Chapter Thirty-Seven—"Gone With the Harp's Echo"

"Well, the mob didn't gather this morning, so I suppose that's something of a victory," Regina muttered darkly, glaring at the ancient computer sitting on the sheriff's desk.

"I'll take it." David sighed wearily; the angry crowd had gathered every day for three days, and he'd really started to worry that they'd have a full-scale riot on their hands.

"Rumple might have calmed them down for now—which I can't believe I'm saying—but that's not going to help us get their trust back. Which I can't believe I'm worried about, either." There had been a time when Regina would have scoffed at the idea of winning her people's trust and would have instead insisted on their fear, but that was before Storybrooke's populace had asked her to be their mayor again. She hadn't realized how important that trust was to her until she lost it, and Regina wasn't quite sure what to do.

"There's no magical solution for that, I'm afraid." Her stepson-in-law met her eyes squarely. "We're just going to have to work for it."

Regina groaned. "I hate doing that."

"I thought you were the one who said you liked doing things the hard way?" David teased her, and she glared at him.

"Don't you know by now what a liar I am? After all the pain I put you through, even someone as thick-headed as you would have figured that out by now."

David laughed, clearly knowing that Regina's snarky response was a reflex. What really surprised her was that she laughed with him.

"He opened my book of prophecies, Mordred."

Morgan's head was still spinning from what she had learned the day before; her other son was married to the Black Fairy's granddaughter, to Arthur's granddaughter, and that fact seized her with uncharacteristic indecision. She had known her plan, had been confident in what needed to be done, and now…now she was not sure. But she was certain that Mordred was rushing into his plan to defeat the Dark One. There was no question about that.

"Your protections on that are nearly a millennium old, Mother," her protégé and son scoffed. "Nothing lasts forever. He was lucky, I'm sure."

"Or he's a relative of some sort. Is Killian certain his brother never had a child?"

Mordred rolled his eyes. "Absolutely positive."

"You are rushing into things," she said for the fourth time. "And you're going to threaten a child to do it."

"I know you find it distasteful, but she is the Dark One. If the gauntlet leads me to him—and I know it will—it is worth the sacrifice. Besides, he's thirteen. That's hardly a child."

"Child enough." Morgan rose, walking over to look her son in the eye. They were of a height, but she knew how to make Mordred feel small. She rarely looked upon him with disapproval, and she could see his unease, but that did not make her step away. "I will not support you in this. You are letting your hatred of the Dark One cloud your judgment. Emma Swan is not the real enemy here."

"No, she'll simply be a tool of that enemy. That damn Sorcerer is a fool if he thinks he can keep the dagger away from Danns' a'Bhàis," Mordred snarled. "He thinks small! He refuses an alliance with me to help the Dark One, when there's a much bigger threat at hand."

"One you did not tell him about when you offered said alliance." Morgan should have done that herself, but she had not thought that Danns' would get her claws in so quickly. Who could have predicted that Rumplestiltskin would marry her granddaughter? One who used the dagger nearly as adroitly as her grandmother. I must remember that. Was it too late to pry her son away from the Black Fairy? Morgan was not sure, and the thought terrified her.

Mordred looked at her like she was speaking nonsense. "He should trust me."

No, now was not the time to tell Mordred that Rumplestiltskin was his brother. Or that her instincts told her that it was Rumplestiltskin who was mostly likely to foil Mordred's latest scheme. Danns' might be working to pull him to her side, but he's also working with the leadership of this town. I saw that yesterday. Fortunately, as things stood right now, it was clear that Rumplestiltskin—and his wife—would choose Storybrooke over Belle's grandparents, which Morgan was glad to see, even if it meant Mordred would be stopped. Sometimes, Mordred needed a loss or two to bring his ego under control. Still, she disliked the idea of sending her son into danger, so she sighed.

"Do not do this, Mordred," Morgan said softly. "You do not know what dangers lie ahead." Neither did she, to be truthful. A thousand visions about the coming days flitted through her mind, and all Morgan truly had was a prophecy that made no sense. "The Vault will open today, but it will not reveal what you wish."

"All I'm concerned about is it opening." Mordred smiled, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "Wish me luck, Mother."

"I wish you long life, but not success in harming a child." She pulled away from him stiffly, but Mordred still walked out, confidence making his strides long and springy.

They both knew that Morgan couldn't stop him. If Mordred refused to listen to her wisdom, her power would not be sufficient. Once, she had been more powerful than her son, but no longer. Her years in a crystal cave meant that Mordred had all but outstripped her in magical scholarship, and her strength was barely beginning to return after the overwhelming feats she had accomplished at the end of the war. No, Mordred would do as he pleased…and knowing her son would survive gave Morgan little consolation. He should know better than to threaten a child, she thought sadly. But Arthur's ambition will always win out over compassion, I fear.

Belle loved her husband to distraction, but there were times that he drove her insane.

"I think that you might want to proceed with caution, that's all," Rumplestiltskin repeated stubbornly. "There's something…off about all of this, something I can't quite put my finger on. And something Merlin seems unable to say."

"About my grandparents?" That was new, and maybe not just Rumplestiltskin being paranoid. Her husband might have been a much more open man these days, but he was still maddeningly protective over her.

"He did know them."

"Well, obviously. Can you pull him out so we can all talk? Maybe Grandfather would like to see him—"

"No." Rumplestiltskin shook his head firmly. "I tried this morning. Merlin's fading faster than either of us thought he would. It hasn't even been a month, but if I pull him out again, I'm quite certain it'll kill him."

