She will lose some of her battles, but it won't be for lack of fighting."
"We'll be there to stop her."
"She will outsmart you sometimes. The Dark One's been manipulating souls a lot longer than all of us combined have been alive."
"We'll know it's not her fault. We'll forgive her. At least, we know what's happening to her. At least, Emma has a whole town to take care of her. Did you have a wife, a brother, anyone?"
"I would have chased them away. I did, I chased her away," he mumbles. "I wanted the power. Emma never has. That's another arrow in her quiver. Another weapon against the Dark One."
Snow sighs as she stands up. "It's Neal's lunchtime. Are you making any progress?" She gestures to his open book.
"I understand Merlin better, but no, I don't know where he's hiding."
"Hiding?"
"A man—or woman—with power like that would be pursued by paparazzi, reporters, politicians, the sick, the lame, the poor, the rich."
"You're right. He must be hiding." Snow's eyes light up. "And a man or woman with power like that can avoid ever being found, so we need to convince him he wants to find us."
"Are you formulating a plan, Snow?"
"I will now." She winks at him as she leaves.
Whale now agrees he can go home—as long as it's directly home, no stops to collect rent or putter around in the shop. Meekly, he obeys.
There's something missing in him now. Or something becoming unburied: he's not sure which. He doesn't ask Dove to bring him his ledgers or bank statements; he knows there is more than enough money to cover his medical bills, his living expenses. He's financially secure. Every day, even when she's not physically by his side, Belle shows him she's his constant; he's emotionally secure. His temper, when it rises, climbs only a few degrees before it falls again. His one living enemy, Hook, shows no interest him, and the townsfolk are easing up in their hard glares and fearful cringing as he passes by. He is physically secure.
Henry drops in at the pink house. They study together: Rumple translating books, Henry completing homework. Sometimes they work in the garden together; there is much information about medicinal plants that Rumple wants to impart to the next generation, so they won't be so dependent upon machines, knives and pills. Sometimes they just watch soccer together. (Sometimes Rumple closes his eyes and pretends that's fourteen-year-old Bae sitting on the couch beside him. He doesn't tell Belle about this daydream, however.)
He goes to see Emma. Alone.
He insists upon it. Snow and Charming stand against it, but as weeks pass and they're no closer to allowing Emma out of the jail cell because of the rage that sometimes overtakes her, they agree to allow him to visit her with only Henry as the chaperone. Rumple talks to Emma quietly, briefly, inquiring about her physical health before asking about the voice inside her head, the one that doesn't belong there. She glances at Henry and shakes her head. Rumple understands: she won't talk about these things in front of her son. He knows exactly why.
He changes the subject and talks about Henry's homework. She brightens, relaxes, rests her elbows on her knees. Brought into the conversation, Henry contributes and relates stories about his classmates (he's inherited Regina's fondness for gossip, apparently). They chat and chuckle for an hour, then Rumple points out it's time to do some of that homework and Henry groans, but accepts the inevitable.
"I'm going to see her alone," Rumple informs the Charmings. He'll brook no argument. Nor will Emma: she wants to speak to him privately too. The Charmings consult with Regina even as Rumple walks into the jail alone and closes the door in their faces.
"I suppose," Regina says over the phone, "if you bear in mind he's not the Dark One any more—she is—and if anyone's likely to hurt the other. . . ."
"We don't know what he is, do we? How much of his evil was because of the Dark One and how much was, you know, natural?" David responds.
"We don't even know if he has magic. Unless–has he told you?" Snow asks.
"I haven't had a conversation with him since the, uh, change," Regina admits. "He's partially responsible for what Zelena did to Robin."
"You have good cause to be mad, but at least there's a wonderful little girl now that you and Robin get to raise."
"Yes, there is. I suppose I'll go over and see Rumple one of these days. That excuse he gave about the heart healing potion doesn't completely make up for what he did, though. He still owes me and Robin an apology."
"You might get it," Snow says. "He's not the same man now."
"Are you saying you trust him?"
"I don't know."
"I guess we'll find out soon enough if he's changed —and how. Call me back if anything goes wrong."
They hang up, but they listen at the door. They hear nothing. When Rumple comes out, exchanging a cool glance with them, they rush inside the jail. Emma is lying back on her cot, eyes closed, breathing deeply.
