Thank you SO much to everyone who voted for me at the TEAs! This story won Best AU!OUAT and Best Season Rewrite. Danns' a'Bhàis won best OC, and I won Best Author!
In celebration, I'll be writing two ROC-universe one shots, and one Danns'-centric one shot. If you'd like to prompt me with something, head on over to my tumblr (the link is in my profile).
Chapter Fifty-Three—"Ambitious at Last"
Morgan felt strangely optimistic on the family front these days. Mordred had come around—a work in progress if there ever was one, given his long-lasting obsession with destroying the Dark One—she was slowly getting to know her youngest son, and she'd discovered that she had another grandson and a great-grandson. The fact that the newest Dark One was the mother of said great-grandson didn't bother her in the least; after all, Morgan had been the one to try to save Merlin from the darkness with True Love's Kiss. The fact that her effort had failed didn't mean she loved him any less, even though she accepted the fact that she never meant as much to him as he did to her. But I knew that before he became the Dark One, she thought, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. He only ever had eyes for Nimue. I simply hoped my love could save him after he lost her. It hadn't, of course, but Morgan had long since learned to save her love for her children.
Perhaps she should try to bring them all together. Not yet, of course. She understood that there was an enormous amount of bad blood between Rumplestiltskin and Killian, and the fact that they were now uncle and nephew would probably only make that—
"So this is where you go when you're not berating Mordred."
The new voice made her eyes snap open, and Morgan almost snarled at the red-haired witch to get out. But her newfound optimism stopped her; this woman seemed to be Mordred's choice, and although she sincerely hoped that Mordred wasn't going to get involved with Zelena, she couldn't discount the possibility. When young, Mordred had been too fascinated with magic to bother with girls, and she knew that having an attractive woman pursue him was bound to turn his head. Of course, she knew that Mordred was hopeless at romancing anyone, be they male or female. Apparently, he'd looked into arranging a marriage once or twice when he'd ruled Camelot, but nothing had come of it. So, she couldn't immediately disregard the idea of Zelena becoming her daughter-in-law.
Danns' daughter or no, I like Belle better already. Morgan managed not to snap that at Zelena, which she sensed would not go over well at all. "These are my chambers," she replied stiffly, refusing to rise, though she did sit up straight. "Do you always barge in without an invitation?"
"You didn't answer my knock." She could tell it was a lie, but Morgan chose not to comment. Zelena hadn't knocked at all.
"Pity." What was it about this woman who set her teeth on edge? She'd watched Zelena terrorize Storybrooke after the second curse with mild interest, not having realized at the time that the Dark One being controlled was her son. Would I have acted differently had I known?
That question was disturbingly easy to answer. Morgan had not known, not then, how emotionally damaged Rumplestiltskin was. But she still would have intervened. He was her son, and this woman was barely sane. How in the world had Rumplestiltskin's extended family left him in her hands for so long? Had they been so handicapped by Zelena's antics that they had no choice, or had they merely been blind?
Zelena smiled brightly, dropping into the chair to Morgan's right. "I thought we should get to know one another. I've heard all kinds of things about you."
"I would not believe everything you hear."
"But you're practically a legend." Her voice grated like nails against glass, and Morgan struggled not to grimace. Then, on second thought, she didn't bother fighting the urge as Zelena smirked: "But I think I've done a bit better than you. You never controlled the Dark One, after all, and I brought him lower than anyone else."
Judging from the way Zelena's eyes glowed, she clearly hadn't heard the news. Morgan had stopped Mordred from killing Baelfire ten days earlier, but Zelena, like Mordred, didn't enjoy mingling with the "common" people of Storybrooke. And apparently Mordred didn't tell her, either. Perhaps there is some hope that he won't bed her, after all. The longer she was in Zelena's presence, the more relieved that thought made Morgan. She made a mental note to speak to Mordred on the subject before turning to look at Zelena with a now-inscrutable expression.
"Tell me what you did." She couldn't feign pleased interest, but apparently that much acting ability wasn't required. And Morgan was interested. Veryinterested.
"Well, it wasn't much fun at first because he was thoroughly insane after sucking his son's soul into his body. He babbled useless little prophecies and all that"—Zelena waved a dismissive hand—"though at least I could force some sanity into him with the application of enough pain. And it wasn't like he could refuse my commands, anyway."
Morgan considered herself a thoroughly cold-blooded woman who was capable of doing many dark deeds in pursuit of her goals, but hearing that made even her stomach roll sickly. "Are you going to be coy, or are you going to tell me details?"
Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears, but Zelena didn't seem to care. She bounced excitedly, blue eyes wide and eager, like a sick little goblin hoping for approval. A goblin would hear my distaste. Zelena, however, was all too excited to share the tales of her exploits, and the words bubbled out of her.
"Well, I could hardly have that power and control in my hands and not use him, could I? He was terribly unwilling, but it's amazing how a little pain can motivate someone." Zelena's grin turned into an angry sneer. "He'd refused me once, and I wasn't going to let him get away with that again. So, I took what I wanted. And I hurt him." She giggled. "He probably still has the scars. It's amazing what that dagger will do to the Dark One.
"And then, after Emma Swan—back in her annoying Savior days—separated son from father, I had so much more fun. After all, torturing someone is so much better when they can fully appreciate the work you're putting in." Her expression turned thoughtful. "It's a pity I couldn't have been carrying his child, as useful as this one has been to torment my sister. I would have preferred to have Rumple's, but it wasn't from lack of trying. He was so very broken towards the end, shut down and hurting so beautifully."
"Do you have any idea how despicable you are?" The words tumbled out before Morgan could stop herself, but she was so angry that she felt cold. Frozen, even. This woman was sitting next to her, oh so prettily,and bragging about this? Zelena had no idea that Rumplestiltskin was related to Morgan, but that shouldn't have mattered.
"Excuse me?"
"Do you even care about your child?" Morgan had to ask. She had to know.
"It's mine," Zelena snapped. "And it's useful."
"Useful."
"Yes! It makes my sister miserable, and that's reason enough. The rest doesn't matter." Zelena shrugged, and Morgan felt her temper start to freeze over.
"You truly don't care. And you find the fact that you raped and tortured a man laudable," she continued coldly, rising to her feet to look down at Zelena until the other woman scrambled up, too. Zelena was taller than Morgan, but that didn't matter. She could still look down upon her. "You disgust me."
She almost told Zelena that she would kill her if she ever laid a hand on her son again, but Morgan wasn't sure she had the right to be so protective over Rumplestiltskin. Besides, he would undoubtedly do the deed himself if she tried; there was no dagger to control him, now. And yet I begin to understand why he does not trust easily. First, his worthless father turns out to be Pan—who I know he killed to save this town—and then this disgusting woman abuses him in that way. No wonder why Belle had looked at her with so much wary concern. I do not know enough about my son, and I must rectify that.
"What do you know?" Zelena snapped, looking offended. "You're a wasted relic of power, someone who can barely summon enough magic to light a candle. You know nothing!"
Morgan snorted. "I have worked greater magics than you have ever dreamt of. And I know that true power does not lay in enslaving another."
"Then you're remarkably short-sighted." Zelena leaned forward, probably thinking she seemed threatening, but Morgan didn't even flinch. "Mark my words, I will get him back, and then you'll see who has the most power!"
Zelena stormed out while Morgan was busy taking a mental inventory to ensure all of Merlin's spellbooks were securely away from that insane witch. She could think of one spell strong enough to bind even the Sorcerer: the one that Merlin had once used to bind the Dark One to the dagger. She was fairly certain that the book that contained it was in Rumplestiltskin's hands, but it would not do to be careless on that front. Nor would it do to let Zelena run wild.
Eyes narrowing, she watched the door slam shut behind her elder son's ally. Morgan knew exactly what to do with her, and there was no need to wait.
His mother really was too trusting.
Morgan should have known better, but his mother had always had a soft spot for her children. Mordred had grown up knowing better than to take advantage of that, but now things were different. She hadn't been wrong about needing to defeat the Black Fairy, but Mordred realized the hard truth that his mother was avoiding. Danns' a'Bhàis needed two original powers to do her work, but the sum of two original powers would do the trick. Mordred knew that it was only a matter of time before the Black Fairy took control of the Dark One—frankly, he was surprised that she had not done so already. The Dark One's power alone would not quite be enough, not even when it resided in a host with so much natural magic, but combined with the power budding in Danns' own granddaughter, it would be.
He had contemplated trying to kill this Belle French several times. Firstly, because he disliked the idea of Arthur and Danns' child having reproduced; destroying such an offspring would be a worthy enough cause, even if the girl was biologically human, and magically half faerie. He had been relieved to learn that Colette was dead, because his younger half-sister ought never have been born in the first place, but her daughter was another matter, and not only because his mother would be furious with him if he tried to kill his half-niece. No, Belle was an adult, now, and married to the Sorcerer. Mordred did not lack courage, but he also was not fool enough to give the Sorcerer and the Black Fairy common cause. I will not make her a martyr.
