Chapter Twenty-Nine—"Faithful in Love"
Waking up in a different bed was strange.
The house had directed them—rather forcefully—towards a new bedroom on the second night Belle and Rumplestiltskin had stayed there. On the first night, ready to drop from exhaustion and overuse of magic, they'd headed for the bedroom in which they'd spent the night of their honeymoon. Rumplestiltskin had been too tired for the old guilt to get a grip on him that night, but he thought the house sensed the next morning. Although he had meant every word of his wedding vows, and had wanted so badly to keep them, Rumplestiltskin knew that he'd betrayed and used Belle right from the beginning. Now that he wasn't the Dark One, he could fully appreciate how badly he'd hurt her, and sleeping in the bed that he should have shared with Belle that night instead of messing with the Hat only made him feel worse.
The evening after he and Emma spoke, however, the Sorcerer's House locked the door to the bedroom they'd spent the previous night in, and opened another door down the hall, the hinges creaking just so that Belle would notice. There, they'd found a bed that was utterly identical to the one Rumplestiltskin had given Belle in the Dark Castle. Upon inspection, Rumplestiltskin began to suspect that it might be the same bed, which said fascinating things about the Sorcerer's House. The place itself was magic, almost like the Dark Castle. Yet this house was solid enough; it had been created by the second curse, but for what purpose? Rumplestiltskin suspected that the Apprentice might have added a bit of Merlin's magic to the mix once Snow and Regina had cast the curse, but there was no way to ask a dead man. And Merlin didn't seem to know.
The question became rather academic and unnecessary in the face of Belle's delight, however, and she'd been determined to show him how very much she'd always wanted to share this bed with him. They'd worn one another out with their enthusiasm, and for the first time since Zelena had escaped, Rumplestiltskin was able to sleep without having nightmares.
He knew that they would have to deal with Zelena eventually. A month ago, Rumplestiltskin's first response would have been to kill her—or at least to turn Zelena's spell back on her, removing her magic and draining her dry. He would probably have taken a care for her child's safety, because even as the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin had avoided harming children, but he would surely have gone after her instead of staying here with Belle. Is this me choosing her, or am I just telling myself that? Rumplestiltskin supposed he was still just a coward at heart, a coward beneath the power he used to make himself appear strong. He'd learned a little courage in his days without magic, but that courage didn't seem to equate to rushing after Zelena and seeking vengeance.
Yes, he was furious over the loss of their home. He felt violated all over again, and wanted to wrap his hands around Zelena's neck and squeeze her life away for what she'd done to Belle. For all of Belle's strength, and despite the quick way she'd managed to adapt to their new surroundings, Rumplestiltskin knew that Zelena had destroyed the one place Belle had felt safe since Regina had first taken her captive thirty years earlier. The fact that Zelena had done that made part of Rumplestiltskin want to destroy her utterly, made the darkness that still lived inside him—echoes though it might have been—burn for murder, for revenge. But he'd given into that once, hadn't he?
And he really didn't want to deal with Zelena. Perhaps that made him more of a coward than ever before, but Rumplestiltskin still had a hard time not shaking every time the thought of facing her crossed his mind. I'm not the only one she's wronged, he told himself, and he didn't know if that was some new sense of fair play or cowardice. And there's a child who-rightly or wrongly—will consider Zelena his or her mother.
She had taken Rumplestiltskin's child from him. But could he take that child's mother from him or her?
He might never be a good man, might never be the type of man he was trying to be, one who was worthy of Belle. But Rumplestiltskin had learned one thing, if nothing else: he was no longer the lonely sorcerer in his mountaintop castle. He was no longer a law unto himself. Zelena had not made only the Golds suffer; she had hurt so very many, and she would have to pay for that. Rumplestiltskin had no problem with helping others to make her pay the price for her actions, but was finally in a place in his life where he didn't feel like he had to deal with her alone. For once, I trust that she won't be let to get away with it just because she has targeted people outside the heroes' small circle of family.
That, however, was a problem for later. That morning, his interest lay in Belle, who had actually out slept him for once. That was a rare occurrence, particularly now that he was no longer the Dark One. Requiring sleep still took some getting used to after three hundred years of not needing it, after all. So, he took advantage of the time to watch his wife sleeping, admiring how soft her features were when she was at peace like this. She was so beautiful, and Rumplestiltskin still wasn't sure how an old monster like him had ever earned her love. He had never met someone with such a beautiful soul, someone who loved so fiercely and so bravely, with so little thought for herself. The fact that Belle's exterior was as lovely as her interior almost didn't matter; although Rumplestiltskin enjoyed that on a visual level, he loved her for who she was.
Part of him still couldn't believe that they were together again. A month earlier, he'd been the Dark One, plotting and scheming desperately to get Isaac to write the darkness out of the story. He hadn't known—and truly hadn't cared—what else the Author planned to do with everyone else. Rumplestiltskin had just been out of ways to defeat the darkness without arranging his own death. He had tried everything else, and somehow, the thought of trying True Love's Kiss again had never even crosses his mind—though even now, Rumplestiltskin wasn't sure how much of that had been because he'd known how badly he'd broken Belle's heart, or if the darkness had simply blinded him to it.
