He'd nearly lost his sense completely when Jones turned and left him there alone to consider what he'd said. They were the worst words he'd ever heard in his life. At home there was a little boy, waiting for him to bring his mother home. But his mother would never come home, not ever again. Somewhere on this ship, she was here, hidden away, scared, maybe thinking of Baelfire and knowing that she would never see her boy again! And what was he to say to that when he got home? That he couldn't rescue his mother? That he couldn't save her? That he hadn't tried because a pirate had challenged him to a duel and his mind had filled with all manner of awful things so that he hadn't even been able to pick up the damn sword!
Maybe Milah was right. He'd tried his hardest to avoid it, to tell himself that she was wrong and didn't understand, but maybe it was true. Maybe he was a coward. Oh, yes, he'd come home from the wars to see his son, because the thought of leaving him fatherless left such an awful taste in his mouth, but he'd also been scared too. He'd been scared of the places he'd seen, the people he'd met, and the things he'd known. Had he been afraid to die because he hadn't wanted to leave his child fatherless? Or had he just been afraid to die? Had he really not picked that sword up, or saved Milah because he didn't want to orphan his son? Or was it because he was too scared?
He'd never know the answer. Before he could say another word, the Captain had roused the crew with powerful words he could not hear over the blood rushing past his ears, there was talk of setting off, and a man was assigned to see him, the "land lover" back to the place he belonged. Without warning, two of them had picked him up, swept him right off his feet like some kind of pathetic damsel, and taken him to shore. He yelled, his voice rose though it sounded no different from how it had with the Captain, high pitched and child-like, as he kicked and plead to be let go. They only laughed as he blubbered, tears falling from his eyes the farther and farther he got from Milah. When they set him down and he made an effort to go after him one of them pushed him down onto the dock and the other reached forward, took his cane, and lobbed it several feet from him back on land, so that there was no doubt he could not be able to get up and come after them.
He cried. He begged for help as he crawled across the dock unable to go more than a couple of steps on his bad leg without falling again. There were people there, people from town that he did not recognize by name but knew he sold yarn to. They didn't help him. Through his tears and pleading, they did not once help him off the ground, but instead averted their eyes. He was nothing to them. Nothing but a scared man to be pitied, no better than a beggar off the street or a con-artist like his father. Every step he made toward his cane was progress, but in his mind he felt a loss. Dignity, respect, power, courage, strength. By the time he finally reached his cane there was a hallow place in his chest where those things had once dwelled. They were gone now, and when he turned around, so was the ship.
The ship was gone. They'd set said while he'd been making his way over to his cane, which happened to be the only thing keeping his slouched form upright at the moment. Unless he dared to swim, unless he found some kind of courage to dive into those waters, paddle out to them, board the ship, and take Milah home by force, there was no hope for her now. And he knew that there was no chance he'd ever possess any of the qualities needed to do that. And perhaps scariest of all was that under all the pain he felt, under all the sadness and humiliation and embarrassment, there was a small seed of relief inside of him. Relief that he was alive, relief that he was excused, relief that the Captain hadn't listened to him and heard him out a second time...relief that Milah was gone-
He hated himself for it. He hated himself for even thinking such thoughts, for finding something good out of this tragedy. He was a coward. That only proved it.
The trek home felt longer than it ever had, more painful. He was aware of the pain in his ankle in a way that he never had been before. Aware of how every step was painful and made his knee buckle, aware of how desperate he was to hold onto the cane, aware of how weak and small and insignificant he was to everyone who passed by him. He felt like they already knew, like they could read in his face exactly what he hadn't done to ensure his wife's safety. His wife! His poor helpless wife, was trapped with a band of bloodthirsty pirates, who lusted after goats after days on sea! Milah didn't stand a chance. And that was his fault. He'd been charged with her safety. He had failed her. And his boy.
Margery was sitting outside his house when he finally arrived. She stood up to say something, but he was distracted by the sudden sound of laughter coming from inside the house.
"The children wanted to help Baelfire sort the wool," Margery explained. "Milah…"
He glanced at her as gaze wandered, looking around as if expecting to catch Milah hiding behind a tree. But when she didn't find her, her gaze saddened. He looked away when she looked back at him, unable to look her in the eyes. He could only guess at what he'd see there. Pity. Disappointment. Disgrace.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her move to touch him, perhaps put her arms around him, but he flinched away. He did not want comfort. After what just happened, the fate he'd left Milah to, he did not deserve such a thing. And now to tell Baelfire…?
His heart raced as he heard Margery open the door and call her boys out of the house, leaving Baelfire alone. How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to explain the fate Milah faced to a boy so young as his own. He had barely understood his father's betrayal at his age, how would he understand his own. On her way out, he heard Margery whisper that she'd bring by some soup for them later that night before she wished him luck. But he felt luck had very little to do with this. If it had, Milah never would have been taken in the first place.