But if he was not going to kill his niece-turned-sister-in-law, he needed to destroy the Dark One before Danns' could grab her. And that meant he needed the Greater Sapphire, which brought him back to the fact that his mother was entirely too trusting.
Zelena was undoubtedly proving an excellent distraction; he had not asked her what she meant to do to keep his mother busy, and Zelena had not said. He didn't care, either. All Mordred cared about was the fact that he was able to slip into his mother's house unseen, and fetch Circe's Pendant, Circe's power, from the place where Morgan had hidden it.
He'd almost hoped Accolon was home. Mordred burned a little to arrange an accident for his mother's idiot lover, but that would have been difficult to explain. And besides, Mordred was fond of Accolon for reasons Mordred hardly understood; he supposed that the knight must have been an excellent lover for Morgan to keep him around for so long. That, and he's simple. Mother thinks she's so smart, but even I know that she's given up on the idea of romantic love. She probably wanted someone who doesn't demand much of her.
"That doesn't matter," he whispered to himself, lifting the sapphire out of its hiding place. It glowed in his hands, filling Mordred with immense power and making his heart race. With this, I can do what must be done. He would not let it burn through him. His mother was wrong about that.
He would merely be everything she had ever prophesied he could be.
"How's it going?" Henry asked, hopping up on Archie's couch. No one had an appointment right now—Archie's book was rather thin these days, given that people had heard how he'd been found with blood on his hands and no memory of what had happened—so he'd come to see his old therapist.
"I'm doing all right." Archie's smile was a little strained, but he looked better than he had.
"Great! Can I ask you for some advice?" Henry had tossed around a lot of ideas with David, trying to figure out what he could safely talk to Archie about, and they'd finally hit on a good topic of conversation.
Great idea, Gramps! he thought triumphantly, because Archie's face had just split into a genuine grin.
"Of course you can, Henry."
"So, I've been talking to Isaac. I realized that I don't know much about being the Author, but it's still my job, even now that the pen is broken. And since the Apprentice is dead and Grandpa doesn't know all the ins and outs of being the Sorcerer, I thought I should ask him about it."
"That sounds logical." Archie looked thoughtful. "Though I imagine Isaac isn't proving terribly helpful."
"He's not helpful about anything." Henry heaved a sigh, and it wasn't even feigned. Isaac had told them a little bit about Camelot's history, but he seemed more interested in talking about the horrible monsters that had existed when Henry and Hook visited than it telling them the important stuff. Henry really was hoping that Archie would have some good advice on how to out-think Isaac. Maybe he could use some of those smart therapist tricks to get Isaac to start talking.
"Well, being locked in a cell probably doesn't make him very confident that talking will do him any good."
Henry frowned. "We promised him he might get out if he's helpful."
Archie's eyebrow rose. "Do you have that in writing?"
"No. But that shouldn't matter. I'm not him. I don't break promises."
"But you also don't have the authority to let him out." Archie leaned forward, and seeing him really engaged in the conversation made Henry bite back a smile. "Regina does, though. Get her to put something official on paper, and that might help."
"Okay!" Henry hadn't thought of that, though he was surprised that it hadn't occurred to his dad. It was a good idea, though, even if his mom probably wouldn't like it. "What else can I do?"
Archie started throwing ideas at him, and Henry enjoyed himself enough that he almost forgot that Archie didn't have his own heart. It was almost like old times, back when everything had been simpler and there'd only been a curse to break. Everything was complicated, now, but as long as he could help get Archie's heart back, Henry figured it would all turn out all right.
The potion took Morgan all of fifteen minutes to make, and it was even easier to ensure that the required six drops made it into the glass of wine Zelena was drinking in her rooms of the castle. Morgan's own power might never recover from the portal she had nearly killed herself to open, but she didn't need power to do this. Simply intelligence, hard-won knowledge, and a bit of guile.
After all, Zelena never kept much of an eye on what she was eating or drinking; she walked away from her wine glass, and Morgan slipped the potion in. She didn't even bother with invisibility. She simply concealed herself behind a curtain and watched with a smile as Zelena drank deeply from the goblet. Savor your 'victory' for now, my dear. You won't like the way it tastes soon enough, she thought, glancing down at the other component of the potion in her left hand. All she had to do was find a woman to willingly drink the other half. Until then, Zelena would know nothing was amiss, but once that other woman drank it…
I bore five children with four different men. I have been called a whore more than once, but I never forced a man. Remembering her own drunken encounter with Malcolm in Hamelin was enough to make her shiver, though. Even three centuries later, Morgan wasn't sure if she'd consented or not; she had always assumed that she had done so in her drunken misery. But she remembered enough to know that Malcolm had been drinking far less than she, and there was nothing about that memory she treasured—except, perhaps, the son who had come of it.
