Chapter Eleven—"They Have the Might"


He hadn't managed to leave the house until after ten in the morning, which made Killian feel a little guilty. Once he'd found all of his clothes, he'd noticed that there were several missed calls on his phone, along with two of those messages that he always forgot how to check. Under normal circumstances, he would have asked Emma for help, but Killian was still reeling from the night they had spent together.

He loved her, but he shouldn't have given in. Emma wasn't herself, and as determined as he was to stand by her, to help her come back to the woman he knew she was inside, Killian knew that giving in to her wasn't the right way to go about that. He'd watched Belle go down that road with the Crocodile, and while he knew in his heart that Emma would never be as bad as Rumplestiltskin, he understood that there were similarities. Little though he liked admitting that, even in the privacy of his own mind, he'd seen the same darkness gleaming in Emma's eyes that he had seen before. She'll fight it back, he told himself, heading across town to the Charmings' loft. I know she can do this.

The walk was short, thankfully, and soon enough, David opened the door to his knock.

"Hook," the prince said in surprise. "We were starting to wonder what had happened to you. We must have called you a dozen times last night."

"I was…talking to Emma," he said slowly, and watched Snow whirl around from where she'd been checking on the baby.

"You saw Emma?" she gasped.

"Aye." Killian sucked in a deep breath. "She's gotten herself a house, actually. It's off Hunt Street. She said that it had been a dilapidated wreck before she fixed it up."

Both of Emma's parents were staring at him like he'd provided them with oxygen after too long without, and guilt twisted in Killian's gut like a dagger. They should have been the ones to talk to her. They would have done better than I did, he thought remorsefully. What had he done? He'd failed to free her with True Love's Kiss and then given in.

"Is…is she all right?" David asked, sounding a little more cautious than Killian would have expected.

"She seems to be under control, now," he answered honestly. "I'm…I'm not sure how to describe how she's different, though she is. But she wants to start talking to her family, again. She says she misses everyone."

The grin that split Snow's face made him feel even guiltier, somehow, even though Killian hadn't told a lie. Emma had told him that morning that she wanted to see her family, and he'd promised to bring Henry by that afternoon. Even David seemed happy to hear that, though there was a reserve in the prince that Killian wasn't accustomed to seeing. Something, however, told him not to bring up the subject when Snow was around, so he waited until Snow took Neal off to be changed before asking.

"What happened last night?"

"Will Scarlet went missing," David replied bluntly. "We tried to call you, but you didn't answer."

"I, uh, may have dropped the phone," Killian admitted, not wanting to admit that the phone had spent the night at the bottom of the stairs—as had his jacket and a number of other garments, his and Emma's both.

"Well, you missed a mess," the other man sighed. "We don't have evidence that Emma is responsible, but we know that Will saw her kill Granny. For now…well, we're going to keep it quiet. Regina suggested we blame Zelena if anyone asks too many questions."

Killian wasn't sure if he liked the sound of that; oh, lying wasn't exactly something he was unaccustomed to doing, but he'd learned the hard way that lies eventually came out unless you were prepared to kill to protect them. Did Emma do that? he wondered. I was with her. She couldn't have killed that thief if I was with her, could she have? But he could read David's face well enough to tell where this was going.

"I take it we're going with Regina's suggestion, then, and blaming it on everyone's favorite Wicked Witch," he said.

"You have a problem with that?"

"Not particularly, no," Killian admitted, and was that disappointment he saw flickering through David's eyes? "I just want to protect Emma. Even from herself."

"We all want that," was the soft reply. "I'm just not sure how long we can keep it up."


Rumplestiltskin had spent the previous evening combing through Merlin's spellbook, his eyes flying over the irrelevant and searching for something, anything that might tell them what this mysterious golden power was. All he knew so far was that it had attacked Regina and Zelena both—which indicated almost nothing, given how different the sisters were—and that Grumpy had told Belle that something had dug up the Apprentice's grave. Odds were that the same force was responsible for that, yet Rumplestiltskin still had not found anything useful.

"Anything?" Belle asked as he poured over the book in the shop that morning.

"Plenty," he groaned. "But nothing useful. This is a truly fascinating book, and I wish I could give it the attention it deserves, but there's nothing about any powers that should be acting like this."

"I wish I could help more," she replied, leaning over his shoulder to kiss him on the cheek. Rumplestiltskin had tried to hand Belle the book the previous night, hoping that her special touch with research would lead her to find the answer faster than he could, but the book had snapped shut when she'd tried to handle it alone. That had led Rumplestiltskin to really start wondering why the book would allow only a former Dark One to read it, and part of him wanted to call Emma Swan into the shop to see if the book would open for her, too.