"Are you okay?" Charming asks.
She sniffs. "What? Did you think he'd hurt me?"
"We weren't sure," Charming admits.
"He's the only person in the world who's been where I am." Her voice lowers. "The only one I can talk to about everything in my head, without sending him running away screaming. He's the only one who can tell me how to make the voice shut up." She sat up and looked at them squarely. "He's the only one who can give me hope, because he's the only living ex-Dark One."
"I see," Charming says slowly.
"We may have misjudged," Snow confesses. She reaches for her phone and dials. "Mr. Gold? It's Snow. I just wanted to say thanks, and that we won't interfere any more in your talks with Emma."
"The Dark One Emeritus," Hopper declares when he visits Emma and hears the story. The nickname catches on, though no one dares use it in front of Rumple. Over time, he returns to work, but not in his shop: he starts volunteering in the library, first with fundraising for a bank of desktops for public use, then he gets the idea that the library ought to offer computer classes.
"It's a great idea, Rumple," Belle praises. "I'll need to find a volunteer to teach them. I've got my hands full with circulation and shelving and children's programs."
"I'd like to teach some of them."
She blinks.
"I can teach Excel and Quickbooks and Word."
"It's not the software I'm wondering about. It's the teaching."
"I want to," he presses. "I . . . It'll give me an excuse to be. . . with people."
"Oh," Belle's mouth falls open, then forms a smile. "Yes, I get that. I kind of feel the same way. This library brought me out of my shell."
"You did used to be rather shy."
"You gave me this." She gestures to the building. "I want to give it back to you. Tomorrow we'll make out a schedule for the first classes."
Granny and Hopper are the first and only learners to register. "Yeah, I had a lot of trouble with the mouse at first. Once I got the hang of that, the rest was a piece of cake," Granny brags to her customers. "The Professor's gonna teach me Publisher next so I can make flyers for the Inn."
When the second round of beginner classes is offered (promoted by flyers made by Hopper), Rumple has four students.
Some of the kids in town start calling him "Professor"—to his face. He just smiles.
He visits Emma daily. At first, they simply talk about their shared experiences, but gradually he begins coaching her on how to fight the Dark One's urges. She starts to sleep better, regains her appetite. "But how will we know if any of these techniques work, since my magic is blocked?"
"Practice them anyway."
He's standing by when David opens the jail cell and takes Emma home, still wearing Pan's magic-dampening cuffs.
He's standing by when Snow unlocks the cuffs (but retains possession of the dagger). With her parents in tow, Emma takes a walk in the park. Rumple and Henry stroll beside her. They talk about plants. Then Henry invites her to see the herb garden growing in his grandpa's backyard, and they walk to the pink house. After admiring the garden (and her son's knowledge of botany) they sit on the back porch and Belle serves lemonade. Snow and Charming eat the snickerdoodles with puzzled looks on their faces.
"How do you feel, Emma?" Snow finally asks.
"Well, I don't feel like uprooting trees or overturning school buses," she answers drily.
"Is it possible that the Dark One is lying low, waiting for us to turn our backs?" David ponders.
Emma scoffs, "Do you really think the Dark One is scared of you?"
"No, but maybe him." David points to Rumple, who just smiles.
Rumple has a series of long talks with Belle. He has much to apologize for, much to explain, because not all of his wrongdoings were the fault of the Dark One. When he begins, Belle shakes her head. "You don't have to."
"Yes, I do," he argues. "Our marriage means more to me than anything. Only the truth can preserve it."
"Before you begin, then, I forgive you, and I ask you to forgive me too."
They take small steps. Some nights they talk until dawn; sometimes they cry. Some nights the tale he chooses to tell is short and insignificant, but he needs to tell it anyway. It's a piece in the patchwork of his history, and she must know it to understand the whole.
She keeps her promise to him: her faith doesn't waver. During her time alone, she has reevaluated her own actions as well as his, and she's wiser for it. When he comes to the parts that she can't bear to hear, she reminds herself that the Dark One is gone. From here on, all his choices are his own; all his actions, his responsibility. So far, she finds the change in him remarkable.
He's standing by when the Dark One rears its ugly head.