"Oh." Belle spent a moment swallowing that one. Despite their somewhat rocky beginning, Belle had become rather fond of the old sorcerer whose soul was perched inside her husband's body. Merlin wasn't a bad man, and she was willing to bet he'd been very kind and generous before his soul had gone through the meat grinder of death and darkness. She would miss him—but Merlin was hardly the subject at hand. "That aside, I'm hardly saying that we should do anything more than invite them over for dinner. I do want to tell them about my mother's death. They—they deserve to know."

A gentle hand touched her arm as Belle's voice broke; reliving her mother's death had been hard, even a day after she'd looked at the memories. Rumplestiltskin spoke gently: "I'm not saying they don't, but we need to be careful. I know you want to ask them about your magic, but I think we need to wait on that."

"Why?"

"Because we still don't know why Lancelot took your mother away. From what David tells me, he's hardly the sort to steal a child, and something doesn't add up."

"He also tried to seduce my grandmother." Arthur and Guinevere had told her about that, although they had been very careful to say that Colette had been born long before that affair.

Rumplestiltskin didn't even blink at that news. "Then that's double the reason to figure out what happened before you tell them that you inherited magic from your mother."

"Rumple."

"Something isn't right," he said for the third time, and Belle narrowed her eyes at him. It wasn't like Rumplestiltskin to be so vague about what was worrying him, unless he was trying to be evasive about something else.

"Why don't you want them to know I have magic?" she asked bluntly, fearing that she already knew the answer.

"Sweetheart, magic is power, and people often—"

"Oh, this is about power again?" Belle snapped before she could stop herself. "I should have known that everything would come back to power!"

"No! It's about you." Rumplestiltskin looked hurt that she'd suggest that, but Belle wasn't certain she was wrong. "We don't know if we can trust them, and I don't want to see you dragged into something dangerous!"

"They're my grandparents! Why would they endanger me?" she countered. "They've been nothing but kind to me!"

"They've been kind to you while they're busy putting out feelers and making connections that will let them take Storybrooke over." His eyes were hard. "They're planning something, Belle."

"That doesn't mean their 'something' revolves around me." Belle knew that she wasn't being entirely logical, but Arthur and Guinevere were the only links she had to her mother. She wanted to know them, to listen to them tell her stories about her mother's childhood. Belle wanted a relationship with them so badly that her emotions were overriding her intellect…and she knew it.

"That doesn't mean that it doesn't, either," Rumplestiltskin said softly but pointedly, and Belle sighed, fighting back the urge to storm out before they started yelling at one another again.

"I'm going to go to the library, all right? I don't want to fight, but…I need some time to cool off."

"If that's what you want." His expression went from mulish to worried, and Belle reached out to take his hands.

Belle had promised herself when she had decided to give their marriage another shot that she wouldn't ever storm out on Rumplestiltskin again without telling him where she was going. She'd done that too many times, and her husband's fragile self-esteem always made him think that she was never coming back. And she didn't want to fight. She just couldn't listen to his suspicious theories about her grandparents without exploding right now.

"I'll be back for lunch, all right?"

Rumplestiltskin squeezed her hands, and she could see the relief in his eyes, even if there was something less self-assured lurking in their depths. "All right."

Being the new deputy sheriff was still a very strange feeling. Robin didn't actually have problems with the law, or at least not so long as it protected those that needed it most, so it wasn't that. Yet he'd spent a lifetime looking over his shoulder for a certain sheriff, and it certainly didn't help that a good portion of this morning was going to be spent in Keith Nottingham's vicinity.

"It's about time you took me back to the asylum," Isaac said as Robin helped him out of the squad car. The miscreant ex-Author's hands were cuffed behind his back, despite the fact that the idea of Isaac overpowering Robin to steal the car was rather laughable. Still, Robin was a new enough driver that he didn't feel comfortable not keeping his prisoner secured. Fortunately, Isaac hadn't done anything other than complain.

"Really?" he asked incredulously. "You want to go back there?"

"Well, I didn't think anywhere could be more dreary than the asylum, but those puny little jail cells are even worse. There's no privacy in there, and I don't even have my own bathroom!"

Robin rolled his eyes. "Yes, David and I heard you say that about a thousand times."

"You know, there are laws against that kind of treatment."

"In Storybrooke?" Robin couldn't help laughing. "You're lucky Regina didn't decide to put you in a set of stocks in front of Granny's and instead settled for buying Henry a new iPod."

Isaac really had a masterful sneer, even when he was handcuffed and being marched into the hospital. "How barbaric!"

"Well, I'd tell you to call a lawyer and complain, but I don't think any of the ones in this town want to represent you." Robin snorted. "I sure wouldn't."

"That's because you're an ill-educated outlaw with no sense of propriety."

"Right." Robin didn't bother telling Isaac that he was rather well born; the idiot had written the Book and should have known that. He just punched Henry's birthday into the keypad leading down to the asylum, and led Isaac down the stairs. "Come on."

"Oh, I'm hurrying. Anything to get these handcuffs off. They're chafing my wrists something terrible." The former Author fidgeted. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask. Can't I get a typewriter or something? I've got a new story I want to write."

Robin stopped cold to look at Isaac incredulously. "Are you joking?"

"Why would I be joking? I'm a writer."

"Spare me," he muttered, and led Isaac to his specially padded cell. It was right next door to Samuel Boucher's, the butcher who had tried to beat Rumplestiltskin to death. Robin had heard that there was still a betting pool in town about how long Boucher and Nottingham would live after that stunt. Most everyone seemed to expect Rumplestiltskin to seek revenge, but over three weeks had passed, and nothing had happened.

"Thank you." Isaac sounded peevish, but Robin had worn enough shackles to know what a relief it was to get them off, so he just nodded and locked the door. A squad of Regina's old royal guard had been hired on to provide security down there, and he caught the eye of one of them, tossing the keys back.