But he stopped himself every time that silly notion came to mind. There were spells in that book he definitely didn't want a novice Dark One to find. Or any Dark One, he thought, aware of how very ironic that notion was. He would have killed to possess this book in his days as the Dark One, would have slain dozens without blinking an eye. There were spells in here even he had never dreamed of, powerful and complicated and life-altering. But for better or for worse, Rumplestiltskin no longer was the Dark One…and he understood how very dangerous Emma was now, particularly before she managed to control herself. Assuming she wants to.

"You do help," he told Belle honestly. "Sweetheart, you're…you're everything to me. I'm afraid that I'm the useless one."

"You're not useless." Arms slipped around his neck, and Rumplestiltskin half-hated himself for the way he leaned back into her embrace, just needing her touch like he never had before. "Even if you didn't have magic, Rumple, you'd have your brilliant mind. And you do have a little magic now, don't you?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted quietly. "I can feel it. Some." Twisting on his stool, Rumplestiltskin looked at her worriedly. His next words came as a whisper. "Does that bother you?"

"No," Belle replied, kissing his cheek. "I used to think it was all about power, but it never was, was it? I love books for the knowledge they give me, and a part of you loves magic for that same reason, don't you?"

Rumplestiltskin nodded wordlessly, his stomach twisting up in a nervous knot. He kept trying to prove to Belle that she was more important to him than power—that she always should have been and he knew that he'd messed up so terribly—but what if it didn't work? What if she didn't believe him? For the first time in centuries, he truly wanted to help solve a problem facing the people who lived around him, but Rumplestiltskin didn't know how to do that without magic. Magic had been his intellectual passion for years; studying it had filled the void of the centuries, had helped chase some of the loneliness away. He'd never been just the Dark One; he'd been a sorcerer, and one of the most learned ones in centuries, too.

"Rumple, I love you," Belle whispered. "I love all of you, particularly now that I can see the man you've always wanted to be shining through. If you can use magic, you should. It will help everyone. You can see things that others—"

"That's it!" he cut her off without meaning to, jumping to his feet so quickly that he forgot about his cane and almost collapsed. Belle had to catch him as Rumplestiltskin staggered, fumbling for his cane and hating that old injury again.

"What's it?"

"Maybe we're going about this all wrong. The answer might be in that book, but we could be a few thousand pages away from finding it," Rumplestiltskin answered. "But we don't need the book. We need to find that power's weaknesses, because the key to stopping anything is to find its weak point."

Belle's eyes lit up. "Great! How do we do that?"

"The gauntlet."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Rumplestiltskin realized what a mistake they might be. The gauntlet was still a sore point between them; although he'd told Belle the entire story—including the way he'd gotten it back, which had not been part of a farce like she'd feared it had been when the gauntlet had led her to the dagger—Rumplestiltskin was wise enough to know that those memories still bothered his wife. Sure enough, her face fell, her beautiful eyes darkening with sadness that hehad caused. Immediately, Rumplestiltskin felt his stomach twist back into a knot. He'd screwed it up again, hadn't he? Every time he tried to do something right, he only wound up hurting those he loved.

"Right," Belle whispered, biting her lip. "Um, it's, uh, over there, I think."

"Belle," Rumplestiltskin interjected, his voice weak but forcing himself to try. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't think…"

He felt like that cowardly spinner again, begging Milah for scraps of her love and knowing their marriage would never be the same. Is that all I am, now? Is that all I'll ever be? he couldn't help thinking. Rumplestiltskin was trying so hard, but he was so damn afraid of losing her, even though he knew how much she loved him. She said she won't leave, he tried to tell himself, but he knew that Belle didn't want a weak coward, either. No woman did. Belle, please. I'm afraid. She'd pushed him away when he'd admitted that, hadn't she?

Don't do this, he told himself desperately. That was your fault, not hers. Never hers.

"Yes, you did," she turned to him, and her brave smile broke his heart. "You're trying to help, Rumple. Don't you understand how proud of you I am?"

"I'd rather not help if it hurts you to do it," he replied, reaching out to touch her cheek. Milah would have pulled away, but Belle didn't. She leaned into his hand, and relief made his knees weak.

"Pain makes us stronger, and I know the truth, now," she whispered, and her hand came up to squeeze his fingers. "Just promise me no more lies."

"I promise," Rumplestiltskin replied quickly, meaning every word.

"Then let's find the gauntlet and see if we can find the weakness in that cloud before it tries to destroy Storybrooke," Belle said strongly, and Rumplestiltskin somehow found himself answering her smile.

But the gauntlet, it turned out, was gone.


Several Years Before the Curse

Camelot was notwhat Rumplestiltskin had expected. Oh, he'd known the place was wild—time there was all but overcome by dark magic strong enough to make even him a little uneasy. War had come to Camelot, which had already been out of step with the rest of reality, and then Mordred had tried to stop time for some insane reason or another. As a practice, Rumplestiltskin avoided the Camelot for that reason…but every Dark One went there eventually. It had only been a matter of time.