He can predict its emergence, and Emma should be able to as well; he's taught her the warning signs: fidgeting, difficulty concentrating, difficulty communicating, a deepening of the voice, a roaring of ocean sounds in the ears, an expansion of the pupils in the eyes, unexplained outbursts of anger. Soon would come the need to expend magic, followed by a craving for the scent of blood and the cries of people in pain.
He has taught her how to reign the Dark One in, but he has also taught her that sometimes she won't be able to. In those times, her best bet is to call for the dagger bearer, so she can be kept under control. After she fireballs the post office, she phones for help. Snow comes at a run, Neal bouncing crazily in his stroller and shrieking. But she raises the dagger, right there in the middle of Main Street, and she barks, "Dark One, I command you to sleep!"
Emma slumps to the concrete. David comes running to direct traffic around his sleeping daughter until the dwarfs arrive to carry Emma home. In their concern for Emma, the Charmings almost run off without Neal.
Emma wears Pan's cuffs for two weeks before she dares to trust herself again.
"You are fortunate," Rumple says. "You have people you can trust with the dagger. But there will be times when all else fails, and you will have to learn to forgive yourself for the damage the Dark One does."
"I don't get it. Mom and Dad can just command me to stop."
"As strong as they are, they have a weakness: they love you. The Dark One knows that and will exploit it."
"Nope, still not getting it."
"The Dark One can cause you such torment that they'll fear for you, and that's when they'll relinquish control. And by the same token, you'll come to resent them, rebel against them, and fear for them when you see that the dagger is changing them. And it will. Even the purest of hearts will be corrupted eventually."
"No, not them. There's a reason she's called Snow, and it's not her frosty demeanor. She's pure good, and so is Dad."
"Even the purest of hearts," he repeats. He raises his arm in the air and suddenly a book appears in his hand.
"Well, that answers that question. You do have magic."
"Fancy that. Here." He gives her the book. "Read it. The History of Quetian, the sixteenth Dark One. He gave his dagger to an archbishop. At first it was a success: the bishop prevented Quetian from doing any harm. But over time, the bishop started using Quetian's magic for his own ends. Harmless things at first: preventing a landslide, healing a sick nun, repairing a leaking dam. But then questionable acts: causing rain during a drought, making crops grow in desert, extending the life of an old priest. And then wrongdoings: filling the church coffers with gold, erecting a cathedral, dethroning a king, forcing one army to surrender to another. And then the archbishop and Quetian caused the death of a baby who would have grown up to be a powerful adversary against the church. When the archbishop died, the Dark One extracted his heart and found it black as coal."
"That can't happen to my . . . ." Emma's voice trails off.
"Bae, when I became cursed, was the kindest, most honest, bravest child in the land. Why do you suppose I didn't give him my dagger? Yes, I wanted free reign over my power, but I also wanted to prevent his corruption. I lied to myself. I told myself I could keep the Dark One in check. And when I failed repeatedly, I lied again: I convinced myself my acts of evil were unavoidable or necessary to achieve my ends. Everything and anything to get Bae back, I told myself."
She lets the tears come. "What do I do? What the hell do I do?"
"Keep fighting, and search for Merlin." He gives her his handkerchief.
He's standing by when Emma puts a magic chokehold on August for driving his motorcycle the wrong way down a one-way street. Rumple talks her down (though he takes his sweet time doing it). She's shaking and crying (so is August) but she regains control.
He's standing by when, time and again, Emma fights the Dark urges, sometimes winning.
He's standing by when she and Snow walk into City Hall and ask Regina to remove Snow's heart for inspection. "I need to know how much damage I've done," Emma says.
Regina's eyebrows hit her hairline, but Snow nods and steels herself.
"This will hurt," Regina warns.
"I remember." Snow squares her shoulders. "Just don't tell David about this."
Regina thrusts her hand into Snow's chest, carries out the large appendage and shows it to the women. Snow's a brave soul, but she gasps when she sees the black blotch in her heart.
"I don't need to ask, then," Emma says glumly.
"We'll find the Sorcerer soon," Snow blinks hard.
"This is too big a sacrifice." Emma gestures to the heart. Regina returns it to its rightful place.
"You're my daughter," Snow insists.
"She's also protecting the community," Regina reminds them. "The Dark One has to be managed."
"But it doesn't have to be her." Emma swings around to the man standing behind her. "You know what I'm asking."
He nods. With a quick twist of the wrist, he extracts his heart and lets the women view it. He shudders from the pain of the removal.
