52.

He woke up to see the room basking in mild glow of the morning sunlight, to feel his beautiful young wife's body pressed to him, soft and warm, her auburn hair tossed and spread over the pillow and on his shoulder, to hear even breathing of their son, a blissfully quiet child, as he slept in his cot. He remained very still, cherishing the moment; he knew that once he stirred she would feel it and wake up and raise her lovely sleepy face to smile at him, and his lips would find hers, and they would be lost in the slow and sweet madness of their love. But he didn't want to drawn in his passion for her, didn't want to succumb to her sweetness and lose himself in her softness - not just yet. He needed a moment to think - to contemplate his life. For this morning, just like any morning since he knew her and loved her, he woke up to see his sunny house, to touch his loving wife, to hold his newborn son and to think: "This is too good to be true".

He knew the exact price that he paid for the life he had before he met her. He was a powerful wizard and the celebrated hero of the land, respected and admired, feared by his enemies, adored by children who imitated his victories and adventures in their games. He was the paragon of light and goodness, everyone's hope, the protector, the perfect knight in shining armor. And he gained all that because a long time ago he lost the only person who was truly dear to him - his eldest child, his first son. He was an ordinary man then, and they both had to serve at one of the uncountable Orge Wars, and he survived while his son perished. He could do nothing to save his boy, and his loss nearly broke him, but somehow he managed to find strength in his grief. He had sworn that he would slay the ogres wherever he finds them, and his mad courage and blind dedication were rewarded - he was given a magical power of light to help him in his task.

Thus his old simple life of a peasant and a soldier ended and his life of a wizard and a warrior began.

And it was a good life, and useful one - he was able to help people and bring hope into their lives. But it was acquired with a price, as all magic is. And if anyone ever asked him - would he wish to change the past, would he be willing to lose all these splendors and all that power but keep his boy alive, he wouldn't hesitate, not for one instant. Anything, he would have given anything to save his son. That was the constant ache he had to live with: everything he had meant nothing to him compared to his loss.

But then, unexpectedly and miraculously, his life changed. He had met Her, his princess, and despite his age and his mediocre looks she fell in love with him, and conceded to share his modest life, and gave him a new child, and turned a life of solitude into the bliss of true love. It all happened so smoothly, as if in a fairy tale - as if it was written in the stars by benevolent hand wishing to give him everything he ever dreamed of.

And being a powerful wizard and an old and wise man, he wondered - every morning as he woke up to the same perfect picture - what was the price he'd have to pay for all that, and when the day of reckoning would come.

And when that day comes - as he knew it would, for there has to be a price for everything, a happiness as great as his must cost enormously... When that day comes, would he be able to pay? And what would be asked of him?

Yet it is pointless to contemplate events before they occurred, so he cast these uneasy thoughts aside, and turned his head to kiss his wife, and drowned in her blue eyes, and his flesh trembled at her touch, and her hair fell over him as light-filled waterfall, sheltering him from the world and from any harm.

He came out for his daily errands later: he felt it was his duty to inspect the kingdom everyday, checking if he was needed anywhere. Usually all was quiet, but today he met some excitement: a stray ogre attacked one of the villages, nearly killing a strange boy whom he never saw before. He saved the child, naturally, and rode away, but something about the boy stirred his memory and troubled his soul. His face looked familiar, though he was sure he never set eyes on him before. Some time had passed before he could nail the feeling and understand what the problem was, and his heart gave a painful jerk as he realized: that boy looked like his son. The elder son, the one that died. Not exactly like him, of course, but there was something about his eyes, and the line of his mouth, and the manner of speech that reminded him distinctly of Bae.

The feeling was not pleasant. It was disturbing. He was too old and had seen too much to believe in coincidences, and appearance of that boy was bound to mean something.

He was unsettled and unhappy as he rode home, and he only wished for one thing - to see his wife and embrace her and forget about everything. But when he came home he found a stranger in his house - a sneaky little fellow who looked like a small-time crook and told him strangest things. He accused him of deluding people, of not being a real hero - he threatened to reveal some ugly truth about his elder son. And he also told him that their whole world, all the happiness they enjoyed, was in danger for the known bandit, Regina, and the very boy he saved today wanted to stop the wedding of the reformed thief, Robin Hood. And if he, the Light One, wouldn't kill them, everything would be lost.