Once, he'd hoped to find the Sorcerer's Hat there, but the Apprentice seemed to have reacquired it, despite Ingrid's attempt to hold onto the blasted thing. That was inconvenient, but if he succeeded in Camelot, perhaps Rumplestiltskin would never need the Hat at all. Merlin, after all, remained at least somewhat in this realm. Wisps of stories indicated that the Sorcerer yet lived, that he remained sequestered in the old castle for reasons known only to himself. Rumplestiltskin had gone to the Apprentice long ago, hoping for a doorway to the Land Without Magic, but he had been refused. Would Merlin do the same? There was no way to know without asking—and even if Merlin did refuse, Rumplestiltskin knew that the Sorcerer had been the creator of his own…condition.

If he could speak to Merlin, perhaps Merlin could help him learn to reverse the blackening on his heart. At first, the problem had seemed insignificant, but the more years passed, the more toxic the darkness' influence upon him became. Rumplestiltskin might have been the Dark One, and he might have been perfectly content to remain as such, but surely there was a way to do so without sacrificing his soul to the darkness. He had to find a balance, to find something better than the deals he had always relied upon. They weren't enough, not now, and Merlin could—

"The Dark One comes to Camelot," a soft voice said from behind him as Rumplestiltskin approached the old castle. He could see a half burned gate not far away, leading straight into the first courtyard of Camulodunum, and he was so damned close that he wasn't going to let some prissy youth stop him.

"If you know what's good for you, dearie, you'll stay out of my way," he replied, pitching the words into a bit of a threatening song as he turned lazily to face the youthful voice.

But this was no youth who faced him. There was age in that face, centuries in those dark eyes that belied the smooth features. And power, Rumplestiltskin realized, taking in the other's red robes and regal bearing. He wore a gauntlet on his right hand, and a sword on his belt that was a very near imitation of Excalibur. Nearly as powerful, too, Rumplestiltskin thought, his eyes lingering on the sword. Could that truly be Caladbolg? Like Excalibur, Caladbolg was a secondary power, though it had been forged by Viviane, not by Merlin.

"This is my realm," the other answered, his gray eyes narrowing. "I would invite you to leave if I did not so desire your death."

Rumplestiltskin couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up. "I hate to disappoint you, but I'm rather hard to kill."

Kill him. Kill him and take his power, the darkness whispered within him, salivating at the thought. Take the sword. The sword is power. So is the gauntlet. Rumplestiltskin felt the shiver run down his spine, felt the power within him coiling in delicious anticipation, but he shoved that aside for the moment. He was not a fool, nor some mindless puppet for the darkness to throw at whichever target it desired most. He would do this on his terms or not at all.

"Not that hard," was the even reply.

"Let me guess," Rumplestiltskin said, gathering power to himself as he felt the other do the same. "You're Mordred. Your hatred for the Dark One is all but legendary."

He wouldn't mind killing someone who had hunted so many of his predecessors. Stories said that Mordred had even caused the death of a Dark One or two, but he'd never been brave enough to wield the dagger himself.

"King Mordred. My reputation precedes me, I see," Mordred replied with a cold smile, and something about that sent warning bells to ringing in Rumplestiltskin's head—

Then magic slammed into him, sending him flying against the crumbling wall of Camulodunum. Rocks splintered and crumbled, and his shoulders burned from the impact. Yelping in pain and surprise, Rumplestiltskin barely managed to teleport away from the next assault, drawing on his own magic to attack Mordred. But he missed—utterly and completely!—when Mordred batted the spell aside with ridiculous ease.

"Is that the best you have, Dark One?" Mordred taunted him as Rumplestiltskin dodged a giant wave of flame. It caught the edges of his dragonhide coat, making Rumplestiltskin waste precious time and magic dousing the flames licking at his sides.

"I have a name!" he snarled, summoning up the nastiest spell he could think of on short notice, a black and gold tornado that erupted out of the ground at Modred's feet. That finally made the slender sorcerer dance aside, and then Mordred was finally forced to teleport away as the tornado tracked him, growing ever smaller and fiercer and trying to tear him into pieces.

"Why would I care about that?" the other countered dismissively as he reappeared only a dozen feet away from Rumplestiltskin. The tornado veered to follow him, but suddenly Rumplestiltskin felt a giant well of power open up, and his tornado collapsed in on itself. "Your spellwork is lacking."

Centuries had passed since he'd done anything other than win any magical duel with ease, and hearing that made rage roar in Rumplestiltskin's ears. Show him, the darkness taunted him. Pull the darkness forward, crush him like—

Ah. Mordred was smart, Rumplestiltskin realized, clamping down on his temper and on the furious whispers inside him. Mordred clearly knew the darkness well, and he was taunting that, not Rumplestiltskin. He didn't care about the man who had become the Dark One, which meant he didn't know a thing about Rumplestiltskin or the kind of sorcerer he had become. Silently, behind a snarl of fury that was mostly for show, Rumplestiltskin began weaving together several complicated spells, building one or two on the fly and pulling others from his own memories, his own studies. Not from the darkness.