Yet here they were, three weeks and one day after the Apprentice had pulled the darkness out of his heart, repairing their marriage and together again. Why Belle continued to see any good in him, even when he was actively trying, was beyond Rumplestiltskin. He knew he didn't deserve her, and yet he also had learned to fight for her. He would do everything in his power to be worthy of this amazing woman who owned his heart. Everything.
I love her so much.
She stirred, so he leaned over to kiss her bare shoulder. "Good morning, sleepyhead."
"Hmm?"
"I was going to get up and cook you breakfast, but instead I decided to enjoy the view." Despite his earlier thoughts, Rumplestiltskin certainly did enjoy watching her. Belle was barely covered by the sheets—she was a bit of a blanket thief, really, but she also tended to throw the blankets off of both of them when she got hot—and Rumplestiltskin loved watching her.
"Did you, now?" she murmured, blue eyes finally flicking open. "And are you going to do anything than look?"
"Well, that depends on you, doesn't it?" He started to smile, but Belle rolled over and kissed the expression away.
"Is that answer enough?"
He grinned. "I do believe even I can interpret that one correctly, yes."
Catching Regina's idiot outlaw was harder than it should have been. Finally, however, she found him without the brat—who she really didn't want to deal with today. Apparently, Robin was starting to help out in the sheriff's station, and now he was even wearing a badge. Oh, the irony was delicious, and only Regina would be so stupid as to make a thief into a sheriff's deputy. Well, Regina and the blockheaded prince who thought he could catch her. David was at least as empty-headed as Zelena's sister. Maybe more so.
Robin had learned a lot about the modern world in New York, but he still didn't drive. Zelena couldn't really hold that against him—she couldn't drive for the same reasons—but that was the only thing she didn't actively dislike about him. Seriously, after living with the world's most boring outlaw for six weeks, Zelena had been ready to murder him solely based on that. The only reason she hadn't was that Regina would never have believed she was carrying Robin's posthumous baby, so she needed the outlaw alive so that he could tell the story. But, really, couldn't some famous thief actually steal things, instead of going on about this code of his? Playing Marian for him was downright sickening, Zelena thought, watching Robin walk out of the sheriff's station.
Quickly, she looked left and then right, never moving out of the shadows in which she hid. No one was watching—at least no one that she could see—so it was time to execute the next stage of her plan. Tempting Regina with darkness to save her little loverboy had been fun, but someone else had bailed Regina out of that trap. So, now she would put her dear sister in a vise that no one would be able to help her escape. Regina would be trapped by her own past actions, and she would get to watch someone she loved revile her for it.
A quick twist of her wrist swept Robin off the street, and the idiot didn't even manage to yelp until after they'd landed in the forest, not far from his former camp. Most of the outlaws had found themselves actual housing now, but the remnants of the camp were still there, and Zelena had spent a bit of time building tents with magic and making the place more hospitable. She didn't like roughing it in the woods—she hated roughing it of any sort, actually—but it would have to do for now.
Robin whirled to face her, but she got in first, smiling. "Hello, lover."
"If this is some other way of getting your stupid revenge on Regina, you can just stop now. I'm not playing your games."
Zelena pouted. "Of course you are. You don't get a choice in that."
"Yes, I do, and I'm leaving." Robin started to stride past her like she wasn't even worth talking to, and Zelena felt resentment and fury rise.
"You're not going anywhere!" A quick motion of her hand created quicksand under his feet, and Robin stumbled, almost falling flat on his face. Unfortunately, he caught himself.
"Is this really what you want to do?" he asked incredulously. "Haven't you taken this ridiculous rivalry far enough?"
He thought she was ridiculous? Zelena wanted to kill him, even if she had better ideas of how to make him suffer. "Not when she's going to take my baby!"
"That child is mine as much as it's yours," Robin snarled, finally goaded to anger—and he was so much more interesting when he was angry! "People who truly care about their children don't rape someone else to produce one!"
She rolled her eyes. "I didn't hear you objecting at the time."
"That's because I thought you were Marian. I wouldn't touch you in a thousand years." His glare was a thing of beauty, full of disgust and fury, and Zelena couldn't wait to turn that on Regina.
"Oh, you will." Zelena pulled a vial from her pocket and strolled forward. Fortunately, the outlaw was only so stupid, and his eyes immediately went to the bottle, which was full of sparkling but clear liquid.
"What the hell is that?"
"A bit of water from a very special fountain. One from Oz, of course. But I know how to use it, so I added a little extra spice," she told him, watching with glee as Robin's eyes went wide with fear. "You'll forget Regina, and everything you've been to one another. And then I'll be able to implant some lovely memories for the two of us, about how we're so excited to have this baby together, and how you hate my sister. She killed Marian, of course, so you want nothing to do with the vile Evil Queen."
"You killed Marian." She loved the way his voice shook.
"Oh, but you won't remember, lover boy. You'll just remember being with me." Zelena waved a hand, freezing him in place when he tried to object. "Time to drink up!"
Pinpointing one's descendants in such a large town was more difficult than Morgan expected. Back in Camelot, or in the Enchanted Forest, it would have been so much easier. People lived further apart in the old worlds, and Morgan had forgotten about the rules of the new reality in which she lived. Four of her spells had fizzled right out before covering even a tenth of the town, and two of the spells had covered the same percentage of people, much to Morgan's annoyance. But she was not the type to rant and rage over problems, at least not at her age. When she'd been younger, she'd been far more impulsive, but Morgan had been born, linearly speaking, over nine hundred years earlier. She liked to think that she'd learned a thing or two in that time.