He listened to the man with amazement first, irritation and anger later. But with every world that he said something stirred in his soul. Doubt. Sadness. And inexplicable foreboding...

And than he realized: it happened. That day when he had to answer for all the happiness bestowed on him, the day of reckoning had come.

It all sounded very strange, very cunning, like a test - like a crafty trap to check his dedication to goodness. He knew Regina the Bandit - she was a good girl, a lost princess, and a victim of Evil Queen Snow White's unjust vengeance. She might have been an outlaw, but she never did anything that merited killing her. As to the strange boy, that boy that looked like his son - he couldn't have done anything bad yet, he was just a kid. And how could the Light One, the protector and the hero, kill an innocent woman and a young child? How could that serve goodness?

And yet he sensed that the little man spoke the truth - if these two stay alive, the world they live in would be lost. He would be gone. His wife would be gone, and their child.

It was a test.

Fate wanted to try him - that was clear. Would he remain on the pat of light and goodness, even if it would mean sacrificing his personal happiness? Would he be able to find in his soul the strength and the sternness necessary for the sacrifice? Does he still have it in him, or has he become too soft? Or will he commit unthinkable crimes, but save the world he lives in - and his happiness along with it?

Oh that was all very disturbing and confusing, and somehow absurd: to think that the fate of the whole land depended on some wedding coming through or being prevented! Too petty, too... small a thing to matter.

It felt as if the hand that wrote their lives belonged to a mediocre writer with limited imagination and no understanding of human nature. A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing, as the poet said.

He knew he was upsetting his wife with his heavy thoughts and his gloomy look; she rarely asked him questions about his feelings, for she seemed to feel his every mood, but he knew that she is always curious. He wished he could tell her what was bothering him. He wished he could be certain of it himself - that he could put a finger on the exact reason of his confusion: there was something else apart from the difficulty of his choice and the obvious lack of logic in the task presented to him.

He felt... at odds with himself.

He looked around him, at his small yet cozy home, at his wife, incredibly pretty in her summer dress, busily making tea. He had a good life, and if anyone asked him he would have had to confess that he believed he actually deserved it. He fought and waited and suffered enough to enjoy his happiness. But on this particular day, at this particular instant he was struck by the sense of unreality of all that. It all seemed too picture-perfect: this bright day, this girl with shining eyes, this pretty little boy in the cot; and he himself, respected, admired, unblemished in every aspect.

It all seemed... artificial.

Unreal.

Too good to be true.

He did try to explain himself to her, but with maddening brightness and unshakable faith in him she brushed his doubts away, saying: "You are a hero. You always make the right choice".

And as he looked into her clear blue eyes words of the little stranger echoed in his mind: "You know you are not really a hero". He spoke with such conviction, that sneaky bastard. As if he knew something special about him - about all of them. As if he was aware of some... underside of things; some painful secret. Some darkness that lingered in their lives, shying away from the light, but actually just waiting for the right moment to appear.

"It is not as simple as that", he said, unable to explain himself more clearly. And she smiled and offered him a cup of tea - she was convinced that all problems could be solved with a cup of tea, and usually he found that very endearing, but just as he said it wasn't as simple as that. And as he was still preoccupied with his thoughts, he was careless, and dropped his cup, and it chipped - a small bit of porcelain fell off just at the brim. And for some reason this trivial, mundane thing shook him deeply - this lovely little cup seemed like a symbol of their sunny world, and it proved to be so fragile.

She saw how upset he was, and attempted to cheer him up. "It is nothing, it is just chipped - we can fix it!" And it somehow felt even worse; she seemed to be diminishing something very, very important, and what should have sounded as happy assurance in the best outcome sounded as carelessness.

Sometimes he wished she wasn't quite so cheerful and bright about everything.

Sometimes when he dreamed he saw them - both of them - as different people, much less happy ones, clashing and struggling and suffering. But much more real. Truly alive; but as he woke he could never remember his dreams, not in details - just the general feeling.

And now, as she held the chipped cup and smiled, an image from his dream came to him in a flash: her face, worried and sad, her hands, holding a chipped cup, her voice apologizing for breaking it. And a giggle - strange yet vaguely familiar giggle as someone brushed her problem away.

It must have been him - his voice. Yet how could that be?