"Then what do you care about, dearie?" he asked, teleporting away from another attack and sending an ineffectual wave of dark magic at Mordred in return. As expected, the sorcerer-king waved it aside easily. "If you're so keen on killing me, and so knowledgeable about what I am, surely you realize you're at a bit of a disadvantage."

"Ah, you mean that I lack the dagger," Mordred replied smoothly, and this time Rumplestiltskin wasn't able to dodge his attack. This one knocked him flat, smashing the wind out of him and hammering Rumplestiltskin to the ground on his back. Pain reverberated through his spine, and he threw another pair of attacks back at Mordred, only to see both sail far wide of their target. Yet he kept building his web.

"And you won't be finding it," he trilled, trying to ignore the whispers as they became shouts. Kill him! Protect the dagger!

"Ah, but I will. Though I don't plan to kill you. Not exactly." Another wave of power roared in on him, this one dark and icy and painful enough to make Rumplestiltskin scream. But he kept building, pulling thread by thread together. One by one.

The next spell he sent at Mordred was smaller than his other attacks, designed mostly as a distraction while the other seven pulled together. But this one connected, hitting Mordred square in the center of the chest—and only pushing him back a step. Mordred bounced back to look down at Rumplestiltskin, smiling darkly.

"This gauntlet is the most remarkable piece of magic I've ever crafted," Mordred smiled. "It can determine any person's greatest weakness. In most cases, that's the thing they love most, but we both know that's not true for the Dark One, don't we?" He scoffed. "As if you could love, anyway."

Unbidden, Belle's face flashed through Rumplestiltskin's mind, but he pushed that aside. He did not have feelings for his maid. He would not go down that road. Not again.

Thankfully, Mordred was still talking, and his gauntlet had apparently not picked up on the way a certain blue-eyed young woman pulled on Rumplestiltskin's withered heartstrings.

"Even now I can see your dagger. The image grows more clear, and it is within—"

Fueled by desperation, yet a product of study rather than rage, the web of spells tore out of Rumplestiltskin. He'd managed to hold back until the threads were just in place, sending seven spells sailing at Mordred. Caught off guard, the so-called King of Camelot caught three of them, shoving them aside like they were nothing, but those three hid the four far more dangerous ones, all of which hit.

Mordred screamed. One spell slashed his face open from left to right, nearly removing his eye and taking half of his nose with it. Another lit a fire within him, one that would have burned a lesser sorcerer from the inside out and still did considerable damage, tearing at Mordred in ways no mere human could survive. The third was another tornado, rearing out of the ground right beneath Mordred's feet, spitting and hissing and howling its rage as dark magic engulfed him, keeping him from teleporting away from the fourth and final spell. That one, of course, was defensive in nature—and it reached out and ripped the gauntlet from Mordred's right hand before he could discern the location of Rumplestiltskin's dagger.

Rumplestiltskin caught the gauntlet as it flew through the air, and he almost turned back to renew their battle, but visions suddenly ripped through his mind, making him stagger. The images made no sense—there was a woman there, burning with the darkness which now possessed him. She faced Mordred across the Vault of the Dark One, her eyes on a boy who looked so very much like the child Rumplestiltskin had lost. The teen was even about the right age, but it wasn't, couldn't be Baelfire, even as the visions he Saw broke his heart in two. Yet there Rumplestiltskin was, striding up from not far away, stepping into the image and radiating power.

Yet nothing made sense. Rumplestiltskin tried to tear his mind free, but the visions stayed with him, and he found himself staring at this other-self of his, trying to puzzle out how he could look so human, so fragile, and yet so not himself. He was not himself. The boy looked at this human Rumplestiltskin, looked at him with Baelfire's eyes, and—

Stop it! He almost cried the words aloud, and was so very glad that Mordred was too consumed by the tornado to notice the way he staggered. The visions were unrelenting, even when the landscape changed. There was a funeral bier approaching an unfamiliar shore, a swirl of darkness being torn from a nearly blackened heart, Belle weeping over him and whispering that she loved him—but that couldn't be him, for he looked too human and nothing made sense—and finally that same dark woman again, her eyes on fire with desperation and rage, making a deal with the devil to save what was left of her soul.

With an effort, Rumplestiltskin managed to teleport himself back towards the portal Jefferson had opened, collapsing to his knees once he'd stumbled past the threshold. The visions were quiet, or at least somewhat; he kept Seeing the same things, over and over again, until he somehow managed to pinch the flow off. No, he couldn't go back and renew the fight, now; he'd lost his advantage, even if the gauntlet could point him at Mordred's greatest weakness as much as it could show Mordred his. Yet he hadn't lost, had he? Rumplestiltskin might not have gained what he'd come to Camelot for, but he still had acquired a valuable prize. Continuing to fight with Mordred would be foolish, and as much as the darkness screamed in his mind, he knew when to retreat.