Her current method wasn't working. She would have to be more direct. That would take more time, but she would start with her own book, which she should have done in the first place. That spell was simple and did not require too much power, which was good, because she had all but tapped out the reserves she still had. Morgan was a Half-Power, so near as she could tell, but some of the great magics she had worked in her youth had drained her far too much. She was still a low-level sorceress, still capable of using magic, but drawing on it deeply left her far weaker than it should have. Worry about that later, she told herself, raising her hands over the book of prophecy and whispering the required words.
The results came to her quickly, and made Morgan sigh. Unfortunately, Killian appeared to never have touched her blood magic-protected prophecies…which meant someone else had. Again, her mind turned to the child she had left behind, flipping back to over three hundred years before the first curse had been cast. She had told herself that she would never go back, that she would stay in the cave and leave her child with his father, yet she'd had to know. She'd had to be certain.
So, Morgan had watched him one day, returning to Hamelin just one time.
The boy didn't have a bit of magic.
Morgan sighed, watching the seven year old child—her child—struggle to raise the full bucket of water out of the well. He was small and slight, perhaps a little underfed, and was admittedly cute, at least for a child. He also had a pair of sorrowful brown eyes that were hauntingly familiar…but he had no magic.
She didn't even have to cast a spell to know the truth. The boy was fully human, and nothing else. Despite his lineage, he was mortal. Human. Normal. She had nothing against humans on principle, of course, but there was no use denying that this was a disappointment. Oh, she had known that he was human when he had been born, else she never would have left him in his dishonest father's hands. I could not take him with me, and yet…yet I hoped things had changed, she thought from the shadows. There had been a tiny chance that the boy might develop into more than just a boring human, but it appeared that he took after his father.
This trip had turned out to be useless after all, just as Accolon had said it would be. Her visions clearly didn't revolve around this boy. Fortunately, she still had one son left, and Mordred was now certain to be the deciding force in the wars to come. It certainly wasn't going to be this one, anyway. Still, she kept watching as the boy finally wrestled the bucket out of the well, filling the one he had brought along with him and standing on his toes to put the original one back. Then he picked up his own bucket, lugging it inexpertly off to the east, towards the shops on High Street.
After a few minutes, the boy bumped into the baker. Morgan paused in her shadowing of him to listen to the short conversation, curious to see how the boy would handle the hulking man who clearly looked down upon him.
"Where are ye takin' that water, laddie?" the baker demanded gruffly.
"To my aunts'," the child answered, his voice so quiet that Morgan had to cast a quick spell to hear him.
"Who might 'ey be? I ain't seen ye 'round here before."
"The town spinsters," the boy whispered, and Morgan wanted to shake some confidence into him. Where is his father? Did the fool finally get himself killed? She didn't even remember his name, only his leering face. And the horrified expression he had worn when she left their child in his arms.
"Eh," the baker spat. "Strange 'uns, those two."
Morgan watched as he only shrugged, clearly intimidated by the butcher. Part of her wanted to step in, wanted to say something, but that was a road she wasn't prepared to go down. You walked away, she told herself. He's human, without magic, and therefore useless for your cause. She had made the right choice. She had made the only choice. More importantly, her last child could not survive the ravages of the crystal cave she still waited in, and Morgan had not the power to protect him.
So she walked away before the baker took the bucket from the boy, before she could see him walking home in tears to the two women who had taken her place. She had to leave. She could not come back. She would never see him again, and she would have to forget. A human child had no place in her world. He would be abused far worse there than he ever could be here, and Morgan could do nothing for him. She had not the power to protect him, even from her own home.
Seer though she was, Morgan did not anticipate seeing her youngest son ever again.
"We should go to the shop today." Belle eyed the much reduced stack of boxes and sighed. "I should open the library, but—but I don't really want to be alone."
She hadn't meant to let the last words slip out, but Belle couldn't really regret them when Rumplestiltskin's arms slipped around her from behind. She leaned into her husband, letting her eyes slide shut and burying her face in his shoulder. Belle wanted to so badly to be strong, and usually she managed to do so, but she had promised her husband that she wouldn't hide her own doubts or demons if he wouldn't hide his. A burden shared is a burden halved, she told herself, and was surprised to find how true she found that.
"Then don't." His voice was gentle. "It's hardly been two days, sweetheart. I know I'm still feeling unsettled, too. We'd made our lives there…and now it's gone."
"Sometimes I think it's a good thing," she admitted. "Having a fresh start will probably help us, because we won't look around the house and think of everything that we did or didn't do there. I mean, I'm grateful you could save my books and everything out of the cellar, but I'll miss everything else. Is that shallow of me?"
"Of course it isn't." Rumplestiltskin's words were slightly muffled against her hair, but Belle could understand him just fine. "You spent thirty years in two different prisons, and before that, much though neither of us likes to phrase it so, you were my prisoner."
"Caretaker." Belle spoke the correction out of habit, and then shook her head. "Honestly, Rumple, I didn't feel like your prisoner the moment you let me out of that dungeon—after what, a week?" She smiled at the memory. "No prisoner could ever walk all over their captor in the ways I did you. You let me get away with so many things, and I knew that even then. Besides, I learned what being an actual prisoner was like with Regina."