His heart isn't black, nor is it red. It's completely white.
"Crap on a cracker," Emma exclaims.
"Wow," Snow breathes. "What does that mean?"
"I have no idea," Regina squints at the heart. "I've seen hundreds of hearts in my time, in all sorts of conditions. Never like that."
"Do you know?" Emma asks Rumple.
"No." He gently returns it to his chest and sighs in relief. "I'm willing to find out."
"Okay. So am I." Emma looks over her shoulder at her mother. "Mom, please—give him the dagger."
"Emma!"
Regina butts in, "You can't be serious."
"I'm wagering that heart is incorruptible."
"It could mean it's lost its capacity to feel," Regina suggests.
"Is that what you think?" Emma asks.
"I don't know."
"We can't risk this!" Snow insists. "You don't know him! He's the Dark—"
"No, Mom, I am."
"Yes, but we can't trust him. We've never been able to trust him."
"I wouldn't have been born if not for his trickery. I'm willing to trust him. He understands what I'm going through. None of the rest of you can. I'm wagering that heart is safe from the temptations of the dagger. I've seen him with Henry, I've seen him with Belle. I've seen him with the people he teaches computers to. I'm willing to bet he's capable of resisting evil, because I've seen him love."
Snow scowls but she reaches into the diaper bag. "And I trust my daughter."
"Well, she does have that built-in lie detector thing going on," Regina suggests.
"Rumplestiltskin, will you use this dagger only to prevent the Dark One from harming me or anyone else?"
"I will. Furthermore, I'll surrender it to Merlin when we find him."
"He's not lying," Emma assesses.
"Very well." Snow presents the dagger to Rumple. "Speaking of Merlin: that time may not be too far off. I took the lock of hair from Nivaine's locket and a cheek swab from Lily, and Whale had them tested. The results came in this morning. If that lock of hair truly belonged to Merlin, we now know who Lily's father is."
Emma seizes the idea. "So next we put up notices on the Internet and major-city newspapers: Merlin, your daughter and Maleficent are looking for you. Email the sheriff of Storybrooke.'"
"It's not magic, but it may be a solution," Regina concludes.
Rumple examines the dagger for a long moment. It's unreal to him: he knows its size and weight and shape like he knows his own name, but his name isn't on the blade. With a deep sigh, he sends the dagger away in a cloud of magic. "Now I can summon it when I need it, but no one else knows where it is. I've found the Internet quite an effective tool for reuniting families. I will be happy to pay for newspaper ads and website development. Shall I fetch my checkbook, ladies?"
He's standing by when Emma receives the first email. He's standing by again when a private meeting at the well takes place, just Emma, in her capacity as sheriff and friend of Lily, with the nervous mother and daughter as a cloud of magic delivers—well, someone they didn't expect. He's not tall, broad-shouldered, square-jawed. He's a short old man with a long gray beard and permanently hunched shoulders. His eyes, though, are bright and piercing, and through them his power is conveyed.
"I am Merlin." His voice is heavily accented, something from the Orient, though they know his current home, wherever it is, is not where he gained his fame. His eyes run over their faces before locking on Lily's. "You are my daughter."
She gulps. Emma gives her shoulder a squeeze for courage. "Yeah."
"I'm Maleficent." The sorceress appears poised. She has never met Merlin; she has no idea why he chose her egg to fertilize. She has admitted she's excited to learn, but she doesn't reveal that in her demeanor.
"And I'm the sheriff."
Merlin squints at her. "You are far more than that. Your magic rolls from you in waves." There's surprise in the old man's voice. "Light and Dark. No, not just Dark magic: you are the Dark One."
"That's me. Part of me, anyway. I'm also a savior, kinda." Emma reddens.
The old man calls out, "Rumple! Come forward and explain this to me. Why are you hiding?"
Rumple materializes beside Emma. "I thought, if you saw me here, considering who I am. . . ."
"But you're not. Not any more. You are an ordinary sorcerer now, your magic a pale shadow of what it once was."
"But it's all mine."
"And it's Light magic. The doing of my apprentice, no doubt."
"It was his last act, before he died."
Merlin nods. "An act of mercy."
"And hers," Rumple places a hand on Emma's back, "was an act of self-sacrifice."