Mordred could wait. He now knew they would see one another again.


Thirty-some odd years later, the same visions were the first to hit Rumplestiltskin since the darkness had been ripped from him. He'd wondered briefly if he was no longer a Seer; even if those ill-gotten powers had been separate from his status as the Dark One, he definitely not been a Seer beforehand, and a part of him had felt like everything that made him unique had of course been stripped away. However, the truth turned out to be much more complicated. Like magic, the visions seemed to only need a bit of time to return. Perhaps they had been waiting for him to come back to himself, to the man he had been—or maybe the man he'd always wanted to be, as Belle said.

Now he recognized the faces he Saw, however. Now he knew Emma Swan—though watching her skin sparkle in the Enchanted Forest's sun was odd. Now he knew Henry, too, and remembering how his grandson had once reminded him of Baelfire was even more painful once he understood the connection. Yet what were they doing at the Vault of the Dark One? But Mordred…Mordred held Henry by the throat, the metal fingers of the gauntlet pressing tightly against Henry's windpipe. Decades earlier, those visions had made no sense, but now Rumplestiltskin could see what would happen—for this had not happened yet. Oh, no. He was Seeing the future again, only now it was the near future.

"I know where the gauntlet is," he told Belle softly. The rest of the vision continued to play through his mind, and Rumplestiltskin could see the other him, the near future him, walking up to confront Mordred at the Dark One's side. Yet he still had the sinking feeling that the man he saw was not quite Rumplestiltskin, that something had changed and something had—

"Who took it?" his wife asked immediately, clearly following his line of reasoning.

"Mordred," Rumplestiltskin answered, remembering what he had read of the sorcerer-king, remembering Mordred's age-old feud with the Dark One. With every Dark One.

Belle had always been quick; she caught the implications lightning fast. "You think that he's the sorcerer that people say is building a castle in the forest, that he came from Camelot?"

"I do." His eyes found Merlin's book—half a journal and half a spellbook, it turned out—on their own. "And I am beginning to wonder if this is related to the power we are trying to identify."

"That can't be good," Belle said softly.

"No, it can't."


His mom wasn't the same, but that was okay. It would have to be.

Hook had dropped Henry off at Emma's house right after lunch, leaving after exchanging a look with Emma that practically lit the air on fire. Henry might have only been twelve (almost thirteen!), but even he could see the tension and the desire between them. Truth be told, it made him a little uncomfortable, mostly because he wasn't sure what was going on inside Emma's mind. This Emma—the one who had kissed Hook right in front of him, pulling the pirate close and dragging him to her—wasn't the one Henry was used to seeing. Hook seemed discomfited, too, which Henry might have enjoyed seeing a few weeks earlier, but now it just made things doubly disturbing.

Going to Camelot had changed Henry's opinion on Hook, at least a little. He still didn't like the way Hook had jumped into his dad's shoes so quickly, but the pirate made Emma happy, which meant Henry had promised himself to accept Hook based on that. Now, however, even the pirate appeared uneasy with how forward and possessive Emma was, and Henry found himself racking his mind to see if he could remember Grandpa Gold ever acting that way around Belle. No, he treated her like she was made of precious glass, even after she banished him, Henry remembered. This was something different.

"I miss this," he said as they sat on the couch together a little while later, playing a game on the Xbox 360 he had not asked how Emma had acquired. "I miss us."

"Me, too, kid," Emma replied, but she sounded like the answer was a little automatic.

"So, um, how is everything?" Henry asked hesitantly. Emma hadn't talked about anything important yet, just worriedly asking if he was all right and demanding to know if anyone had tried to hurt him. She hadn't even asked how her parents were. Henry had offered that information when Emma hadn't inquired, but she'd seemed…distracted. Hook seemed to hold her attention well enough when he was around, but the moment he'd left, Emma had asked Henry if he wanted to try out her new Xbox, and he'd jumped at the chance to do anything with her.

"Fine," Emma shrugged, and then gave him a smile that was almost real. "I'm still me. Just different."

"How different?"

"I'm still your mom," she answered immediately, giving him a hard look, one that sent an odd shiver down Henry's spine. "And I worry about you."

"Everything seems quiet enough, except for that golden power lurking around town," Henry shrugged.

"What power?" Emma asked, twisting to look at Henry, suddenly attentive. Why couldn't she look at me like this earlier? Henry wondered before he could stop himself, and then pushed that thought aside. This was hard for Emma, he knew. Everything had changed, and she was fighting to control herself. He had to be patient.

"Mom told me that Grandpa Gold thinks it came through from Camelot," he explained. "It's just kind of this swirling cloud of power, kinda like the darkness, but golden. Mom tried to stop it, but—"

"You need to stay away from that, Henry," Emma cut him off fiercely, making him blink.