She felt his arms tighten around her, and Belle snuggled closer, slipping her arms around her husband's waist in turn. "I'm still so sorry for that. If I'd realized she was lying and looked for you—"
"We can't change that, and you didn't know."
"Still, if I'd been half as smart as I'm supposed to be, you wouldn't have spent thirty years in prisons." He hesitated, and Belle could practically feel him fighting back his instinctual self-loathing. "And I know that's why you're so upset over losing the house. It was the first place of safety and freedom you had after being locked up for so long."
"I hadn't thought of it that way." Belle bit her lip, thinking about what Rumplestiltskin had just said. But he was right, wasn't he? She'd gone to the little apartment over the library after that first big fight of theirs, but she'd moved back into Rumple's house the day he returned from Neverland. That had been the moment where they knew they'd spend the rest of forever together, and Belle had always felt like the pink house was more home than the apartment had ever been.
"I know. You're too optimistic."
"I guess." Knowing what caused her mixed emotions made them easier to overcome, though, didn't it? Belle let out a breath. "I still feel guilty about closing the library so often, though."
Rumplestiltskin's sudden chuckle startled her. "Has it occurred to you that you could always hire an assistant?"
"An assistant?"
"Why not? At this point, it's not like Regina is going to tell you no." She could feel his sly smile. "And I'm quite sure you can find someone who likes books enough and wants a job."
"I can think of a few people." A smile tugged at her lips despite the loss that still weighed on her heart, and Belle looked up at her husband. "But you know what? Having you is what's important. Everything else is replaceable."
His hand came up to touch her face. "You are my world, Belle."
"And you're mine." Coming up on her toes, Belle kissed him lightly. "Not some house, and not stuff. You are my home. Wherever we may be."
For a moment, she contemplated letting Zelena force that potion down Robin's throat. Making Regina suffer the loss of her love would be rather beautiful irony. Perhaps that was what Regina deserved. A few days ago, Emma certainly would have let it happen. After all, why else free Zelena? She'd known that Zelena would go after Robin eventually, and Emma had calculated that, whatever collateral damage Zelena caused in the process, she would be able to live with it. But now her conscience stirred.
Not because she was any less angry at Regina. If possible, Emma was even angrier with Regina, now, having watched Henry's other mother continue to exist in the warm embrace of Emma's family and be at peace with her own lover. Regina was happy while Emma remained isolated—and yet she was self-honest enough to realize that was her own doing. She had chosen to separate herself from her family so that she could protect them from the toxic darkness inside her. Emma knew that, but it still burned to watch Regina sit down at breakfast with her son, her father, and her little brother in a carrier by David's side. She'd seen that this morning, and the darkness kept whispering that she should simply allow Zelena to ruin Regina's life, once and for all.
Except she knew how she would have felt if someone tried to do the same to her. She wanted her family back, and if someone had tried to take Killian from her the way Zelena wanted to take Robin away…
Enough is enough, Emma decided. Besides, she had other things for Zelena to do.
"I don't think so." She stepped out from her hiding place amongst the trees and plucked the vial out of Zelena's hand right before the Wicked Witch could force the sparkling water down Robin's throat, waving a hand and releasing Robin from the spell that held him in place.
"What?" Zelena yelped, looking affronted as Robin wisely skittered back a few steps, rubbing his jaw and eying the bottle that Emma now held.
"I have better things for you to do than play house with him." Emma met those angry blue eyes easily; Zelena didn't frighten her. The other woman had stolen a child, burned a house down, and kidnapped an unsuspecting outlaw who didn't have magic. Emma could have done that in her sleep before becoming the Dark One.
"I don't care! I want Regina to suffer, and this is how I'm going to get it." Zelena glared. "You said you didn't care about my methods."
Emma shrugged. "I'm changing our deal."
"You can't do that."
"Can't I?" she laughed, drawing her magic, her darkness, closer to the surface. Even Robin seemed to feel it, judging from the way he shivered, and Zelena definitely did. Of course, the witch sneered derisively, but Emma knew she was masking fear.
I'm not a Dark One you can cage and control, she thought coldly.
"And how are you going to make me do what you want?" Zelena challenged her, baring her teeth.
"Do you really want to have that conversation?" Emma kept her voice mild, cocking her head. She could think of a thousand ways to make Zelena suffer, but sometimes a carrot was a better tool than a stick. "Or would you rather have something for yourself that Regina can't match?"
Oh, that got her attention. "Like what?"
"I was thinking of a king." Emma didn't need the darkness to figure out how to manipulate Zelena, not really, but the suggestions that it whispered in her mind were a little useful. "There are two new ones to choose from, after all."
"I'm listening." Zelena's eyes were narrowed, but Emma knew she had her. And Robin's, too, but she'd deal with that later.
"Well, you could go for Arthur, but he seems rather nauseatingly attached to his wife." She shrugged. "So, I would recommend Mordred, though he seems interested in Regina. At the moment."
"Why in the world would he want her?" Zelena demanded.
Emma just shrugged. "I can't imagine. Perhaps you should…redirect his interests." She could see the wheels turning, and it just took a little tiny poke to send the hamsters in the direction she wanted. "Still, if you want him to have real power, you might want to dispose of Arthur, first. If you do, you'll be able to ally with the one true king of Camelot…who also happens to be a sorcerer that would put Regina to shame."