"I'll hear this story." Merlin turns to Lily and holds out his hand. "But first I will get acquainted with my daughter. I'll call for the rest of you when I'm ready."
Throwing a worried glance at Emma, Lily accepts Merlin's hand. They vanish.
"I hope he's taking her to a nice restaurant," Maleficent says dryly.
He's standing by, on invitation, when Merlin summons Emma and her parents. They meet in Gold's cabin: it's private, it's rustic and comfortable but classy: one doesn't park a being like Merlin in a booth at Granny's. Rumple invites Merlin to make the cabin his home for the duration of his visit; Merlin gives a little bow of gratitude. Rumple serves his guests wine, then fades into the woodwork so the Charmings can tell their story.
When the tale has been told, Emma slumps wearily in the rocking chair. Snow and David chat quietly beside the fireplace. "It's quite a burden you carry, Ms. Swan," Merlin pats her knee. "To take on the curse to spare your friend is a sacrifice to be honored. It is very similar, is it not, to your predecessor's?"
"He told me how Zoso tricked him. He's been a big help. Everyone here has. But I'm ready to be rid of this. I'm afraid I'll hurt somebody. And what'll I do when my family dies and there's nobody to take the dagger? I mean, I'm immortal, right?"
"The Dark One is immortal. You, my dear, are. . . long-lived. There are ways, as you saw with Rumplestiltskin, that you can die, but they are few."
"I'd go back to being a plain, ordinary human being in a New York minute." She runs a hand over her eyes. "Is that possible?"
"No. You were born a savior; it's in your DNA. But the Dark curse, as you know, can be extracted, if it has another living vessel to enter. There is a reason, you see, for the Dark One to continue. It serves a purpose. I can exorcise the Dark One from you, but I must send it somewhere. Now, the question is, what vessel?"
"Someone who wants it. Someone who knows what they're getting. It wasn't fair what Zoso did."
"It wasn't fair what happened to you. You had full awareness, but you were acting out of love."
"Yeah, him and I both got screwed. So who do we dump this curse onto?"
"There was one who, as you say, knew what she was getting into but wanted the curse just the same. She attacked Rumplestiltskin with the dagger to take the curse."
Emma frowns. "You're talking about Cora. But she's dead."
"Did your mother not speak to her after her death, to gain information about Zelena?"
"Man, you know a lot about us."
"There are very few practitioners of magic in this world. It's not difficult, although you people have been extraordinarily busy." A small smile plays on his lips.
"So you were saying about Cora?"
"She is dead, yes, by this world's understanding, but apparently she exists in some form in another world. She can think, she can communicate, she can make decisions. Are those not signs of life, in some form?"
"You can't bring her back, can you?"
"I can. I can't change her form, but I can transport her as she is into this world."
"And send the Dark One into her?"
"Yes."
"Now I know you're BS'ing. The Dark One has to have a vessel. She doesn't have one. She's just a ghost. I was there. I saw her. Saw through her, in fact."
"Can you pump air into air? Can you pour water into water?"
"What's that got to do with the price of eggs?"
"This will be a pouring of spirit into spirit. It can be done."
"You've done it before."
"No."
"You're going to bring Cora into this world so you can test your hypothesis."
Rumple now interrupts. "Emma, this isn't your garden-variety sorcerer you're talking to. This is the Sorcerer of all sorcerers."
"You trust him to get this right? If he screws up, we've got Cora to deal with."
"No, Merlin will. That's a fight I'd buy tickets for. And if he gets it right, Cora the Dark One is sent back to the realm of the dead."
"You vote yea, I take it."
"I vote yea."
Emma resumes her questioning of Merlin. "Since she hasn't got a body, will she still be able to cast magic?"
"I'm not certain of that. Very few spirits have escaped into the lands of the living, so we know little about their capabilities. But I intend to send her back to where she belongs as soon as the transference is complete."
"Sounds like a risk worth taking. Guess we're gonna need one double-wicked candle and one Dark dagger." She turns back to Merlin. "What's this gonna cost us?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"All magic comes with a price, right? What's the MSRP on this package?"
"You are paying it already."
"Hey, I know you!" The puppet exclaims as he enters with the pirate and the savior. He walks up to the Sorcerer and offers a handshake.
"And I, you. I see your condition has been resolved."