"I helped with it when it tried to go after Mom, actually. I brought Merlin's staff and then Hook drew it away, because otherwise it might have really hurt her," he said proudly, and was shocked to see the anger on Emma's face.

"Don't you dare do something like that again," his birth mother said, grabbing Henry by the shoulders, her fingers digging in so hard that it hurt. "You can't risk yourself. I won't allow it."

"Mom," he tried to reason with her, but Emma just rode right over him.

"I didn't take this darkness on so that you could be hurt," she snapped, sounding desperate. "I did this so that you'd be safe, so that all of you would be safe. So, no playing hero. You stay away from that power. It's dangerous, and it would hurt you because you're connected to me."

"What is it?"

"Nothing you need to worry about." Her hands squeezed, and the gesture was probably meant to be reassuring, but it made Henry wince.

"Mom, you're hurting me," he said quietly, hating that he had to complain like a little kid.

Emma released him and scooted back so quickly so quickly that Henry actually wondered if she teleported a little. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I'm sorry, Henry."

"It's okay," Henry replied, swallowing hard. Emma was trying. Wasn't she? But this paranoia and dark insistence was a little creepy. "And I'm okay. Both from now and before. The power went for the staff, not me."

"Good."

Henry might have said more, but suddenly, something warm rubbed against his right ankle, and he looked down to see a red and black splotched cat pressing against his leg. In fact, it was stepping on his foot, looking at him with intent yellow eyes that were clearly meant to say something significant, but Henry didn't speak cat. Confused, he looked up at Emma.

"You got a cat?" He'd never thought Emma might be a cat person.

"Yes." Her smile was enigmatic, and just a little dark. "His name is Bandit."

Emma bent to pick the cat up, but it hissed at her, spitting furiously and swiping at Emma with a claw. She just continued smiling that creepy smile, her eyes on the cat like it was some very special toy. Bandit's claws caught the leather sleeve of her top, but Emma barely seemed to notice, flicking a finger and repairing the damage as she settled the cat into her lap. He tried to escape her, yowling angrily, but Emma held him there despite his struggles. Henry watched in silence for a moment, trying to pinpoint exactly what was off about Bandit, but he couldn't figure anything out.

"I don't think he likes you very much."

Emma laughed. "No. He doesn't."


Regina hadn't intended to run into Belle so soon, but when she saw the younger woman walking towards Granny's late that afternoon, she knew that Robin had been right. "You told me that you want to put the Evil Queen aside, and that means doing so even when it's hard," Robin had said. "I can help you change, but you have to want it." And she did truly want to change; Regina had wanted that for a long time. She just found it hard not to slip back into her old ways, but Robin had been right, too. Darkness was a useful tool when it was needed to fight evil, but did know that it should never have been used to victimize someone. Maybe taking Belle's heart as leverage hadn't been the worst thing to do—after all, there had been no way to know at the time which way Rumplestiltskin would go—but she hadn't needed to enjoy being cruel with it.

Either way, Robin had also been right about how she owed Belle an apology, even if Belle didn't want to accept it. So, Regina crossed the street quickly, intercepting Belle in front of the animal shelter. Belle, predictably, tried to walk around her.

"Excuse me," Belle said, polite enough to get on Regina's nerves.

She clamped down on her annoyance. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"I don't have anything to say to you," the brunette replied tightly, and Regina checked a sigh. "And I'm busy."

"I know," Regina said as levelly as she could, stopping and letting Belle walk away if she wanted to. "I just—I just wanted to apologize. For taking your heart. I was desperate…but that's no excuse."

Belle finally stopped and turned to look at her. "Did Robin tell you to apologize?"

"Yes, but what's that have to do with anything?" she asked, confused.

"Then it's meaningless," Belle snapped. "You can't be better just because someone else wants you to, Regina. It doesn't work. You can't be better for Henry or for Robin. You have to be better for yourself."

Stunned, Regina could only stare. She knew that. Did Belle think she didn't? Then again, Belle's experience with reformed villains really did center around Rumplestiltskin as the Dark One, and the entire town was now experiencing exactly how dodgy that darkness was when it came to telling the truth. Regina knew that she needed to reevaluate everything she'd thought she'd known about her teacher; he wasn't the same man without the darkness, and she honestly didn't know what that meant. Maybe Belle did, but that was hardly the topic at hand, was it? Belle clearly thought that Regina was only apologizing because Robin had given her some sort of ultimatum, the kind Henry had once handed out. Those ultimatums, coming from the child who meant more to her than life itself, had actually put Regina on the right track, but she knew enough now to agree with Belle. Being better for someone else wasn't enough.

"I know that," she told the other woman. "And for the record, Robin didn't tell me that I had to apologize. He just reminded me that I should." Regina hesitated, and then continued: "I don't expect you to forgive me. You did that once, and I wasted what little of your goodwill I had."