Having faced Mordred, Emma had a pretty good grip on his talents. He was certainly more practiced than Regina, not to mention powerful enough to give even the Dark One pause. The darkness inside her hated him, too, so she was rather happy to send Zelena his way. Particularly if she kills Arthur, first. That would dispose of two problems. And then I will get to see how Queen Guinevere—or whoever she actually is—reacts.
"I might be persuaded." Zelena was temporizing, but Emma knew she had her. She could see the interest in Zelena's eyes, so Emma only waved a hand casually, gesturing at Robin.
"Take your time. But leave him with me."
Robin took a step back; Zelena considered him wolfishly. "Well, I hope you go for a little revenge at least." A pouting sneer. "Dark One."
Emma waited for her to vanish before turning to face Robin. The outlaw spoke up immediately:
"Whatever you're going to do, get on with it. If I have to listen to another villain's self-justifying monologue, I'm going to vomit."
"Someone's been taking lessons on being snarky from Regina," she commented mildly. Emma hadn't expected Robin to bite back so quickly.
He shrugged. "I hate to disappoint you, but I've always been this way."
"Oh, it doesn't matter to me. But I would think some thanks are in order, since I did just save you from a memory wipe and a very nasty fate. Unless you wanted to jump into bed with Zelena. Again."
"No." The stormy look on his face spoke volumes. "But I'll wait on thanking you until I find out exactly what you have in mind for me. Because I doubt you're going to send me home with cookies and flowers."
"No, and I'm not going to send you home with a memory of my conversation with Zelena, either."
Emma saw no reason to lie to him, instead turning to look at the vial of water she still held in her hand. It was from the Forbidden Fountain, and Zelena had been right. A bit of magic could change the waters' properties, allowing someone with enough skill or power to manipulate how much a person forgot. Emma hadn't considered how useful the fountain at the Sorcerer's house might be until Zelena brought it up, but the waters really were spectacular. The longer she studied the vial, the more she understood about the fountain, and oh, it could be very useful. If someone drank enough of the water, they would actually be exiled from the lands of fairy tales and magic forever. And I can definitely make use of that.
Send him, the darkness whispered. Make him drink enough, and Regina will never see her soulmate again. You know you want to.
With an effort, Emma shoved that voice aside, just as Robin spat out:
"So, you're going to feed me the same thing she was. Who am I going to wake up thinking I love instead of Regina, then?"
"Oh, no one. You'll remember Regina; I'm not that cruel." Emma smiled. "But I can't have you sharing my plans, either, so drink up. Unless you do want something worse to happen to you."
Robin eyed her warily as she offered the vial. "Why should I trust you?"
"I could have let Zelena erase your memories and seduce you."
"True enough." Robin took the vial from her and studied it for a long moment before shrugging. "Bottoms up, I guess."
Emma watched with narrowed eyes as Robin drank the water, judging the moment to teleport him away. If she timed it just right, he wouldn't remember anything from the moment Zelena pulled him away from the sheriff's station, and she could return him to the exact spot he'd left. Robin might not even realize he was missing some memories, which, as far as Emma was concerned, was ideal.
Unfortunately, she missed the timing by a few seconds, and Robin saw Emma before her magic swept him away.
"It's not working." Belle huffed in frustration and then turned her glare on him, looking away from the candle on the front counter. "Why isn't it working?"
Rumplestiltskin couldn't remember ever having seen Belle so frustrated. His wife was so brilliant that she always succeeded at every task she set for herself, and usually on the first try. Belle wasn't accustomed to encountering problems that she couldn't think her way through; applying enough study and enough intelligence worked for her. Now, however, she was growing increasingly discouraged. He reached out to put a gentle hand on her arm.
"You're thinking too much. You're trying to think about whyand howit will happen instead of willing it to happen. Magic is not an intellectual endeavor."
"It is for you," Belle snapped, and then flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. But I see how you study, and how you construct spells. And potions are about thinking!"
He should have known that his usual lines wouldn't work on her; Rumplestiltskin smiled. "Yes, but now you're talking about power, sweetheart. And power begins with emotion, not intellect. You have to feel the magic before you can control it."
"Tell me what I'm doing wrong?"
"Of course." Rumplestiltskin stepped around behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and squeezing gently. Belle was tense, so very tense, so he absently rubbed his thumbs against the taut muscles in her neck until he heard her sigh softly. "Remember what I told you before? I need you to find a memory, a moment when you found pure joy. A time you were so happy you could burst."
"I can think of several—"
"Just one," he cut her off gently, shifting so that he could bring his face closer to her left ear. "You only need one. Do you have it?"
Belle let out a deep breath. "I think so. Yes."
"Then hold that thought in your mind. Remember how that moment made you feel. Remember the emotions, the joy, the feeling, not the specifics of what happened. Hold onto that feeling, and close your eyes."
"Why?" Typical Belle she wanted details. Specifics. Analysis. As frustrating as those tendencies were while teaching her magic, Rumplestiltskin had to bite back a fond smile. The amount of love he felt for this woman—particularly now, when it was only his love, untainted by darkness howling within him—could lift him up on any given day.
I need to bottle that love, he remembered abruptly. They'd talked about it, but he'd yet to get around to making that True Love potion. Soon. But not now.