August explains to Emma, "I went to this man while I was living in Thailand. For help with the wooden problem. He was called the Dragon then."
"I've had many names. I'm an old man," Merlin shrugs. "How did that problem resolve itself?"
"You might say I was reborn," August answered. "This time around, I've been living by a code: selfless, brave and true. It works."
"Very good."
"But I thought Tamara killed you."
"You, of all people, should expect an occasional trick of the eye."
"Everyone," Regina calls out, setting the black-and-white candle into a holder in the center of her dining table. "Please be seated so we can get started." Since it's her mother that's involved, she too has been given a vote in whether to proceed with the Sorcerer's scheme. After much deliberation and trepidation, she has voted yea. It's a repayment, she feels, of her debt to Emma.
They sit around a large circular table in Regina's dining room: the Sorcerer, the Charming clan, Regina, Robin, Hook, August, Blue, Belle and Rumple. So many there are that Regina had to magically enlarge the room by temporarily removing her kitchen. As he scans the faces of those seated with him, Rumple finds he can no longer classify them as "heroes" or "villains": the heroes have each exhibited villainous characteristics and the villains, heroic ones. Three decades in the Real World have refashioned them into something complex, sometimes unpredictable. Is it growth, he wonders, or just change, when, for example, a Charming kills in anger or an Evil Queen allows a dangerous rival to live? He supposes only an outsider like Merlin could make that judgment.
As for himself, he doesn't identify with either side any more. His past cannot be erased, those he killed cannot be resurrected, and worse, in some cases, he feels no regret for the harm he caused them (he flicks a glance at August and Hook), so he supposes that makes him a villain. Yet he's seen his heart, pure white; he's felt the townsfolk's tolerance, and in some cases, acceptance of him; he's enjoyed their trust, which has allowed him free visitation with his grandson and a place in the community as a teacher and a counselor, the "Dark One Emeritus." He's far from identifying himself as a hero, but he feels no impulse to engage in evil acts any more. Literally, his heart just isn't into wickedness. If he can't label himself, how can he presume to label anyone else?
Hands are joined: Belle on Rumple's left, Henry on his right. There was much debate about whether to include him, with some wishing to spare him this shock, while others argued that after Pan, Zelena, and Isaac, Henry was no longer an innocent child. The Sorcerer resolved the conflict. "He is the Author. His job is to witness and record. Permit him to do his job."
Emma sets her dagger in the middle of the table. How easy it would be for someone like Regina to snatch it, but no one desires it. Rumple supposes it's this that makes all these people heroes, their willingness to set personal ambition aside for the greater good.
Snow lights the candle and summons Cora. The ghost of the Queen of Hearts appears in wind and rain; annoyed, Regina waves her hand to shut the weather off. "Mother, please dispense with the theatrics."
The ghost grins.
"Mother, we have a proposition for you. You've long wanted the Dark One's powers. Well, here's your chance. We're inviting you to take them. We'll give you the dagger too, so that you'll be your own master."
In answer, the dagger flies up from the table and into Cora's open hand. She raises it above her head and floats over to Rumple's seat. Her arm rears back.
"No! Cora, he's not the Dark One any more," Snow cries out. "And we're not going to do it by killing."
The Sorcerer releases Regina's and Charming's hands, stands and raises his open, glowing hands for Cora to see. "I will transfer the Dark curse into you, if you wish it. But it must be consensual. Understand you that the curse will take possession of your soul?"
The ghost nods, her hungry eyes fixed to the dagger.
"Understand you that the curse will over time consume the sentience known as Cora, eroding Cora's thoughts, feelings and memories until none remain, transforming you entirely and irretrievably into the Dark One?"
Snow gasps and stares at her daughter, who hangs her head. Yes, Rumple had warned her this could be her fate, if the Light within her lost ground to the curse. It would take millennia, he predicted; after all, it had taken three centuries for the curse to consume his soul, and he had started out as just a human, with no knowledge of magic. The longer the process, the more evil she would commit, and the greater her guilt and shame. He'd loaned her the journals that some of the Dark Ones had kept, including himself. She had read them in secret, with increasing horror. His she had saved for the last; he had given it to her last, with hesitation, because he dreaded the consequences. She realized that he feared she and her parents would deny him visitation with Henry if they learned the full extent of his crimes, yet, she needed the message his history could impart. His story, and his alone of the long parade of Dark Ones, held out hope that the Dark curse could be fought against, if the cursed one accepted and clung to the love of other people.