"Does apologizing make you feel better?" Belle asked.

"No," Regina replied a little more honestly than she liked.

"Good."

Regina couldn't help flinching; this was a far cry from the forgiving, kind woman Belle had always been. Did I help change her, or was that Rumplestiltskin's betrayal? she wondered, but then Belle shrugged, a little of her old compassion leaking into her voice.

"I accept your apology," Belle said softly. "But I won't trust you again. Not for a long time. I offered to help you, and you ripped my heart out. That doesn't go away."

"It shouldn't," Regina agreed. "I understand."

Honestly, she hadn't expected Belle to accept her apology at all, and the fact that Belle had left Regina feeling better than she liked to admit. She didn't need anyone else's approval to be herself, but Regina did want to be a better person. She'd been working to help people instead of hurting them, and that meant—

A sharp whistling noise filled the air, interrupting Regina's thoughts and overriding whatever reply Belle had planned to make. Immediately, the wind picked up and a familiar feeling of pure power started to prickle its way up Regina's spine. She knew that feeling, knew the whistling as it grew louder and louder, sending people diving for cover. Most tried to run indoors, but Regina and Belle both stepped up onto the street to watch the golden swirls of power fill the air, crashing downwards from the sky, howling and twisting wildly.

Was it Regina's imagination, or was the cloud of power bigger now? When she'd tried to stop it, the cloud had been mere tendrils, a mess of twisting and twirling wisps of power. Now it was a giant cloud, big enough to stretch from one side of the street to the other as it whistled and whirled, picking up smaller objects—and even one dwarf, though Regina couldn't tell which from her angle—and throwing them around as if they weighed nothing. Next to go was the blue Miata convertible that Regina knew all too well; as she and Belle watched, it reared up into the air, flipping end over end and crashing straight into Modern Fashions, right across from where Regina and Belle stood transfixed.

"Get out of the road!" she shouted at the helpless idiots who were still staring at the whistling mess of power, including one moronic driver who still sat behind the wheel of his beat up Ford truck. Regina started forward, determined to do something to push the power away, bringing her hands up to start a defensive spell.

Doc's Miata had been empty, but the truck wasn't, and the cloud picked up Prince Thomas and his Ford just as easily. Fortunately, the truck only went straight up and then came down again with a giant crash—but then the sharp whistling was replaced by a gigantic howl, and suddenly a dragon fell out of the sky.

No, make that two dragons. One, the larger of the two, seemed to be trying to shield the smaller one, but that didn't help. Lily hit the ground first, one of her wings crashing straight through the roof of the Marine Garage, right next to where Regina and Belle were standing. Maleficent landed almost on top of her daughter, but seemed able to transform herself at the last minute, landing on top of Lily's other wing in a human heap. The gold cloud descended right on top of them as Regina rushed forward, magic sparking in her hands and desperate to push the power away from her old friend, but even as her spell hit—or disintegrated into thin air, which seemed to actually be the case—the golden swirls of power abruptly pulled away, racing back into the sky and leaving Regina with the odd feeling that it was still searching.

By the time she and Belle reached the two dragons, Lily had transformed as well, leaving mother and daughter both in a bruised pile. Regina went for Mal as Belle went to Lily, checking for a pulse and barely able to find one. Magic leapt out of her fingers almost before she willed it to, feeding her information—and making Regina's heart sink.

"I think they're both unconscious," Belle said softly as people started emerging from safety.

"And drained dry," Regina agreed, swallowing hard. "Just like I was."

Turning, she glanced at the carnage the power had wrought. Last time, it had just gone for her. Now it had upturned two cars—one of which had a passenger, who looked injured but alive—sent two dragons hurling out of the sky, thrown a dwarf across the street, and uprooted at least two mailboxes and three signs. Glancing over at Belle, Regina could see the other woman was growing as worried as she was. The power might not be malicious, and it might not even want to hurt anyone, but it was getting dangerous.

Someone had to stop it, but how?


He had watched the destruction out the window, finally laying eyes on the golden cloud up close and shivering. Rumplestiltskin could feel the power radiating from those golden tendrils, even through the front window of his shop, and he had never so much as seen anything like that. Regina had been right; that power was dangerous. Yet it hadn't killed anyone, either. Yet. Was it growing increasingly desperate? Three centuries of magic-honed instinct told Rumplestiltskin that was the case, yet he had no idea how to stop it.

Nor what it was.

Sighing, he limped back behind the counter, reaching for Merlin's spellbook once more. The book was proving as useless as it was fascinating. There were several hundred helpful spells inside, but most of them lay far beyond his current meager abilities. And none of them even began to hint at how to restrain power of that magnitude. Still, he would keep looking because that book seemed to be the only resource they had, so Rumplestiltskin reached for the book once more…only to clumsily knock it right off the counter. Muttering, he leaned his cane against his stool and bent to pick the book up, only to find a yellowed piece of parchment fluttering out of the back when he did so.