"Quiet down here?" Technically, as David's deputy, Robin outranked the guards, which he found very, very strange. Oh, how things have changed since my outlaw days. I'm living with a queen who is also the mayor, and her royal guards respect me.

"So far. These two like to argue"—the guard gestured at Boucher and Nottingham—"but there's not exactly much they can do except yell a lot."

"And give me a headache!" Isaac called from inside his cell.

Robin turned and closed the viewing slit. He really didn't have the energy to deal with Isaac any longer, but he did want to peek in on his old enemy. Nottingham had always been a slimy bastard, and Robin was never able to convince himself that the ass was out of the way unless he saw him.

"What do you want, thief?" Nottingham growled as soon as Robin lifted the flap to peer in.

"Just to make sure you're happy and comfortable." Robin grinned, and Nottingham glared. "Don't get angry with me. You're the fool who got himself locked up for assault and attempted rape."

"Bitch had it coming," was the muttered response, and Robin's knuckles went white while he gripped the metal flap.

"You do know that the lady in question is a friend of mine," he grated out.

"All the more reason to put her in her place." Nottingham sneered, and it took all the self-control Robin possessed to not go in there and use his fists to teach his old enemy a lesson.

"I'll just put that in your record, shall I? I'm sure that the judge will be happy to know you're properly repentant." He closed the flap without another word, almost shaking in rage.

Boucher had sold Nottingham out in their first hearing, of course; the two might have been friendly, but they were hardly loyal to one another. He'd told the judge all about how Nottingham had wanted to rape Belle Gold, and about how he'd gleefully hung onto her and threatened her while Boucher had been busy beating her husband. Robin hadn't been there, but he'd read the reports, and he hadn't really been surprised. There hadn't been a safe place for young girls in the town of Nottingham, which was why so many of them had fled to the forest, choosing a morally questionable lifestyle with the Merry Men over a theoretically more honorable one in town. Robin had been a thief and an outlaw for much of his life, but he had never been the type of man Nottingham was.

And it was really nice to live in a town where bastards like that were locked away instead of being the ones running things. Evil sorcerers and Dark Ones were one thing: everyone knew they were a threat. Robin could deal with that. He was just glad that those in power actually deserved to be there.

It was about bloody time.

Will let himself in the library's side window; he really didn't want to be noticed any more than he had to be. He had no idea how the rest of the town felt about him after he'd revealed who killed Granny, and he really just wanted to go home. Yeah, Emma had come to apologize to him, but he wasn't sure she actually meant that, which meant he wanted to avoid the Dark One, too. Really, he wanted to avoid everyone but Belle, at least until he found out if she'd help him, anyway. If she wouldn't, he'd probably have to go crawling back to Mordred, which would make explaining the night he'd spent in down by the docks instead of in Mordred's castle a bit touchy.

Then he tripped over a box of books that he just hadn't noticed. His arms wind milling helplessly, Will almost caught himself on a rolling cart of books, until it toppled, too, sending thief and cart both sprawling to the floor.

"Oof!"

"What the—Will? What are you doing here?" Belle came around the corner quickly, looking down at the mess he'd made.

Will smiled sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout that. I wanted to talk to you, and I thought I was bein' sneaky."

"It's a wonder you ever succeeded as a thief," she replied with a laugh, offering him a hand up. Will took it gratefully—his left knee was sore as hell—but he made sure to let go quickly. No way was he going to piss off Belle's again-powerful husband, particularly when Belle had made her choice clear and he wanted to go home.

Assuming Ana will ever have me again after the mess I made, he tried not to think. But, just like throwing darts at her face, it never helped.

"Well, I'm usually better when there aren't so many books around, tryin' to fall on me. Never a book thief, me," he replied.

Belle laughed again. "Then why are you trying to be sneaky?"

"Habit, I guess. And I'm trying to hide from Mordred. You don't have him hanging out in here, do you?"

"No. Definitely not." Her face darkened ever so slightly, but Will hardly noticed around the butterflies bouncing in his stomach.

"Good! Right, then, I'll get to the point since there's no reason to beat around the bush. I need your help." Will hadn't meant for the words to come out in such a nervous jumble, but just thinking about Ana made him into a nervous wreck, and he didn't want to lose his courage now.

"With what?"

"I need to get home," he said bluntly. "To Wonderland. I…I never ought to've left, really. Coming here was a huge mistake." Will swallowed hard. "And…an' if you can patch things up with your husband, maybe I can fix the mess of things I made with me wife."

Belle smiled and reached out to squeeze his arm, and Will was surprised how comforting a friend's touch could be. It had been too long since he'd had real friends other than Ana, really since Alice and Cyrus had left for home. He missed them, too, but maybe once he righted things with Ana, he could convince the Rabbit to take them on a vacation together to see their old friends.

"You want me to ask Rumplestiltskin to make a portal for you," she said astutely.

"If he can. Morgan—who's a damn sight nicer than her son, really—said he should be able to." Will shifted nervously. "But, uh, I figured that asking him meself might be a bad idea. Assuming he's still likely to hold a grudge, that is."

"I'll ask him. I'm sure he'll say yes," Belle replied. "After all, he was willing to help before you disappeared, even though he didn't have magic, then."

"He was?"

Before Belle could answer, another voice broke in. "Is this thief bothering you, Belle?"

Will spun, surprised to see the leather-clad pirate sauntering in like he owned the library. Hook was even arrogant enough to give Will the stink-eye over the mess of books, as if it was all his fault. Nevermind that it actually was.