In giving her the journal, he had also hoped she would come to understand Bae a little better, and would share that understanding with Bae's son.
When she had returned the journal to him, she'd said nothing, so he'd no idea if the message had sunk in. But she had kissed his cheek, and she had encouraged Henry to spend Father's Day with Rumple.
The journal now rests on a shelf in his basement lab, wrapped in silver paper and decorated with a rose. He will give it to Belle on the night of their first anniversary, when they renew their vows. She will recognize it for what it is, a history, a report of the past meant to help her understand the Dark One, the Imp and Gold, beings she knew back then, beings who no longer exist. He suspects she'll cry as she reads, but when she returns the book to him, she will be dry-eyed, because she sees only faint traces of those men in Rumple. His story has a happy ending, thanks in part to her.
"Understand you," the Sorcerer continues, "that the powers that come with this curse exceed any you've ever possessed or witnessed, and will at times exceed your ability to control?"
The ghost nods.
"Understand you that this curse may drive you to commit acts that even you will find abhorrent and shocking, that may bring unending shame to your family and set you beyond hope for redemption and forgiveness?"
The ghost nods, still watching the dagger.
The Sorcerer intones, "Is it your wish, Cora Mills, in full knowledge of the consequences and complete understanding of their meaning, to take upon yourself the Dark curse so that you may become the Dark One?"
The ghost glows as she nods one final time. The Sorcerer holds his open hands over Emma's bowed head. "So let it be." He recites the same spell that his Apprentice recited over Rumple. This is the first time Rumple's heard this spell so he listens intently. He memorizes it, but he admits to himself his weak magic would never be enough to cast it. But he listens in professional admiration. It's always exciting to watch a more powerful mage at work.
"Purest evil, blackest bloom, darkness too can find its doom.
Never dying but contained, bound inside the falcon's chamber, shorn of anger, thornless danger, there forever to remain."
It's the most beautiful spell he's ever heard.
Black cables of energy pour out of Emma, causing her body to shake and slump to the floor as she faints. Hook drops to his knees beside her, draws her head into his lap and cradles her as the Sorcerer's chant fills the air and the black shadow is sucked from her body. When the blackness has been removed completely, Merlin traces a path with his hands toward Cora, and the shadow follows. Rumple stares at the energy, fascinated; he shared a body with it for centuries, heard its voice whispering in his brain every second of every day of those years, he'd felt its cold claws wrap around his heart and sink in, he'd hidden from it, fought it, feared it, loved it and surrendered to it countless times, but he'd never seen it, and over the years he'd come to doubt if it was a separate entity at all or a creation of his own desires.
He feels much better now, knowing it wasn't his brain child.
The cables fly into Cora's form, for a moment surrounding her and filling her completely so that she can't be seen, but then the Dark One settles in, merging with Cora. Her eyes are slits of black, but she's smiling as she throws back her head and roars to the heavens. The dagger disappears. The Sorcerer recites another spell, the ceiling opens up and rain clouds gather overhead. As lightning flashes across the daytime sky and thunder rolls, Cora the Dark One shrieks her victory cry and streaks into the heavens. As soon as she's vanished, the clouds dissipate, the ceiling closes and silence falls.
The Sorcerer slumps into his chair as the Charmings dash out of theirs to tend their daughter. They carry Emma into the living room and lay her on the couch. Charming fetches a glass of water for her as Snow pats her cheek, reviving her. Failing to ask permission, Rumple goes into the study, presses a secret panel in the back of the liquor cabinet and retrieves a bottle of Chivas Regal Royal Salute 1953. He supposes Regina was saving this for her wedding day or something like that, but the guest at her table deserves nothing less. He opens the bottle, fills a glass, closes the bottle but leaves it sitting out; he needn't try to hide what he's done. He takes the scotch to Merlin, who seems too tired to rise. That's okay; they have all the time in the world now.
As Merlin savors the scotch, Rumple turns his attention to Henry, who's sitting with Belle's arm around his shoulders. They're chatting quietly. "That, my boy, is history in the making," Rumple informs his grandson. "You, and we at this table, are among the very few living who can say they watched the master at work."