The son who Zelena had hurt.
Morgan didn't know the man who Zelena had raped to get pregnant, but she knew enough of the story. All of Storybrooke did. She assumed that this Robin Hood was a better person than Zelena, else Zelena would never have victimized him (or needed to). So, she was going to give him a choice to have another woman bear his child. Zelena certainly didn't care for the baby growing within her. To her, that child was merely a means to an end.
I seduced my own stepbrother to have a child, she thought coldly. But my child was never an object. I loved Mordred from the first moment I felt him move, and I will always love him, no matter how far he falls. She and Arthur had many differences, but they had both been willing that night. Morgan couldn't imagine conceiving a child in any other way, nor failing to care about that child. Zelena, however, clearly could, which meant Morgan's revenge was certainly fitting.
No, she didn't regret this one bit.
"Any ideas where he might be?" David asked as they got out of his truck, and Belle threw him a rueful glance.
"None. No one has seen Lancelot since he talked to my father, and Morgan couldn't find him, either."
"How is that going?" He sounded curious, and Belle couldn't blame him. "She's a hell of a mother-in-law to acquire, I imagine."
Belle had to chuckle despite herself. She knew that Emma and Regina had shared the news about her own surprising family connections with David—she'd made sure they would, actually, since being left in the dark did no one any good, and David was family. Knowing her grandmother was the Black Fairy certainly made her mother-in-law seem less threatening, though, which was what made her laugh. "Better than you think," she replied honestly. "She's… Well, she makes Regina seem subtle sometimes, but I think she's got a good heart underneath all that."
"You're the expert in seeing the best in people, so I won't argue with you on that one." David didn't bring up her grandmother, though; they'd all agreed to keep that knowledge a secret for now, much though Belle burned to confront "Guinevere" about her actual identity. Knowledge is power, she reminded herself. And they needed every advantage they could get.
She had the sneaking feeling that her grandparents were somehow involved in Lancelot's disappearance, too, which was why they'd come to the camp where the as yet un-homed Camelot remained. David and Regina had been steadily moving Storybrooke's newest residents into homes and apartments, but the relocation was slow going. Some of them were afraid of modern technology, and Camelot's poorest residents seemed the most hesitant to trust 'foreign' rulers. They also weren't exactly prone to coming to the sheriff's station to talk, so Belle and David had come out to see them.
"So, how do we want to do this?" she asked, and then spotted a familiarly painted truck pulling up to park next to David's old junker. Belle waved her hands as her father hopped out from the driver's seat. "Papa! We're over here!"
Maurice hurried over to join them as David shrugged. "I guess we just start talking to people. See if anyone knows where Lancelot has been staying, or where he might be. It's probably better if we split up."
"We don't want to stay separate for too long." Belle hated saying that, but maybe Rumplestiltskin's paranoia had rubbed off on her. Or perhaps her own recent unease was making her more cautious. Either way, she knew it was a logical idea, particularly here. I don't want to think of these people—my people, in many ways—as the enemy, but if they are loyal to my grandparents…
"Let's stay in sight of one another, then." David nodded, turning to Maurice. "You up for some detective work?"
"Anything if it helps find Lancelot." Maurice grimaced. "I think I was unfair to him last time. Colette loved him, and I was cruel. I'd like to make that right, and if helping find him can do that, I'm all in."
"Good man." David slapped Maurice on the shoulder, and the trio headed off to start talking to people.
This Dark One was not as easily rattled as she had hoped, and she was watching the Cricket entirely too closely.
Danns' prided herself on the ability to read people, but she had to acknowledge that the new Dark One was not nearly so predictable as her predecessors had been. Oh, Rumplestiltskin had fought it better and longer than most, but he at least had emotional vulnerabilities that were easy to exploit. Danns' knew how the darkness interacted with the host, knew how the darkness itself and the previous Dark Ones carved their influence into the mind and soul of the Dark One, but Emma Swan was proving surprisingly resilient. She had too many friends and family, too much strength of her own. Oh, she'd been consumed by her fury in the beginning—they all were—but now she was back on balance. Swan was nearly the Savior again, and Danns' could not have that.
Nor could she afford to have the Dark One meddling in her plans. She needed that power, and although it had amused her to let Emma Swan continue to keep her independence, even Danns' dark sense of humor had its limits. There was only so much she was prepared to tolerate.
"It is time I reclaimed the dagger," she told her husband when she returned home to find him studying a text on magical waters and their properties.
"I thought you wanted to wait longer?" Arthur looked contemplative. "She's been an excellent distraction."