"Why would I be bothering her? If I recall right, you're the one who likes to go around threatening people she loves," he shot back, which made the pirate scowl.

"Say the word and I'll throw him out like the trash he is."

"No. Killian, Will was just here to ask me for some help. There's no need to throw him out. And Will, be nice to Killian. We're all friends here." She gave them both hard looks, but neither man was willing to call the other anything remotely like a 'friend'.

"Ah, I'll be goin', then, if you want to talk to the pirate. Assumin' you don't want me to throw him out?" Will couldn't help saying the last bit a little hopefully. He still hadn't forgiven Jones for the black eye he'd given him. Twice.

"You're going to need a lot of help to do that, mate," Jones laughed, and Will glared.

"I'm not your mate."

"Stop it!" Belle snapped. "Both of you."

Her glare made Will remember that he was here to get Belle's help, not antagonize her, so he shrugged. "Sorry, Belle. I'll go before I can make more of a jerk out of meself."

"Are you staying in the woods?" she asked abruptly, and he looked at his jeans self-consciously. Will had been sure he'd cleaned all twigs and dead grass off of himself.

"Maybe."

"Do you know where the Sorcerer's House is?" He nodded, and she continued briskly. "Then come by tonight. Best case, I can get Rumple to draw a portal right away. Or, if it takes a little longer, you can at least sleep in a bed. We have plenty of room."

Only Belle be so kind as to invite her one-time, sort of boyfriend to spend the night, and only Belle would manage to get her husband to agree to that, too. But Will didn't doubt her, not at all. One of the things he'd learned in his short time with Belle was that tiny body and gentle smile hid a will of iron. So, he didn't argue. Hopefully, he'd be back in Wonderland before it mattered, anyway.

"Thank you," he said feelingly.

He'd have hugged her if the pirate wasn't glaring protectively, and who the hell had made Jones into Belle's overprotective big brother? It was ridiculous, but Will skedaddled out of the library before he had to listen to the pirate start asking Belle questions about how he should deal with his Dark Swan and her recent issues.

The wound still hadn't closed, which meant Rumplestiltskin really did have to do something about it. Even mitigating the pain with magic was becoming difficult, and that morning—before their argument in the shop, which Rumplestiltskin was still feeling alternatively guilty and angry about—Belle had made him promise to get it looked at. While he knew that he could keep infection at bay, and Merlin had said the wound would eventually close itself up, Rumplestiltskin did have to admit that Belle had a point. Unfortunately, there was only one actual doctor in this town, which meant he was going to have to eat some serious crow.

Thankfully, the hospital seemed to be having a very slow day (probably a good sign, since it meant that Emma hadn't given in and torn apart the obnoxious crowd), and Whale was willing enough to come out to the Sorcerer's House. They both knew that the doctor would charge an exorbitant fee for making a house call, but so long as it meant that Rumplestiltskin he didn't have to sit in that plastic waiting room and get stared at, it was worth the money. Besides, even if he wasn't spinning gold these days—or spinning at all—his bank accounts were more than comfortable. All the designer clothes in the world wouldn't put a dent in that, and the pink house had been insured. Oddly enough, they'd acquired a new house for free, which was excellent from a financial standpoint, and a bargain that his cursed persona would definitely have appreciated. Somehow, however, Rumplestiltskin got the feeling that 'Mr. Gold' would not have enjoyed inheriting responsibility for the barely-tamed magic of the place, or the enchanted odds and ends that had a habit of popping out at the worst moments.

Point in case: Whale walked into the study on Rumplestiltskin's heels, only for the grandfather clock next to the door to lurch forward and try to take his coat. Along with the hat that Whale wasn't wearing; clearly the clock had a slightly outdated view on human wardrobe choices, and it narrowly missed hitting the doctor in the head.

"What the hell, Gold?" Whale demanded, jumping away from the clock like it might bite him.

For all Rumplestiltskin knew, the clock might—he hadn't realized it was capable of moving until now. Blinking in amusement, he flicked a hand at the six foot tall clock and sent it sliding back against the wall where it belonged. "My apologies. This house is…unique."

"That's one word for it!" Victor looked around suspiciously. "Is any of your other furniture going to assault me?"

"Not that I know of. But we did just move in."

"Very funny."

Rumplestiltskin started to shrug and instead wound up hissing in pain. The wound really was getting worse. Bad enough that it hurts more than my pride, anyway. Victor must have seen his grimace, though, because he turned from sarcasm to all business.

"All right, what's the problem? And why are you calling me instead of just snapping your fingers?" There was a very noticeable twitch from Victor's left arm as he spoke, but Rumplestiltskin decided to ignore that unless the doctor called attention to it. They both remembered their last conversation of this ilk, of course. That was why Rumplestiltskin knew he was going to have to eat crow before the hour was up.

Fortunately, he was no longer the Dark One, so he was only dealing with his own pride, not that of an elemental darkness and all its hosts carving out space within his soul, so he answered directly:

"I find myself in possession of a wound that magic cannot heal. I need your help."

"Is this where I channel your inner asshole and make you say something about needing science instead of magic?" Victor clearly couldn't resist, and Rumplestiltskin sighed.

"If it'll make this part of the conversation get over with faster, by all means get on with it."

Victor shrugged studied him for a moment, and then shrugged. "I guess I'm a doctor, not the Dark One. Then again, you aren't, either, so I guess you should just show me the wound and I'll get to work.

"Thank you," he said simply, the desire to say something sarcastic not even very strong. Maybe he really was a new man. Still, he knew that he wasn't going to enjoy this one bit, even when Victor paused in setting up the medical kit he'd brought to look at him strangely.

"You really are different, aren't you?"