"It was so exciting I'm not sure I can remember everything that happened, to write it down," Henry frets. "I need to get the report exactly right for the new storybook."
"You will," Rumple assures him. "You'll remember every detail when you start writing. That's one of the reasons you were selected for the job."
"Rumple." The Sorcerer calls softly. "I wish to speak to you alone."
"Of course." Merlin leads him into the kitchen and they sit at the small table there. "Rumple, the Dark One has been banished to another realm, but someday it may return. It will grow restless in the spirit world; the human world is so much more diverse and unpredictable."
"We will prepare for it."
"For a century or more, I have felt my powers weakening and my attentions being drawn to another realm: the spirit realm. With today's events, it's clear that's where my duty lies. It's time for me to leave the corporeal form."
Rumple's mouth has gone dry. "Die? But I thought—"
"Change form," Merlin corrects. "As a great writer once said, 'Shuffle off this mortal coil.' I will continue my fight against the Dark One. And that means my position in this world is open. My apprentice did not survive to take my place, and there isn't time to train another, so I must choose a replacement whose experience and knowledge of both the Light and the Dark have suitably prepared him for this work."
Rumple's expressive face reveals his concern, his lack of confidence and his doubt, but Merlin pats his arm. "It's as you said to Henry: you'll know what needs to be done when the time comes."
"Me? But just a few weeks ago I was the—"
"I know who you were. I know who you are. Who better to pick up my mantle?" He gives Rumple a moment to absorb the news.
"But my powers, now—"
"Are not as frail as you think. They will be enough for whatever comes." The Sorcerer chuckles. "Every objection you have, I have an answer for, because I reacted the same way when I was chosen for this job. You won't win this argument, Rumple, so save us time and say you accept the position. There is a perk: the Sorcerer can traverse realms without the aid of beans or hats. One of the realms you will have access to is the one to which I'm bound, so should you need my counsel, you will have it."
"The realm of the dead," Rumple whispers, then brightens: "Bae!"
"You may visit him as often as you like. Heed my warning, however: don't let yourself become so wrapped up in the reunion that you neglect your duties here. One of which is to assist in the development of our new Author."
"No," Rumple ducks his head, smiling, "Bae would never allow me to neglect his son."
"Or your wife, who may not appear to, but who needs you as much as you need her. There are others here who require your assistance in honing their magic. One of them you will choose as your future successor, your apprentice."
"Emma."
"Good choice. You see? Not even five minutes as the Sorcerer and you've already accomplished something important. Now I must leave. Already the Dark One has got the spirit world topsy-turvy." Merlin rises, but pauses to remove a silver ring from his finger. "The ring you wore as Mr. Gold to help you channel your magic, I know you also consider it a wedding ring, so it may remain where it is. But the Sorcerer's Ring is now yours. Wear it on your right hand. It will channel new powers. Practice with them: they'll knock you flat on your back the first few times you use them."
Rumple slides the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand. He admires the tiny silver dragon that is affixed to the ring and the tiny emerald attached to the dragon's back. When he strokes the emerald, the dragon tosses its head and trills. "Oh." He reaches into his jacket pocket. "I have something that belongs to you." He presses it into Merlin's hand. The old man recognizes it immediately and smiles. "Niviane's locket. Thank you."
Merlin moves away from the table and Rumple follows him to the back door. "Thank you, Merlin."
The old man pauses with his hand on the knob. "You will be the first," he muses. "It will be interesting watching what happens."
"The first successor?"
Merlin shakes his head. "I am Merlin the Fourth."
"The first Dark One to become the Sorcerer?"
Merlin shakes his head again. "I hold that distinction. No, Rumple, you are the first married man to become the Sorcerer, and the first grandfather. I imagine that will influence your decisions, make them mellower. Good luck, Sorcerer."
"Good luck to you, Merlin."
He summons that bottle of scotch from the study and places it in the center of a serving tray, then surrounds it with ten glasses. A small taste of a very fine whisky will go nicely with the news he has to impart. When he pours from the bottle, he will cast a spell on Henry's glass to nullify the alcohol. Before he goes in to the dining room, he raises his glass toward the back door. "To you, Merlin." He takes a sip, swishes it around his mouth, relishes the bite. "But I'm not taking your name. I'm Rumple—Belle gave me that name."
He carries the tray into the dining room to his family.