He left her with a heavy heart as he went to the chapel were the thief's wedding was taking place; he had to at least check what was going on. And his acute sense of magic happening around him told him that things were not well. He never realized that the thief was going to marry Zelena - despicable girl, selfish and full on envy; surely she had to use some witchcraft to attract such a good-hearted fellow as Robin. And he sensed love in the air - not between the bride and the groom: Regina just came to the churchyard, and that wave of affection floated between her and the thief - who was about to marry another. And it was obvious that if he sees her in time, he'd realize where his true feelings lay, and they would be reunited.

And they would kiss.

So that was the magical happening that had to be prevented. A kiss born out of true love.

But why?

They lived in a happy and bright world where love triumphed.

He was the Light One, the protector of people's happiness. Why should he stand in a way of true love?

A voice, strangely like his own yet very different, spoke in his head with a hint of sneer. "A kiss born out of true love would break any curse".

So there was a curse to break.

They lived under the curse.

Their world, bright and happy and full of love, was nevertheless a curse. Something evil. Something unnatural.

It was his duty to break it, not to keep it.

It was his duty as a hero to destroy the world in which he found his happy ending.

That had to be his choice.

That was the right choice.

Yet still he hesitated. Because he wasn't, really, a hero?

Than who was he?..

A strange woman and a child stood in his way - that same boy whom he saved, that boy who reminded him of his son.

He dealt with the woman easily; he knocked her out with a flash of light. Yet before he could do that, she addressed him, trying to stop his interference, and she called him by a weird name.

The Dark One.

"You got the name wrong, dearie", he laughed, but his laughter sounded strained even to his own ears.

The name sounded so... Right.

The Dark One. Was that really him? Was he living a lie? Was everything he thought about himself an illusion - a murky spell... A curse?

A curse that was about to be broken by a kiss of true love between a bandit and a thief.

No. A kiss of true love is a powerful thing, but it wasn't enough to break a curse so strong as to delude him.

Something else was needed.

The boy with his son's features stood between him and the church now. He had to get past him, but the child was determined to fight - he took up a sword.

Killing an innocent child was not something a hero could do. Never. In any world. Not under the influence of any curse.

He raised his sword, hoping the boy would get frightened - would step away. But the boy with his son's face stood firm, holding his gaze.

His sword fell just short of the boy - just missing touching him, exactly as he intended. But instead of thin air it slashed through flesh - solid and warm flesh of a woman who rushed to protect the child, and stepped in front of him.

Regina.

An innocent woman, saving a child, slain by the noble knight.

Just how absurd was that?

Just as absurd - and as right - as it should have been, he realized as he sensed magic coming into motion around him, changing and twisting, getting ready to reshape of the world.

He was right - there was something even stronger than a kiss of true love needed to break that curse. It was a power of sacrifice. And he put it into motion by hurting Regina - it started, he could already feel the changes in the air.

He killed a hero and that was the right choice, for it was necessary to break the curse.

It was the right choice for him for he was not, really, a hero.

It was all a lie.

All his life, all his love, all his light... All just a lie.

Tale told by an idiot.

Magic moved massively over the heads of people gathered in the churchyard. The boy, crying over the slain woman; the thief, running towards her out of the chapel, forgetting his bride; the bride, showing her true ugly nature. The sneaky bastard who came to warn him of all that - he was here as well. And none of them paid him any attention.

He has done his bit. He made his choice, wrong for all standards of normality but right in the bigger scheme of things.

It was happening. The curse was breaking.

And his heart was breaking with it.

"It is done", he said, to no one in particular.

And then he disappeared.

He had to say his good-byes. He had to face his wife and try to explain to her the unexplainable: that, by turning dark, he served the light.

There is no light without darkness, he should have remembered that. Someone had to be dark so that the rest of the world could enjoy the light. And that was him.

The Dark One.

He became a villain, and that broke the curse.

He made the right choice.

Yet when he faced her, so sweet and gentle and innocent, so worried about him, so happy that he was back, so confident in him... loving him so much... When he faced her he couldn't find the words and the voice to tell her. He just fell on his knees, embracing her, weeping.

She would understand. He knew she would understand.

And as he wept and she wept with him, the force of magic swept the land, obliterating it, turning light into darkness and darkness into light, and as darkness to which he belonged engulfed him the only sound he could hear was the crying of their son - that child that never was.