"This from the man who was a part of that mob shouting for Emma Swan's imprisonment? I would think that it's fairly obvious."

The doctor shrugged unrepentantly. "None of us knew you before. Popular theory was that you were an evil sorcerer before you became the Dark One." He snorted. "Though that theory kind of got smashed when Nottingham and Boucher beat the snot out of you."

Oh, that was a pleasant memory. Rumplestiltskin liked to think that he'd started to learn to live without magic before he'd become the Sorcerer, but those days had still not been pleasant. And the worst of it is knowing that I couldn't even protect Belle when they came upon us. He swallowed hard. "I'd rather not be reminded of that, thanks."

"Hell, I'm surprised those two are still locked up. I would have figured you'd come up with some sort of creative revenge by now."

"I'm not that man, not anymore." Those words came out more quietly than he'd intended, showing more of Rumplestiltskin's feelings than he cared to share. Was it that damn scrubbed-clean heart again, pushing him towards openness and honesty that made him so uncomfortably vulnerable? Quickly, he gathered himself and dredged up a crooked smile. "Besides which, you've been in the asylum. Would you like to stay in there, wondering when someone is going to turn you into something nasty?"

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Victor quipped back, and Rumplestiltskin found his smile turning a little more natural. "All right, show me the wound. I'm guessing it's where Emma stabbed you?"

"Right in one."

Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin shrugged out of his jacket—which hurt far worse than he'd expected, even with the magic he was using to dull the pain—and pulled his tie off with his right hand. Peeling his shirt off was a little harder, though thankfully he'd stopped the bleeding days ago, which meant that the wound didn't stick to his dress shirt. Small blessing, that. I don't want to think about how much this hurts if I were to stop mitigating the pain.

"Damn. That's…what the hell did that?"

Rumplestiltskin grimaced, not needing to look at the wound. It was still raw and looked poisoned, with a black and purple latticework of lines spreading outwards from the deep cut like a toxic spiderweb. Belle had noticed that the wound seemed to be getting worse just that morning, which finally made Rumplestiltskin face the fact that it really wasn't getting better. Oh, the wound would eventually close, but it was healing incredibly slowly, and just keeping it clean with magic was no longer wise.

"The Dark One's dagger, of course." He sighed. "It's a long story, but let's just say that some weapons—fortunately very few—act like poison for someone like me."

"Like you?"

"An original power."

There. He'd said it out loud. As Merlin had pointed out, he was one now, and there was no escaping that. Rumplestiltskin still wasn't entirely comfortable with what he'd become, but there really was no avoiding it. Not if you are going to win the battles to come, Merlin's fading voice whispered, and Rumplestiltskin tried not to shiver.

"Well, doesn't that sound special?" Victor's voice was dry, and Rumplestiltskin started to retort, only to yelp in pain as Victor pressed a disinfecting wipe to the wound.

"Ow!" He twisted to glare at the doctor. "I kept it clean with magic. You don't have to do that."

"You can feel free to trust your magic. I'll go with good, old fashioned antiseptic, thank you very much."

"I don't—"

"Keep your arm out of the way."

Glowering, Rumplestiltskin moved his right arm aside, resisting the urge to shove Victor back with magic. The wound burnedwildly at a touch, and if he hadn't been using two different spells to reduce the pain, he was pretty sure he'd be screaming instead of yelping. Even so, he could feel his breathing growing faster, and his chest was tight with pain. Quickly, Rumplestiltskin grasped a few threads of his own magic, drawing it inwards and trying to calm the wound, but his fears proved very well grounded indeed. No matter how much magic he used, the level of pain remained constant. Great. Now I'm pouring power enough to light up New York City into it, and it still feels the same as it did when I was using a tenth this much magic.

"You okay?" Victor asked unexpectedly.

He hadn't been listening, and Rumplestiltskin released the magic with a shaking breath. "What?"

"Your entire body just spasmed. What happened to your magic taking care of this?"

"I told you. It's like poison that doesn't have a cure." Rumplestiltskin bit his tongue hard; he didn't need to snap at Victor, and it really wouldn't make things go any better. "Will you just get on with it?"

"I am working on that, you know." Victor finally finished cleaning out the wound and reached for a needle. "You want me to numb the area with something before I stitch you up?"

"It won't work."

"I'm not talking magically. Your methods might not work, but mine will."

"Fine."

Fortunately, Victor was partially right. The local anesthetic he used did dull the pain some, and at least it spared Rumplestiltskin the feeling of a needle punching in and out of his skin. The sharp, roaring ache of the wound itself didn't vanish, but even that seemed to decrease a bit. Victor's stitches were neat and quick, too, which Rumplestiltskin was grateful for. Even if he wasn't very good at expressing that at the moment.

"You know, you could just accept the fact that medicine can do things that magic can't," Victor commented idly as he tied the stitches off.

"How does your left arm feel, Doctor?" Rumplestiltskin couldn't help his grin.

Victor snorted. "Well, you can be glad I'm not left handed. I wouldn't want to stich anyone up with a magically-attached arm, after all."

"What, doesn't it work properly?" He twisted to look at the other man quizzically, feeling a little offended that Whale had never said anything about his arm not being right.

"No, it's fine. I just always feel…weird, knowing that it was ripped off and put back on with magic."

"Better than your way," he said pointedly, and Victor scowled.

"Only in that case." A pointed gesture at Rumplestiltskin's side. "You, on the other hand, weren't served very well by it."

"A rarity, I assure you." Rumplestiltskin snorted loftily, but he did really enjoy rehashing their old argument. "And, no offense to you, Doctor, but I have no intention of ever needing to repeat the experience of you stabbing a needle into my side over and over again."

"Well, then I recommend against getting yourself stabbed."