"Will you trust me?" he asked instead of answering her question.
"Of course."
Hearing that from her, after all they had been through, filled his heart to bursting. Rumplestiltskin leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "For now," he promised. "I'll explain later. But now, close your eyes and feel that memory. Call that joy to your heart and let it fill you."
Dark magic had been so much easier for him as the Dark One, for obvious reasons. But every now and then, he'd been able to summon up enough joy to do something else, and Rumplestiltskin was now able to explore the light side of magic as well. Belle, however, practically glowed with power as she did as she was told. He could feel the magic filling her. She opened her mouth to ask more, but he squeezed her shoulders to cut her off.
"Now, focus on the candle. Hold onto those feelings, and just tell the candle to light. Don't think about how or why. Just will it."
"But how—"
"No questions. Just will the candle to light. You can do it, Belle. I know you can."
Rumplestiltskin felt the magic before Belle did, probably, felt it building and filling her. The flame sprang into existence a moment later, flickering out of nothingness as a small spark and then growing larger—too large—until it calmed back down, settling into a more-or-less normal size for the candle. Belle's eyes popped open almost immediately, and she squealed with delight.
"I did it!"
"I told you so." His own grin was rather ridiculous, though; Rumplestiltskin didn't get to say I told you so very often to his brilliant wife, and he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity.
"So you did." Belle turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly. "I suppose I should listen to you about magic. You are the Sorcerer, after all. Doesn't that make you some sort of expert?"
"I do think so." He winked. "Perhaps"
Rumplestiltskin, of course, had been considered an expert on magic for many, many years. Yet he'd never been so comfortable in that knowledge before. As the Dark One, knowledge had simply been a way to access more power. Oh, he'd enjoyed the pursuit of said knowledge—there was a reason he and Belle had fallen for one another, after all, and their first shared love had been books—but it had always been a means to an end. Even if that end was only finding a way other than spinning to quiet that inner voice, or using knowledge and study to fill the empty years. Now, however, he really could use magic to help people, just like he'd wanted to in the beginning.
He could also enjoy learning. And teaching. The fact that he'd loved to teach, loved the connection it gave him with people (a connection he would never have had otherwise), when he'd been the Dark One had been one of his deepest secrets. How else could he ever have something close to a friend? Until Belle, no one had ever wanted to be around him for him; they'd always wanted something from him. Yet when he was teaching, Rumplestiltskin had been able to pretend that his students cared about him.
Now, however…now everything was different. And he had the woman he loved in his arms, beaming at him.
"So, what next?" Belle bounced eagerly, which did unfortunate things to his libido. The idea of her doing magic was already something he found incredibly sexy, and Rumplestiltskin half wondered if he'd need his own spells to keep himself from being distracted. Fortunately, her glowing smile turned his mind away from the old loneliness and heartbreak, far more easily than it once might have. He wasn't quite a new man, not exactly, but Rumplestiltskin wouldn't let himself be dragged down by the darkness that had corrupted him for so long, either. I love this woman so much.
"I thought you might learn to put the candle out before we move on," he suggested, and Belle looked a little disappointed. Rumplestiltskin leaned in to kiss her gently. "Small steps, sweetheart. You have to master the basics, first, and then you can move onto bigger and better things."
"I know." She nodded firmly, and he could see her researcher's face sliding firmly into place. "All right. Do I do the same thing? Feel the emotion and then will the candle out?"
"Exactly."
Belle turned around, and Rumplestiltskin shifted his hands to her waist instead of letting go of her. She shot him a quick over the shoulder smile, and then closed her eyes again. He felt her exhale slowly, and then, almost immediately, the candle went out. Belle's eyes flew open again. "I did it!"
"Of course you did. I've rarely known you to need to be told how to do something more than once." Teaching someone had never felt this good. Was it simply because of how very much he loved her, or was it that the joy of using light magic was contagious? Some call magic an addiction, but this, this is my addiction. Watching Belle smile, watching her learn and grow and love every moment of it. Yes, magic could be a drug—but there really was nothing wrong with the 'high' if it came from what that magic could do. Once, with the darkness eating at his soul, Rumplestiltskin had felt the rush of power, of hurting and manipulating others. It had been a high like none other.
Except this. This was stronger. Using magic to help others, like his innocent spinner self had once wanted to do, felt far better. And this time, he knew he wasn't teaching an Evil Queen or a Wicked Witch. He was teaching Belle, who always helped others. Even when people ignored her, belittled her accomplishments, or flat out told her she was wrong, Belle wanted to help them. She cares for even those who have hurt her. Including me. Rumplestiltskin knew that he would never, not in a thousand years, earn the forgiveness his wife had already given him. But he also knew he would try.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Belle teased him, breaking through his reverie.
He grinned. "Won't it?"
"No." She swatted him playfully. "What now?"
"Oh, I'm afraid you're going to be relighting and extinguishing that candle for most of the afternoon," he told her seriously. "It has to become…instinct. Second nature. You need to be able to reach for your magic and find the appropriate emotion immediately, without hesitation. And the best way to do that is by starting small."
"That makes sense." Her blue eyes twinkled as she glanced at him. "So, I guess I shouldn't start with trying to save someone from a dangerous spell, then?"
