4

Compulsion

Still sulky and angry at his father, Bae came down to supper when Rumple called him, determined to eat as little as possible and then go back upstairs, giving his parent the cold shoulder. Rumple had made roasted chicken thighs and legs that night, as well as small new potatoes, roasted with butter to a golden crisp with pepper, salt, basil, and oregano. There was also rapunzel and watercress salad made with onions and nuts and tiny red oranges with a spicy sweet dressing and some kind of bread. Despite his resolve, Bae found himself unable to remain ambivalent about dinner, it was too good.

He had seconds of everything, and Rumple looked pleased at his son's appetite. "Do you like it?" his father asked. "I made a deal with village baker for the rolls and the butcher had chicken and his wife suggested I make the salad this way. I did the rest myself with the spices."

"It's really good, Papa," Bae said, biting into a chicken leg. As he chewed, a new thought occurred to him. "You didn't . . . magic this dinner, did you?"

Rumple frowned. "Magic it how? No, I didn't use magic to cook this or to prepare it," he told Bae calmly. "I used my own two hands and the herbs I found in the herb garden out back. Speaking of the garden, I'll need you to weed it sometime this week."

Bae nodded, relieved that the reason the food tasted good wasn't because of some spell. Weeding the garden wasn't the gods-awful chore it might have been either, since it got him outside and he'd done it before, back when they lived in their tiny cottage, he knew the difference between herbs used for cooking and weeds. "Do you want me to pick some herbs to dry too?"

"Yes, that way we'll have enough when winter comes," Rumple said, though he knew he probably could have conjured whatever he needed. But he was used to doing things the way he'd always done them, and despite his cursed powers, he wasn't totally dependant upon the magic to do everything for him.

Father and son washed dishes that night together, and as Bae dried them and put them away in the cupboard, he thought that it was almost the way it had been before, back when Rumple was just a spinner and for a moment he imagined himself back in their little cottage . . . until he saw Rumple putting the leftovers into the magical pantry, which was spelled to keep the foods placed in it at exactly the right temperature to prevent spoiling, and then the knot in the pit of his stomach came back and he said shortly, "I'm going upstairs," and stalked away, leaving his father staring at his retreating back and wondering what had come over him.

Shaking his head at the intransigence of children, Rumple went to the den and picked up some yarn of a soft cream color, and began to knit a scarf, the familiar clickety-clack of the needles serving to soothe his troubled soul.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

For two weeks, Rumplestiltskin kept a sharp eye on his son, giving Bae plenty of chores to do in and around the castle, and making sure he obeyed his stricture of staying on the castle grounds. He tried as much as possible to stay with Bae and get him to talk with him, though sometimes the boy would retreat into these black sullen moods and refuse to say anything to Rumple at all. When that happened, Rumple would just withdraw and wait for Bae to come out of it, figuring it was a result of always being stuck in the castle. And the next day he would give the boy some chore about the yard, like washing the courtyard with a long hose and a broom like they used on ships, or planting some shrubbery along the walk, or collecting bits of bark and leaves, which Rumple used in his potions.

He observed Bae seemed happier when he was outside, and since the weather was nice, Rumple tried to give his son as much time as possible outdoors.

Bae, for his part, had discovered that sulking and complaints got him nothing except scoldings was boring after three days, so he stopped doing so, and instead resolved to take his punishment with good grace, since that would show his father he could behave and might get Rumple to let him off early. As the days passed, and Rumple stayed at the castle instead of haring off making deals every day, Bae began to hope his father was shaking off the curse that possessed him.

His mood somewhat brightened, Bae asked Rumple one afternoon if he could borrow his wheel, and began to spin some thread. He spun about three spools before halting and taking his work into the small area Rumple had designated the weaving room, and began to weave upon the loom Rumple had put there.

Pleased that his son was doing something he used to like, Rumple let him weave as long as he wished. By the end of a week, Bae had woven a soft merino shawl of a cream color, like milk with a touch of honey in it. Once it was done, the boy took it and swirled it about his shoulders. It was comfortable to wear, not too heavy and not too thin, and Bae thought it would serve him as a good shawl for either summer or winter.

He went to show his father the completed shawl. "Look, Papa! I finished it."

Rumple looked at the shawl and gently stroked it inbetween his fingers. "This is very good work, Bae. Good job, son!"

Bae smiled, feeling proud of himself. "Thanks, Papa. I just . . . remembered what you showed me the last time."

"Yes, I can see that. This shawl will keep you warm when winter comes and even in summer when it gets cool. If we were still Guild members, I would submit this for your journeyman piece, and you would receive a medal for it."

"Really?" Bae was astonished.

"Really, dearie," Rumple said. As a master spinner and weaver, he knew quality when he saw it. Then he did something he hadn't done in a long time—he hugged his son. And Bae let him. For the first time since he was cursed, Rumple allowed himself to hope that maybe he hadn't driven his son away after all.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

He should have known better. The curse of the Dark One was such that at times it could be light as a feather, and at others heavier than a mountain. Rumple had learned during the first month of taking the curse into himself, that it compelled him to make deals with people, that such was a requirement of the dark magic—to encourage those desperate souls to make bargains—sometimes for their own sakes or another's—but each bargain came with a price. That in itself was not unusual, but what was totally foreign to the former spinner was that he had no say in what price he requested for his aid.