They laughed together, and Rumplestiltskin had to admit that Victor had a point—at least on that front. Not that he was ever going to say that medicine (or science!) was better than magic, but he was perfectly content to continue their mostly-civilized argument for the next few years.

"The sense I get from that wand is that it needs a rather strong dose of dark magic to create a portal," Zelena said, which made Mordred turn to look at her.

"Your point?"

Her eyes gleamed. "I thought you were some sort of good guy. With principles, and all that."

"Sometimes." Mordred snorted. "Others, well, I'm a practical man. I do what is needed, and if dark magic is needed, that's what I use. It's a balance."

"Finally, someone speaks sense!" She gestured at the grassy ground in front of them. They were near the playground, right on the edge of the park, which was hardly where Zelena would have chosen to put a portal to another world, but apparently Mordred had other ideas.

He lifted the wand, and she watched him critically, feeling him shaping and calling magic as he did so. Mordred really was a handsome man, made more so by the power he possessed. Still, it was something of a relief to know that he didn't know how to make a doorway, either; he had to consult a page of handwritten notes that Zelena knew he'd gotten from his mother. Part of her wanted to sneer at that, but she supposed that if her mother had been Morgan le Fae, she would listen to her, too. That woman was properly terrifying, in a dangerous and tricky kind of way. A proper mother for a sorcerer-king to have, in fact.

One moment passed, and then another. Mordred stopped the magic, scowled, and then started over.

"I could simply summon us a tornado to take us there," she suggested, growing impatient. No matter how hard Zelena tried to school herself into waiting, it was hard. She couldn't wait to see the look on Emma's face when Mordred's plan worked out, and then she would get her revenge, too. Oh, Mordred wasn't going to let her have the dagger and control another Dark One—which was such a pity—but Zelena was going to get the next best thing.

"No. Getting back will be too complicated." He raised his hand again—already wearing the fascinating gauntlet he'd created centuries earlier—and began the spell a third time. This time, however, Zelena could feel the difference right away.

"Ooooh, that's different," she cooed excitedly. Zelena had always been a loner; she'd never imagined how much fun it could be to work with someone else. He wants to make himself king of all magical realms. So long as I can make myself—and my power—indispensable, I can easily be his equal and his queen. Mordred wasn't a sexist prig, unlike most men with power that Zelena had met. Then again, with his mother, how could he have been?

"There." Even as he said the word, a door shimmered into existence before them, pine-colored with green trim.

"Excellent." Zelena licked her lips, and then gestured at the gauntlet. "You didn't need that, you know. I could tell you that the brat is the thing she loves most."

Mordred shrugged. "I prefer to be certain. Now, if you'd be so kind as to go through the portal, I would prefer that our Dark One not know that I have assistance."

Was he crazy? "And what happens if your plan fails? Then I'll be stuck there!"

"Not with this." Mordred offered her the wand, which made Zelena blink. "Worst case, summon yourself that tornado and go where you wish."

"Right." She wasn't sure what to say. Zelena wasn't used to allies who didn't try to stab her in the back, and it only made her want Mordred more. Now if only she could find a way to tie him to her, one he couldn't get out of…

"Remind me, once we are finished with this, that there is another wand I must find," he mused, turning away until he glanced back at her. "You do recall the way, yes?"

Zelena nodded. "I can find it."

"Excellent. Then when next we see one another, we will remove the Dark One from all the realms. Forever."

"You know, I used to hang out in this castle all the time during the first curse. Then Mom got angry 'cause Emma hung out with me here and knocked it down." Henry hopped up on his 'castle' and sat down. He was thirteen, now, and probably too big for playgrounds, but the castle was still a cool place to hang out. Particularly with a friend.

"Did Emma build it again?" Grace asked. "Before, I mean…"

"Nah, I think Mom felt guilty, because she put it back last year, saying something about how it wasn't a safety hazard when it was built right." Henry grinned. He didn't really want to think about Emma right now; he'd talked to his mom and to Grandpa Gold about what had happened, and both had told him that they didn't think Emma really could stop herself at that stage. And she did seem to be trying, or at least she hadn't hurt anyone lately. Henry thought that counted for something, and he knew that the Dark One wasn't really his mom—any more than the Dark One had been his grandpa. Still, it was hard.

Particularly when Ruby had been noticeably colder when he and Grace had stopped by the diner for lunch earlier. Oh, it was obvious that Ruby was trying not to treat him differently, but Henry had always been observant. He didn't blame her. His mom had killed her grandmother, and that hurt everyone.

"She really is getting better, isn't she? I remember when my Papa wouldn't go near her, but he actually was joking around with her a little yesterday."

"Yeah?"

"It's kind of funny. We were in town, and Papa made some remark about not selling us stuffed rabbits, and your mom got all embarrassed. I guess she'd disguised herself as an old woman a long time ago and sold Papa my favorite stuffed animal back home." Grace giggled. "I told her I still liked it, and she didn't seem to know what to say."

"That's my mom." Henry loved Regina dearly, but he was old enough to think that getting mortified from time to time was probably still good for her. It reminded her of what she had been, and kept her from relapsing.

"So, what's up with her and Robin Hood, anyway? That's a weird relationship."