Placing the spellbook carefully back on the counter, Rumplestiltskin reached for the parchment. Immediately, he could feel it coming to life under his fingers, could feel centuries' old magic in the paper. It sent a shiver down his spine, a delightful feeling of power like he hadn't encountered in too long, and the seal melted away even as he made to tear it free. Eyes wide, Rumplestiltskin read the old-fashioned script quickly, noting that the hand the letter had been written in was heavy and uneven, as if the words had been scrawled down at the very the last moment. There were drops of blood on the page, old and dark, almost black in color.

Danns',

You had the dagger, and you did not stop me. This tells me all I must know.

Allies once we were, you and I. Once I had hoped we might be more—but this you know. You demanded a choice, and I chose humanity over your friendship, for which I know you cannot forgive me. Forgiveness is beyond you, even now, though I have long since absolved you for your role in my gaining the darkness. You lied to me, but I was not wholly truthful, either. In the last moments before—blood obscured the next few words—I was able to prepare.

The dagger has pierced my heart, and there is a new "Dark One" as the commoners are calling him. They know not from whence she came, but if I know Maleagant, he will prove a terror much to your liking. As for me, well, I continue onwards. Surely you were aware that the Sorcerer cannot die; being as I am, the last remaining of humanity's original powers, I will not go to the Vault as my predecessor did. My body may fail, but my power will merely wait. Even now it sustains me when I should already be dead. Soon enough, my Apprentice will find me a new host, and while I cannot battle you now—or perhaps not for centuries yet—you will find that I shall always stand for humanity. Even against you.

I am dying, yet I—more blood stained the page, obliterating an entire paragraph.

Now I wait and watch. I am—the next words were crossed out and indecipherable —prepared to do what must be done.

Merlin of Camulodunum

Rumplestiltskin dropped the letter from nerveless hands.

That was the power. Part of him had always sensed that Merlin had been a Dark One—not the first, clearly, as he'd created the entire mess, but his fingerprints were all over the darkness that Rumplestiltskin had inherited so long ago. But he had not known that Merlin had survived his death. Did he do so as I did? Rumplestiltskin wondered, and then reached out with shaking fingers to pick the letter up again. No, Merlin had not. He had been stabbed with the dagger, and the way Merlin's heavy hand grew more illegible as the letter went on, it was plain that he had been dying.

More or less. The Sorcerer cannot die, Merlin had written. Those words made an odd tightness rise in his chest, so Rumplestiltskin read the letter again.

Suddenly, the feeling that had lingered on the edge of his consciousness since Belle had woken him suddenly coalesced. The world spun, and terror tore through him before Rumplestiltskin could get a grip on his instinctive cowardice, his brilliant mind racing to outpace his fear. I was not supposed to wake, he realized yet again. I was meant to remain empty. A shell, nothing more. The Apprentice had banished his soul even as he had scrubbed Rumplestiltskin's heart clean—or perhaps that had simply been a side effect of the darkness being ripped from him—but Rumplestiltskin knew exactly where the Apprentice had sent him.

His soul had been in the Vault of the Dark One, buried there as were all his predecessors—save the one. Merlinwas not there. Merlin was the power sweeping around Storybrooke, searching for the shell, the empty host, which his Apprentice had marked. Merlin had waited centuries, perhaps even longer, for someone who fit his specific criteria, and now his power rampaged around Storybrooke, tearing through one magic user after another as it searched for the host it had been promised.

Shivering, Rumplestiltskin could only stare at his shaking hands. Was this his atonement? Had the five days he and Belle had shared merely been an epilogue, a few stolen moments to ease his passing into oblivion? He had hoped he might learn to be a better man, but Rumplestiltskin knew better than anyone that all magic came at a price. He had lived far longer than he was meant to, had been the Dark One for three centuries. And now it was time to pay for those years, for the evil he had wrought and the darkness he had become. He would not have the chance to be a better man…or perhaps he would. Just once.

Rumplestiltskin knew that he would never be a hero, but was this his chance to, for once, do the right thing? The very thought of allowing that power inside him, allowing it to banish everything he was, was utterly terrifying. He knew that power would not be like the darkness. It would not leave his soul behind. Merlin would replace him, and Rumplestiltskin would die.

But what would happen if he did nothing?


A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating—I wound up spending a wee bit of time in the ER (though everything is fine now), which put me off my schedule. So, I'll go to twice a week updates starting next Tuesday instead of this week.

Stay tuned for Chapter Twelve—"Light in the Darkness", in which Emma finally speaks to her parents, Henry goes to Rumplestiltskin for advice, and Merlin's power goes after two new targets—both of which are very close to our new Dark One. Meanwhile, Rumplestiltskin struggles with a choice that must be made…and what he must become.