All magic came with a price—but the dark magic had its own idea of what a deal consisted of—and the price that must be paid for it. And it forced the Dark One to abide by its desires, causing Rumple to demand prices that were sometimes harsh or terrible in nature, as the magic saw fit. The first few times the magic had told him what a price must be for something—such as blood or a finger or once a man's beloved horse—Rumple tried to alter the payment . . . only to find that even as he did so . . . something terrible would happen to the person he'd made the deal with . . . and the magic's true price would be paid . . . and he would suffer blinding headaches and wracking pains for having defied the curse.

Eventually, Rumple began to see it was hopeless, that he couldn't win against the compulsion the dark magic thrust upon him, and stopped trying to alter the price the dark magic demanded. Instead he offered fair warning to those who called upon him for aid that there was always a price required for it . . . and sometimes the price might be one they didn't want to pay . . . so to think carefully before agreeing to any deal they made.

It was the only way he could subvert the compulsion and not trigger the curse's retribution.

He had also discovered the dark magic caused him to feel pleasure when he used it as it wished to be used, and sometimes that feeling of false joy was the only happiness he could feel, as the curse sucked all of the joy and light from him gradually, leaving him cold and empty, with only a gnawing dissatisfaction and rage to feed him. It frightened him terribly, for he could feel the man he'd once been starting to disappear, lost to a savage beast, a creature of dark impulses and cruelty, feared and hated, with terrible power, yet a slave to the curse's dark desires.

There were some days he could feel the curse working on him, and it was then he stayed away from the castle, for fear he might lose control and hurt Baelfire. He knew without knowing how that his son was one of the few reasons he had to cling to his humanity, to that spark of goodness and gentleness still within him, to recall that he could still love and be loved in return.

Without his son there, he feared he would surrender entirely to the dagger curse, and truly become the Dark One.

For two weeks, Rumple had managed to sublimate the compulsion to make deals, going to town and making small ones with some of the townspeople, but then the dark magic decided it needed a true deal to be made, and so when a young woman desperate to save her child called upon him for aid, Rumple was compelled to answer her.

He left Bae asleep and vanished upon the wings of magic, only to reappear inside a richly appointed house. A young woman of around twenty-five or so dressed in the fine fabric of a merchant or noble woman was kneeling beside a bed, where a young child of about two lay, pale as the sheets he was lying on. "You called, dearie?"

The woman jerked around, startled. When she beheld Rumple, she said, her voice drained of all feeling, "You . . . you're the Dark One?"

"Rumplestiltskin, as you see, dearie," he introduced himself, giving her a mocking bow, though the mockery was directed at himself, not at her. "What can I do for you? But be warned . . . all magic comes with a price. And sometimes the price may not be to your liking."

"I . . .I don't care what price you demand, I'll pay it. You can take my life in exchange, Dark One, just help my boy there. He . . . was stricken with a fever not two days ago and nothing we've tried . . . nothing any healer has tried . . . has worked. So I . . . I called you . . . because maybe magic can do what they cannot. Please, save my child!"

Rumple cringed inwardly. These were the requests he hated the most, because he knew what it was to be truly desperate, to truly fear for the life of your child, and be willing to pay anything to keep that precious one safe. He went to examine the little boy.

But as soon as he touched the child he knew there was nothing his magic could do.

He looked at the mother, her eyes bright with hope, and shook his head regretfully. "Sorry, dearie. I can't save him."

"Why? You're the most powerful sorcerer in the realms! Surely your magic can do this one thing for me!" she cried.

"Magic can do much, but no this, dearie. I cannae bring back the dead. Dead is dead."

"No!" she howled. "I . . . I risked my husband's displeasure to . . . to call you . . . and now you tell me it's all for nothing! You're the Dark One—why can't you just bring him back?"

"It doesn't work that way, dearie. Magic cannot raise the dead, I don't care what tales you've heard," Rumple repeated softly. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, trying to offer what poor comfort he could.

She drew back as if he were poison. "Don't touch me, you revolting creature!"

Hiding a flinch at her disgust, Rumple said, "I'm sorry, but perhaps there's a way to still give you what you want . . .it's just a different deal," he said, feeling the compulsion gnawing at his vitals.

"What do you mean?"

"You want a living child . . . but I can't give you your own child back," he began. "However, I can give you another child to love . . . just not your own. Would you be willing to make a deal for an orphan instead—a child who, like you, has no one left, but desperately needs a home and a family who loves him? You get a child, he gets a mother . . . you both win, no?"

"I . . .I don't know if my husband would agree . . . he . . . he hates anything unnatural . . ."

"He would never have to know, dearie. I could make this child look like your dead son . . . and only you would ever know the truth . . . that you took a foundling into your heart . . . and saved some poor boy from a wretched fate in a workhouse or a street gang. What do you say? Have we got a deal?"