"Isn't it cool? He's really Robin, too, and he's teaching me to shoot a bow and arrow, and…"

Emma watched her son from a distance, trying not to let the sight of him smiling and laughing break her heart. She was glad that Henry was happy—he deserved to be!—but being on the outside really hurt. She hadn't wanted to kill Granny; to this day, she still wasn't sure what had made her hands move, or why she'd twisted the crossbow around and shot Granny with it. But she had, and every time she started to feel regret, the voices in her head only cackled gleefully. They were happy about it, even though Emma just wanted to be herself again. Usually. If I could keep the power and get rid of those voices, if I could make my choices all my own again…

With an effort, she tore her mind away from those thoughts. Henry was what mattered. Henry and…what was her name? Right, Grace. Jefferson's daughter. She was Henry's friend, and Emma was glad for it. But the girl didn't seem likely to leave any time soon, which meant Emma's grand plan to talk to her son alone would have to wait for another day.

Heart heavy, she turned away. Emma wouldn't ruin Henry's afternoon the way she'd ruined his birthday. She could wait.

As strange as it sounded, Robin had slept much better since he'd shared his experiences and his nightmares with her, and Regina felt that she really ought to thank the librarian for the advice. She didn't often actually ask for help, but Regina realized that most people, when they did, actually went to say thank you to the person who had given it to them. She was a mother twice over, now (at least informally), and soon to gain a third child once Zelena's baby was born, assuming they could catch Zelena in time. Regina had never liked admitting that she needed to change, but she did want to be a good example for all of her children, which meant that she owed Belle a genuine thank you.

A back corner of her brain reminded Regina that doing the right thing like this might actually earn her forgiveness for having stolen Belle's heart, assuming she did it often enough, but Regina pushed that aside. She wasn't doing this because she wanted something in return. She was doing this because she should.

Once, a young Regina would have said that was reason enough, and she wanted to get back to that.

So, she pushed open the front doors to the library, only to almost run smack into 'Queen Guinevere' of Camelot. The other woman eyed her imperiously, which immediately got Regina's hackles up, and for a long moment, they simply stood staring at one another, locked a silent battle of wills. Regina certainly wasn't going to be the first to step aside; this was her town, and she knew full and damn well that Arthur and Guinevere wanted to take it over. Let the other woman get out of her way. She could stand there all day. Hell, I'm thinking about taking Mordred's offer of an alliance, because A, he didn't kill Snow, and B, he's against those two, she thought, meeting Guinevere's eyes blandly.

Suddenly, however, Guinevere smiled and glanced over her shoulder at the librarian. "I look forward to seeing you later, Belle."

"And I you." Belle smiled brilliantly, and Guinevere stepped aside.

"Madam Mayor." Somehow, when Guinevere said those words, they almost sounded like a thinly-veiled insult, but not quite. Her tone was almost too polite, though.

Regina narrowed her eyes. "Ms. Morton."

Ah, that hit home, and Guinevere didn't like it. Still, she let Regina sweep past her into the library and then left, which was a victory as far as Regina was concerned. However, she couldn't help noticing how at ease Rumple's little wife had seemed with the enemy.

"So, are the rumors true, then?" she demanded. "Did our happy Camelot couple turn out to be your grandparents?"

Belle bristled. "I don't see how it's any of your business, but yes."

The hostile answer made Regina blink. "Easy, there, Bookworm, I wasn't trying to be offensive. I was just curious."

"You have a very abrasive way of showing your curiosity," Belle replied dryly.

"What crawled up your skirts?" The younger woman wasn't usually like this; she was usually Rumple's sweetness and light, and all that other nauseating crap. Clearly, something was going on.

Belle sighed. "Nothing. I'm sorry. It's not you I'm angry with."

Oh, that made everything clear. "What'd he do this time?"

"Nothing. We're simply disagreeing. People do that." But Regina could tell by the look on Belle's face that it was more than that. She hardly wanted to be the other woman's confidant, but she was curious.

"About your family?" she guessed, gesturing towards the door Guinevere had just walked out of. Regina snorted. "Let me guess. Rumple doesn't trust them."

Belle simply crossed her arms, clearly not wanting to get into this discussion with Regina. Well, too bad. You're having it.

"He's right, you know. Those two want to take over Storybrooke. They've got their knights out talking to people, and Arthur's squire is making an ass out of himself trying to learn every law we have. He's making noises about elections, as if that would get Arthur in power." Regina rolled her eyes. "As if we'd let any of the people from Camelot vote."

"I'm sure it's far less sinister than you're making it out to be."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But if there's one thing I know about royalty, it's that we like ruling. I learned to put it down, and I didn't come back into office until people wanted me here." That had been a hard lesson, but one Regina was quite sure she was better for. "I guarantee you that neither of them has ever learned that."

"That doesn't make them bad people," Belle protested.

"I never said it did. Ambition isn't evil. Believe me, I know the difference." Regina thought about that one for a moment. "So does Rumple, come to think about it."

"I am not going to pull you in the middle of a minor disagreement my husband and I are having."

"Good! I don't want to be in the middle of anything the two of you get up to, frankly. Ew." She didn't want to think about what they got up to, either. Not ever. So, Regina quickly changed the subject to the one she'd come there for. "Besides, I didn't come here to talk about him. I came here to thank you."

Immediately, Belle's slightly distrustful expression warped into confusion. "Thank me? For what?"

"For…for answering my questions about nightmares and True Love." Now that she'd started, Regina found the topic rather awkward, and she shrugged uncomfortably. "It helped, I think. Both of us."

"I'm glad." Belle smiled kindly. "Robin's my friend, you know. And I know how he feels about you. I'm happy for you both."

"It's still weird, all right?" She hadn't meant to say that out loud, but now the words had come out, and she felt her cheeks heat slightly.

"I know." Belle laughed softly. "Believe me, I know."