"No." He still couldn't get over what she had done; the very thought made Rumplestiltskin shiver. Belle had nearly drained herself dry saving him, but she had saved him. He'd had to pry Zelena's nasty little spell off of her afterwards, though, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin had actually thought he would lose her. "No, you shouldn't."
"I don't regret doing it." Belle's voice was a whisper, but she met his eyes steadily.
"And I'm grateful, sweetheart, it's just—" He swallowed hard. "I just want to protect you."
Belle turned to cup his face in her hands. "Sometimes, it's about protecting one another."
"All right." Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes as he breathed the words, and felt Belle's forehead come to rest against his. "I love you so much."
"And I love you, too, silly man."
Holding her was heaven, but before either of them could say or do more, the door to the shop opened, complete with the little bell ringing. Sighing, Rumplestiltskin pulled back, expecting to see David or even Regina. But the snarky remark died on his lips when Sir Percival walked in, followed closely by Arthur and Guinevere. Well, I wasn't expecting royalty so early in the morning, he thought, but managed not to say it. Barely.
"Are you Lady Belle?" Arthur asked without preamble as Percival fell back, seemingly guarding the door to keep anyone else from entering the shop.
"I am." She glanced Rumple's way, and he could sense her discomfort. Sir Percival had asked the exact same question three days earlier, and they had both found it odd, then. The knight had been persistently focused, but Arthur was even more so. His blue eyes burned into the pair, pausing on Rumplestiltskin…hostilely?
It had been some time since someone had looked at him like that, yet Rumplestiltskin somehow got the impression that it was because of the way his left hand was still resting on Belle's waist.
"Was your mother's name Colette?" Again, the question came from Arthur. Guinevere just watched with uncanny eyes, and somewhere deep inside Rumplestiltskin, instinct twinged.
I've seen her before. Not here. Here she was Widow Morton, but…in Merlin's memories?
But reaching for Merlin provided no answers. The old sorcerer was growing weaker and weaker, particularly after that little spell of Zelena's. He barely spoke to Rumplestiltskin, now; their communication tended to come when memories of Merlin's bubbled up and caught the new Sorcerer unawares.
"Why do you want to know that?" Belle was growing tense, and Rumplestiltskin gently squeezed her waist, running his fingers comfortingly against her side. She wasn't ticklish, not like he was, and they both knew her mother was still a sensitive subject, even after all these years.
Arthur grimaced. "Please answer the question."
Camelot's formerly sleeping king sounded desperate, however, and Rumplestiltskin knew that always tugged on Belle's heartstrings. So, she nodded slowly. "Yes. My mother's name was Colette. She died years before the curse."
"She died without ever telling you about her family, didn't she?" Arthur now looked devastated, yet Rumplestiltskin did not miss the slight hesitation that came before Guinevere reached out to put a hand on his arm. Widow Morton, he mused. Mort, as in death? The curse never chose names by accident.
Belle blinked. "She never spoke much of them. She told me she'd been taken from her home as a child."
"She did?" Arthur and Guinevere exchanged looks, but it was Guinevere who spoke up.
"We lost our daughter a long time ago," she said softly. "She was stolen from us by a knight we once trusted, taken to a realm outside of Camelot. We have searched for her ever since…and now blood magic leads us to you."
"To me? You think…I'm a descendant of your daughter's?" Belle gaped.
"Our daughter's name was Colette."
Belle stared; Rumplestiltskin felt her groping for his hand and met her fingers halfway. "You're…you're telling me that I'm your granddaughter. That you're my grandparents. But how? You lived centuries before I was born."
"We don't know," Arthur answered. "When you were stolen away, we searched ceaselessly. There were rumors that my stepsister—Morgan—created a time portal for Lancelot to take Colette through, but Morgan never admitted to it."
"Wouldn't that break the laws of magic?" Belle glanced Rumplestiltskin's way, and he knew she was taking refuge in knowledge and logic to distance herself from the emotional implications of what she'd been told. He answered anyway.
"Not exactly. The laws of magic say that you cannot change the past. Technically, sending someone—or several someones—forward into time would change nothing. But it would take an extraordinary amount of power."
Rumplestiltskin spent a moment musing on exactly how much power it would take to create such a time portal. Zelena's had been nothing in comparison; she'd wanted to go back less than a century, and she had had the Dark One's power at her disposal as well as her own. To create such a spell alone, and to use it to send at least two people forward approximately eight hundred years, would have taken a sorceress of the likes he had never met before. Emma could have had the power, perhaps, if she'd been properly trained before becoming the Dark One. Either way, if Morgan le Fae had done it, she was indeed everything that legend had said she was.
"But it's possible?" Belle's voice was very quiet, and her eyes searched his face desperately, asking Rumplestiltskin if this insanely unexpected news could possibly be true.
"Yes." He answered both questions with a squeeze of her hand. "Though I would like to independently confirm the blood link before we get too far ahead of ourselves."
Belle's smile was grateful, but Arthur's voice was suspicious. "Who exactly are you?"
"Rumplestiltskin," he answered simply, knowing that Arthur wouldn't know the name. He'd gone to Camelot far after their time. Mordred had recognized him; his father would not. Yet Guinevere—Widow Morton—might know of him. She had been here under both curses, he realized. How in the world did she come forward in time, if not with her daughter? There were holes in this story. Important ones. Something about Guinevere did not add up, and she did not look surprised.