"No one would know?" she pressed.

"No one . . . except you and me, dearie." His palms itched and he rubbed them together.

The woman bit her lip, looking at the boy on the bed. "I . . .I just want my son back . . . but if . . . that's impossible like you say . . .I'll take your offer, Dark One."

"Good. And will you raise the boy like your own . . . and love him as well?" Rumple probed.

"Of course! He'll be my son," the lady replied.

"Very well," Rumple let the curse direct him to a nearby orphanage, and pick a small boy from among the many unwanted children there, and brought him to the lady. As soon as he cast the glamourie, the woman cried, "Oh! He looks just like my son! If I didn't know better . . ." she stared down at the boy on the bed, fast asleep.

"Yes, dearie. And now, the price required of you . . ." Rumple began, feeling a queasy feeling run through him. He hoped it wouldn't be too bad. The dark magic seemed to be considering . . . and then it let Rumple know what would be required. "Since I have given you something precious, you must give me something in return. Something you hold dear."

"I . . . Uh . . . she seemed at a loss, then she murmured, "Okay . . . this is one of the few things I have left of my mother . . . she gave it to me before she died . . . I never take it off . . . here it is . . ." She unclasped a heavy gold necklace which looked authentic and had rubies, sapphires, and diamonds on it.

Rumple took it, and heaved a sigh of relief when the magic did not protest. "Good choice dearie. Now, I'll leave you alone to get acquainted with your new son. He seems to have made a miraculous recovery."

Tucking the necklace into his pocket, he vanished a second later.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

When he arrived back at the Dark Castle, he found Bae was awake and eating some oatmeal in the kitchen. "Papa! Where were you?"

"I had to go out, dearie. Someone requested my aid," Rumple told him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the necklace, trying to figure if he could remove the jewels and sell them for cash a little at a time.

Bae stared at the necklace, clearly a woman's jewelry. "Papa! Where did you get that?" he gasped.

"From a woman who made a deal with me. She wanted me to save her little boy, but it was too late, he was dead-"

"So you took her jewelry in payment?" Bae cried, his eyes flashing. "Papa, that's awful! Taking advantage of a poor woman's grief like that."

"Baelfire, I didn't take advantage of her," Rumple protested. "I wouldn't do that, son."

"You're the Dark One . . . of course you would!" Bae snapped.

"I didn't. Now hush up and listen," Rumple snapped. "The necklace was in payment for a deal completed. I couldn't give her back her boy, but I could give her another child in exchange . . . one she could love just as much . . . and that's what I did. The price for it was something precious she owned, and she gave me this necklace in return for the child I provided. I took advantage of no one."

Bae listened in horror as his father told him of the deal he'd made, an exchange of one child for another . . . and he felt cold down to the marrow of his bones. "No . . . you stole somebody else's child, Papa! How could you! That's the deal you made with her?" he looked at Rumple in horror.

"Bae, it's not like you think," Rumple protested. "I didn't steal a child . . . the magic provided one when she agreed to my terms . . ."

"You can try and sugar coat it all you want, but you're not fooling me, Papa! I've heard the stories . . . the Dark One takes firstborn children from their cradles as payment." Bae hissed, looking ill.

"That was the former Dark One, Baelfire!" Rumple cried. "Surely you don't think I would ever do such a thing? Even cursed I'd never—"

"I don't believe you! You'll say anything to make yourself look good," Bae cried, sickened. "You're . . . you're despicable!" He pushed back his chair and ran over to the back door, shoving it open.

"Baelfire! Come back! Let me explain!" Rumple shouted. "You're wrong, dammit! I don't steal children. The boy was an orphan!"

But Bae was already gone, running across the yard to fling himself down under an old beech tree, shaking and shivering with dread. If his father really did steal children . . .if his cursed nature permitted that sort of atrocity . . . where would it end?

Baelfire curled up against the trunk, his eyes stinging with tears. His papa was a monster for real now . . . and he didn't know how he could live with a man who stole innocent children and called it a good deal. Miserable, he put his head on his knees and cried quietly.

Just then the familiar haunting strains of silver pipes began to play, swirling through the air, coaxing and compelling all who heard them to come and play.

Bae picked up his head, the sprightly tune intoxicating as applejack in his blood. Pan! Pan was calling him! He thought of how he had enjoyed the company of Peter and the other boys . . . except for the fact that they'd gotten him drunk . . . how he missed the company of other boys . . . and suddenly he couldn't bear being here any longer . . . with his beast of a father . . . he needed to be free . . . needed to follow the music that called to the lonely lost places within his soul . . . and begged him to come along and join in the revels and games of those who heard it . . .

Bae climbed to his feet, lured by the enchanting music down across the pasture and over the low stone wall . . . to the glade where Peter and his band of Lost Boys waited . . . where he could feel normal for once, like he belonged, and where he could forget, just for awhile, that he was the son of the Dark One.

A/N: Hope you all liked. I wanted to show the Dark One curse as something truly evil and something that was a compulsion which caused the bearer to act against his own nature. And you can see Bae has a compulsion of his own in Pan's music. Review, please!