Zelena had been right. Once Mordred willed the gauntlet's magic outwards, it led him straight to the boy. He had a few mixed feelings about the child, particularly given the fact that he seemed dear to his nephew. Mordred had decided to leave Killian out of this plan entirely; now that he had Zelena on his side, he really didn't need Killian to watch his back. There were enough spells on the door that it would take the Dark One an hour or two to break through, and that would give him plenty of time. There was no need to ask Killian to choose. It is not his fault that she's manipulating him like this, he told himself yet again, trying not to be frustrated with his nephew's continued love for a monster.

Besides, by the end of the day, that would not matter. Killian's heart might be broken, and he might never trust Mordred again, but he would at least be free of the demon. Forever. And if the price to be paid is that I must trap my best friend's soul as well, I will do it. Nothing is too high to keep the Dark One's power out of the Black Fairy's hands.

Magic tingled in his palm as Mordred walked across the playground; a few children saw him and looked his way curiously, but none shouted an alarm. They were children of the Enchanted Forest, after all, and a man with a metal glove on, using magic, was probably quite normal for them. Or at least not abnormal enough to ignore their games of—of, well, whatever they were playing. Aside from one group playing knights and dragons, Mordred realized that he couldn't recognize any of the children's games. He really needed someone to tell him about this town, this world. Someone other than Zelena, who had not spent much time in it herself, or his mother, who ignored most everyone. But that would be a project for when he returned from disposing of the Dark One.

Young Henry Mills sat on some sort of wooden castle-like thing, talking to a girl of about his own age. The fact that the two were allowed to socialize unsupervised made him a little uneasy. What kind of morals did this world have?

No matter. Mordred did not have time to care about that.

"Henry Mills," he called, approaching the pair from behind.

"Yeah?" The boy turned, but his eyes went wide when he caught sight of the gauntlet, and he jumped down from his perch. "Grace, go. Get out of here."

"What? Why?"

"Just trust me, go!"

He really was a smart child. Mordred didn't know how the boy recognized the gauntlet, but that didn't really matter. Clearly, Henry knew enough to be frightened, and that was exactly what Mordred wanted. After all, there was no point in kidnapping the boy if his mother didn't realize he was gone. Mordred was patient, but he was not prepared to wait that long.

Grace scurried away, and Mordred walked forward. The boy backed away from him, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket—Mordred knew what those were; his mother had insisted on getting him one, and he hated the infernal device. Killian had tried to show him out to use it, but he'd mostly ignored those instructions. However, he had no intention of letting Henry call for help so easily, so he waved a hand and the phone clattered away from the teen.

Henry leapt for it, but Mordred teleported himself in a swirl of maroon smoke, landing right behind Henry and bringing his gauntleted hand down on his shoulder. "Not so fast."

Predictably, the boy tried to jerk away, but Mordred had enchanted the gauntlet with extra strength long ago, so Henry's fight was pointless. Mordred held him easily.

"Let go of me!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he replied bluntly. "I have need of you. If your mother does as she's told, you won't be harmed. If not, I'm afraid I cannot make any promises."

"They'll both kill you for this," Henry swore, and for a moment, Mordred missed a beat.

"Oh, yes. Your adopted mother, Regina. You think they'll both come for you."

"Of course they will!"

"Well, you can't really reach her right now, can you?" Did he have to spell it out for the boy, or would Henry get the message? Probably not. "Either of them," he stressed, and then he saw realization flicker in strangely familiar brown eyes.

He tightened his hand on the boy's shoulder, just to make sure Henry understood how dangerous the situation was. Mordred was already focusing on the doorway, already beginning to pull them in that direction, when Henry started to shout:

"Emma—"

They arrived right outside the door, and Mordred yanked it open. Henry finished his cry right on cue.

"—Swan!"

He knew that tradition dictated calling the Dark One three times, but a desperate call from her own son would certainly do the trick. He could already feel magic stirring, could feel Henry trying to yank away.

Just as the Dark One appeared, Mordred dragged the boy through the door and into the Enchanted Forest.

Henry's desperation had burned into Emma's very soul, and she'd taken herself to him without thinking, only knowing that her son was calling for her and he was afraid. Emma gathered power to herself even as she teleported, digging into the darkness, into her own magic, and into everything she had. She didn't care what it took. She was going to save her son.

But Emma arrived only in time to watch Mordred drag Henry through a wooden doorway that stood in the middle of nowhere.

"Henry!" she screamed, leaping forward. Her heart was pounding in her ears, magic roaring through her, ready to fight and ready to kill.

"Mom—!"

The door slammed shut, and Emma smashed right into it. But she didn't care. Frantically, she grabbed the knob and twisted, almost breaking it right off in her haste. But the door wouldn't budge, not even when she slammed her fists into it as hard as she could.

"Henry!" Rage made her even thinking hard, and the voices screaming inside her didn't help. Kill him! Kill the man who took someone we love! Rip him to pieces and make him suffer. Magic whipped around her wildly, tearing at the door, at the trees, and at the very ground. Emma hadn't lost control like this since the beginning, but she didn't give a damn. Get through the door. Kill him!

"I'm trying!" she snarled, finally getting ahold of her temper enough to take a step back and raise her hands.

Gritting her teeth, Emma blasted every bit of fury she felt at the door, only to be thrown back fifteen feet, landing hard on her back. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she was the Dark One and didn't really need pedestrian things like air, so she got up and tried again, this time with even more power, summoning her own magic in addition to the darkness.

Again, she was thrown back, although this time Emma managed not to fall.

And this time, she knew.

She couldn't get through.

A/N: And here we see Mordred's plan coming to fruition! Do you think Emma will get through the barrier, or will she have to go get help?

Next up: Chapter Thirty-Eight—"This Squalid Destiny," in which Emma faces off with Mordred, family members follow her desperately, Killian confronts his grandmother, and Rumplestiltskin makes a choice that will change everything.