Inside, he found Baelfire sitting next to piles of wool he had yet to spin. His fingers were itching to spin it, his brain desperate to deposit all these terrible, terrible memories into yarn he could sell and forget about. But he couldn't do that yet, not with Baelfire sitting in front of him looking at him with eyes wide and expectant as he was. And the truth was he wouldn't ever be able to forget this. Somethings, like his father's betrayal, the truth about his mother, what happened in the Ogre Wars, they stayed with him forever. This would be a sin like those. This was a burden he would always carry with him.
"Papa?" Baelfire questioned as he came closer. "When's mom coming home?"
He tried to hold his head up high, to keep his back straight but he felt too lowly for such a thing as posture to make any difference. He'd only be pretending to be what he wasn't. The question had cut into him, made him stagger just a bit more than normal. When was his mother coming home? Never. And it was because of him. His boy would have a father, but he'd remain motherless now for the rest of his life all because of him. He should have died in the Ogre War. A boy needed his mother. But how was he to tell him that?
He clutched his cane tight against him and took a deep breath. "She isn't."
Bae was quiet, almost too quiet, as he looked him over. He blinked a couple of times, but didn't cry. He was a brave lad, nothing like him. "Why not?"
Could he do this? Could he tell his son the truth of what had happened? How he'd shown up late and used him to try and garner sympathy for a safe release instead of picking up the damn sword and fighting for his wife, instead of even trying to rescue his mother?! Could he tell him on the same day he lost his mother that his father was a coward? No better than the boy called Peter Pan?
He took a few steps forward and joined his son, lowered himself down to look him in the eyes no matter how difficult it was for him with his ankle. The words filled his lungs, the truth rose in his throat, and was there, sitting just behind his lips as he struggled to get it out.
"Because she's dead, son!"
He hadn't thought about the lie he wanted to tell until now. He hadn't ever made up his mind that he wanted to say it and couldn't remember ever weighing whether this was the right course of action. But there it was. He should correct it, he should tell him that she was still alive but trapped on a ship of pirates and that meant she was as good as dead because of what he'd done. But he couldn't say it. The truth was just as afraid as he was, it was burrowing down into that place where he once kept his pride and hiding there.
His son finally started to cry, one stray silent tear out of his eye as he pulled him in closer to his chest. He felt his body tighten, that space inside of him compress in an attempt to force the truth from him. But no matter what it just would not come.
"I'm so sorry," he wept holding onto him. "I'm so sorry Bae…"
The tides turned, the moment he felt his son's back tremble and he let out a wail he felt his own tears ease so he could comfort his son. A boy didn't just need a mother, he needed parents. That was impossible for Bae, now. It seemed he'd been doomed since his birth to be with only one of them and if Milah couldn't be here by his side then Baelfire didn't need to know why. He didn't need to think that the one person he had left in the world to protect him couldn't or wouldn't protect him some day. He had to trust him no matter how undeserving of that trust he was.
"I promise you, I'll never let anything happen to you," he swore as he rubbed his back. "We'll always be together. Always."
Growing up with a father was better than no parents at all. Even if his father was the village coward.
This was the chapter of complete and utter defeat. It was the chapter that I wanted to break our dear Rumple, which killed me, because of all the things that Milah did in their marriage, this is the part that I struggle to get past most of all. Rumple's walk, his entire journey, from the ship back to his home and including what he had to tell Baelfire, is an experience I can't even imagine having to comprehend. He's humiliated and broken and degraded not just by the world around him, but by himself as well now. No person should ever have to feel the way that Rumpe is made to feel here. No one. Writing this chapter broke my heart. Editing it was just as bad. But happy thought...in the end, Rumple does find happiness, even if it's centuries away.
Thank you, thank you, thank you MerlockVonBaron, Grace5231973, and Fox24 for your reviews on the last chapter. Next up is the last chapter for this fiction. One of the hardest things about these two fictions was figuring out where to end this one and begin the next one. I had several options in mind. I did for a while consider ending it with Rumple becoming the Dark One, but then decided that I wanted this fiction to be about Rumple and Milah and that was all about Rumple and Bae. I considered for a while ending it right here as the next chapter could easily fit in with the Rumple/Bae theme of the next fiction, but I wanted a buffer chapter of sorts. I figured that if possible it's always better to end on a happy (or in this case a happyish) note and the next chapter would definitely do that while ushering in the next fiction perfectly. Odd thing, I had the same problem with the first chapter of the next fiction as it could fit in this fiction or the next. Ultimately I used one to end this fiction and the other to begin the next. Sorry, lots of really weird info, but I do love explanations. Peace and Happy Reading!