Chapter 9

The third time Belle spoke to one of the prison guards, begging admittance, Rumplestiltskin unleashed a little magic to grease their way. They arrived too late, it seemed, or perhaps the Merry Men were more cunning than he anticipated – which said a great deal about why he had such difficulty tracking their location in the first place. While the whole of Nottingham suffered through a public beating in the town square, the prison came under attack, apparently staging a jail-break.

If he hadn't been disguised as a Friar, Rumplestiltskin would have giggled with glee. Things were coming together nicely. Fate was a fickle mistress and her gifts burdened him greatly, but it was fixed in the flow of all that was, is, or ever would be that Hood would be here, in this prison, tomorrow morning, and this botched jailbreak had just quadrupled his list of possibilities. If he could spare Robin of Loxley and a few of the Merry Men as a parting gift for Belle, in thanks for her kindness, that would not be such a terrible thing.

They made their way through the first ranks of prison guards, packed in like sardines, and arrived at Loxley's lonely cell. Belle rapped her knuckles against the oak.

"Robin?" she called. "Robin, I need to talk to you."

"I thought you were the Sheriff," replied Loxley, with a hollow chuckle. "He'll be coming for my head any moment now. I've confessed to everything. You should go, Belle. You won't want to see this."

"Oh Robin," she sighed, reaching through the small, barred window to touch his cheek. "Why did you take it?"

"Take what?" Rumple's ears pricked at the increase in his heartbeat. He was lying.

"Magic. Why did you steal magic? You always told me a thief stole only for himself, that thieves were selfish, and that the Merry Men were better than that. But I went to the camp, Robin. Friar Lodowick and I looked everywhere for a clue, but we couldn't find anything remotely magical. I know you didn't lose it, you count every coin you touch – I've balanced your books."

"Well maybe someone dropped it before we got back to the camp," the man tried. "It could be lost in the woods."

"I thought about that, but it's an amateur's mistake. Your men don't just drop things. I think… I think we couldn't find it because it wasn't in the camp. It's with you – that's the only explanation that fits. Do Mulan and Little John know what you've done? Does Marian? Robin, you've got to give it back!"

Clever, wonderful Belle – of course she'd take the simplest, most logical path to a reasonable conclusion, and of course it would make perfect sense. That was a foible of his age and deals, he supposed: a tendency for over complication, even in matters that were otherwise straightforward. He'd never even considered turning out Loxley's cell.

And there was no denying now that Loxley was Hood. Your men, she'd said. Your men. She knew all along? Belle never said… well, he'd never asked her, come to that. His fingers itched to wrap around the man's windpipe and strangle him. He could have settled for his wheel, but that too was beyond him.

"It's not that simple, Belle. Marian's sick. She'll die without help, and so will…" a strangled sob escaped him. "A Blue Brother told me that it was in the hands of the Stars, but the Fairies don't seem all that interested in helping anybody, if you ask me. So when I saw the wand, I – Belle, please, you have to believe me – I only wanted to save my wife. I never meant for things to get so out of hand."

"Then why not do it and be done? You could have returned it weeks ago, Robin."

"No, I couldn't! I had to make sure it was safe first, so I had one of the Sparks – one of the good ones – look at it. I was picking it up when the Sheriff's men caught me. The wand can save her, Belle, but without more Fairy Dust it will be all but useless when I'm done. There's no guarantee that the Dark One would still want it, but once Marian was better I would have tried anyway."

"I think you should give it to me, dearie," said Rumplestiltskin, exuding calm. He tried to keep the illusory Friar's face blank. "And we'll see if this can be undone."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Friar," Robin replied, easing himself back on to the little bench in his cell, away from the door. "I already gave it to Mulan, when the jail-break started to go sour. I told her everything before she escaped – she didn't lie to you, Belle, she didn't know before then. She should be back to the camp by now, and Marian will be well soon. If my life is the price of stealing magic for my family, then it's one I will accept. I knew the risks."

Tears welled in Belle's eyes, and she reached for Rumplestiltskin's rough hand with her little one.

"That's why you confessed to being the Hood," Belle surmised through trembling lips. "You're trying to make sure no one else has to pay the price for you now that the rescue mission failed. Robin, why didn't you tell me? I would have helped!"

"I'm sorry, Belle. You're not one of us, no matter how much I wished you would be, and your loyalty is to your own people. You could have ended it too, just by distracting Guy for a single night, but you wouldn't make that sacrifice. No more than I would sacrifice the best chance of saving my family. I couldn't trust you with this."

"I… I have to go now," Belle managed through the tears. "Thank you for trying," she squeaked, pressing a parting kiss against Friar Lodowick's cheek. By the time Rumplestiltskin could muster a reply, she had already taken her leave.

"Looks like it's just you and me now, dearie," Rumplestiltskin growled.

"Make your peace with it, Friar," sighed Robin Hood. "The Sheriff should be here soon."

"Dearie, it's not the Sheriff you have to worry about."

"No, it's not," a third voice interrupted. Rumplestiltskin hadn't heard the heavy thud of boots, but the scent of rich earth, pine, and musk coupled with a familiar voice told him all he needed to know. Regina's pet Huntsman had arrived.

"The Queen would like you to know, Robin of Loxley, that your confession has been denied. The identity of the Hood is, in fact, the Traitor Snow White, and the penalty for aiding traitors to the crown in word or deed is death. In this case, her Majesty demands your head. You will have ten minutes to make your peace. Is this man your priest?"

"No, I'm not," Rumplestiltskin matter-of-factly replied, casting a spell which rooted the Huntsman and the Thief in place, dulling their senses to the passage of time. He needed to think, but his mind had been invaded by a pair of bright, blue eyes.

Rumplestiltskin focused. Leave it to Regina to make a bigger quagmire of things that shouldn't have concerned her in the first place. He would have to ensure her goose-chase for the little Princess turned up more frequent distractions if these were the kinds of delusions she fabricated in her own mind.

It would be so easy to let the Huntsman take him, and serve him right when the thief inevitably escaped his custody. In the webs of fate, Rumplestiltskin had seen this man alive and well tomorrow, in this very prison; whether he was in chains or breaking them remained unwritten. But then again, humiliating Regina meant Rumplestiltskin would have to deal with a free agent and pin the bastard down again – not a game of cat-and-mouse that he particularly enjoyed playing.

When the Seer said the Sight was a burden, she meant days like this. Being bound by knowledge of events yet to pass was the kind of fetter that only a fool could escape, and that escape very often led to death. Belle wouldn't like it, either way.

Mind made up, Rumplestiltskin released the two men. It seemed the Queen required a head.