"And who are you to stand so intimately with—"
"My husband," Belle cut in, and her (presumed) grandfather cut off, his mouth flopping open in shock for a moment before it snapped shut.
"Our apologies," Guinevere interjected smoothly. "This is all very unexpected. We simply wish to know you…Belle. Your mother was taken from us far too soon, and we understand that she is dead."
Belle nodded. "She died during the Fourth Ogre War."
Arthur flinched; Guinevere smiled sadly. "Then…please, let us know you. We will, of course, be happy to submit to whatever confirmation spells the Sorcerer wishes. We have nothing to hide."
"Sorcerer?" Arthur twisted to look at his wife.
"It happened shortly before you arrived. Merlin's power found a new…home." The way she inclined her head to him set Rumplestiltskin's instincts on edge, but he had no idea why.
"I see." Merlin had warned him against Arthur, told him that Arthur had not become the man he'd hoped. Now Rumplestiltskin heard the edge in the other man's voice, and did not wonder why.
Guinevere gave Arthur a reassuring smile. "It seems our granddaughter has married well. And this man is not Merlin."
"All the better." Arthur turned to Rumplestiltskin with a smile. "My apologies. This is a new and different world, and I fear I am not familiar with its customs."
"It's strange for everyone at first," Belle, ever the peacemaker, spoke up. And then, being Belle, she started trying to get to know her new grandparents—even as Rumplestiltskin took hairs from both of them to do the required spells. He could have used blood, but doing so seemed a rather crass way to introduce himself from his presumptive grandparents-in-law. He had a touchy enough relationship with Moe French as things stood, and Rumplestiltskin could do without incurring the hatred of Belle's grandparents.
Still, there was something in Guinevere's very stance that made him uneasy. She moved like the dancer Widow Morton had been, self-confident and poised, yet there was something else there. Something dangerous. Rumplestiltskin had never looked into Widow Morton; she'd never been important. Until now.
"I wonder what they want with Gold." Emma's voice was low and unhappy, and made Killian look up from the television.
"Come again?"
Emma put the two bags from Granny's down on the coffee table. "Arthur and his wife," she sneered. "I saw them going into Gold's shop. I don't trust it."
"Much though it pains me to say it, he's not like he was, love." Killian would never like Rumplestiltskin, but he understood what becoming the Dark One did to someone. I look at the effects every day, he thought sadly, watching Emma sit down by his side. She was poised and self-contained, this Emma, with none of the casual grace his Emma had.
"I know. I've been talking to him."
That made him gape. "You've been what? What form of special Dark One insanity would possess you do to something like that?"
"He doesn't judge me." She shrugged, giving him a sideways look as Killian tried to swallow his guilt. "Even you do. Even when you don't mean to."
"Emma…" Killian didn't know what to say. Yes, he judged her. Yes, he wanted his Emma back, the real Emma. Not this Dark One walking around in Emma's skin, with some of her mannerisms and all of her memories. He wanted to change her, so yes, he supposed that was judging her in the worst of ways.
"I don't blame you. You can't understand." Her face closed off. "He does."
Telling her not to trust the crocodile was on the tip of his tongue, but Killian stopped himself. He hadn't had much contact with Rumplestiltskin, yet he did know Belle well enough to believe her when she said her husband had changed. And the old bastard had helped them more than once, including turning back the four people Emma had made into stone statues for birds to leave their droppings on. If he can change that much after being freed from the darkness, so can Emma. That thought was strangely comforting, so Killian bit his tongue.
"Does he have anything interesting to say?" he asked curiously. "Or is he just giving you advice on how to best torment the denizens of Storybrooke?"
"I don't need advice on how to torment people. The voices in my head have that covered." Another detached shrug. "Rumplestiltskin thinks there might be a way to pull the darkness from me and then trap it before it can possess someone else."
"Do you think he can?" Killian's heart almost stopped. Hadn't Mordred said he could do the same? Was the Crocodile up to his old tricks, stealing other peoples' ideas and claiming credit? Or did he have a darker purpose in mind? Trusting Rumplestiltskin was still perhaps a bridge too far, and the idea of Emma going to him for help was disquieting.
"He knows it better than anyone." Emma's voice dropped to a whisper, suddenly vulnerable and a little scared. "Better than me, even. He says that if I'm willing, he'll find a way."
"Are you?" He couldn't stop himself from asking.
"I don't know."
Wordlessly, Emma leaned into him, and Killian wrapped his left arm around her. She was conflicted, he knew. Some days, she'd say she was better like this. Others, she knew what had happened to her. But when push came to shove, Killian had learned how tenacious that darkness would be. If Emma could have given it up willingly, she would have already. Which meant that the former Dark One's plan was worthless. Mordred, on the other hand, said he could stop the darkness whether or not Emma wanted to let it go. Sorry, Crocodile. You might have changed, but I'll trust my family over you any day.
A/N: I've written another outtake from this story, titled "Ruins of Memories". It's up on my tumblr (toseehowthestoryeends; the link is in my profile). It takes place after chapter 27 and covers the aftermath of Belle and Rumple dealing with the aftermath of Zelena's spell and their destroyed home.
Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty—"Loyal in Friendship", in which Henry's plan to reconcile Emma with Regina comes into play, Rumplestiltskin is tipped off about the trap that Mordred is working on, Zelena plans to get the dagger, and Belle pays her father a visit.