"Not anymore. Emma Swan seems to have regained her status as one of the heroes." Danns' let her eyes narrow. Several Dark Ones had tried that over the years, but the nature of the darkness inside them always won out. Eventually. Unfortunately, she did not care to wait until the darkness turned Emma Swan's heart into a lump of coal. Her plans required action much sooner than that.
He smiled thinly. "You mean to control her and set her on our enemies, then."
"It would suffice as a distraction, though we needs must sacrifice some allies as well." She shrugged. There were allies enough from Camelot who were useless in the present day, and Danns' cared not if the Dark One killed them, provided it kept the heroes off her scent until it was too late.
"Will you use the Swan to bring the fae forth?"
"If I can do so secretly. Or if I can find believable reason for her to have done it without my control. Assuming she can find them." Danns' pushed that angry thought aside to study Arthur. She really was quite fond of him, and didn't want to sacrifice him for this, much though Emma butchering her mother's killer would gain Arthur's widow a welcome measure of sympathy. "I may have her try to kill you."
"I trust that you'll keep her from succeeding?" She could see the faint alarm in Arthur's eyes; as enjoyable as their marriage had always been, they both remained with the other because each found it useful to do so. And because we both want power. We always have. And what we want is separate enough that he is not a threat to me, which makes him continue to be useful.
"You're more valuable to me alive than dead," she answered honestly, and saw him relax.
Arthur wasn't a fool, after all, not like Morgan's idiotically ambitious lover. No, Arthur had known the danger of inviting her into his bed in the first place, and he'd done it anyway. They were alike in that way, although Danns' would never admit that to a mere human. Sooner or later, she'd dispose of him. But not today.
Today, Arthur was useful as well as pleasing, and when a spell she'd left lurking alerted her to something new, Danns' turned to the mirror at her right and waved a hand. The image solidified immediately, revealing three strangers in her people's camp. They were asking questions, of course, and she needed to know why. Looking over at her husband, she shifted her frown into a smile.
"Our granddaughter has come calling, darling. Perhaps you should meet her and offer some friendly assistance."
Had Baelfire warned his father that he was going to bring the pirate to the shop, Rumplestiltskin would probably have found somewhere else to be. Either that, or he would have made sure that Belle was there, given how she could read him better than anyone and could probably head off the worst of his anger, if necessary. But Belle had enough problems of her own these days, what with the fact that her grandmother had turned out to be the Black Fairy—a fact Rumplestiltskin knew his wife was still struggling to swallow. Her instincts had told her to be wary of Guinevere from the beginning, but that was a far cry from learning that your grandmother was the darkest of all fairies, the being whom some called the original darkness. She wasn't, of course; elemental demons predated even the original fairies, but such stories were not terribly concerned with logic or truth.
Belle insisted that she was fine and had headed over to talk to David about Lancelot, who remained unfound despite Belle's best efforts—and Morgan's, too. No one seemed to know where the knight had gone, and that was beginning to be worrisome, given that Lancelot seemed to be the key to a lot of what had happened. And now I have a pirate in my shop, Rumplestiltskin thought grumpily. He would much rather have been helping Belle. A pirate who happens to be my damned nephew.
"Hey, Pop." Bae's attempt at sounding casual was an abject failure, but Rumplestiltskin had to give his boy points for trying. This means a lot to him, he knew. So, he'd try to be on his best behavior.
"Hey."
The only consolation was that Hook looked as uncomfortable as Rumplestiltskin felt, and they were very consciously avoiding meeting one another's eyes. When was the last time they'd actually spoken in the shop? Had it been when Hook was threatening him over Emma becoming the Dark One? If so, that was hardly better than the times Rumplestiltskin had held his heart and forced him to do his bidding. They had so many damn reasons to hate one another, even if they had come to something of an understanding as of late.
"So, um, I thought we might all talk." Bae was trying valiantly, and Rumplestiltskin felt a wave of guilt wash over him—not for what he'd done to Hook in the past, for though he felt bad for that, he knew that there was plenty of blame on both sides. No, he felt guilty for leaving Bae to try to build this bridge alone, because he knew that it meant a lot to his son.
And if him making peace with the pirate, whom Rumplestiltskin had to admit had loved Milah, meant that much to his son, he would do it. He was no longer the Dark One, after all…and Killian Jones was family. No matter how much he'd hated this man for stealing his wife away (or, more likely, aiding Milah in her own willful escape from family and responsibility), those days were long in the past. This was his chance to prove he was no longer the man he had been.
"Perhaps we should begin with a gesture of good faith." Reaching under the counter, Rumplestiltskin picked up the jar he'd long left hidden there. Why he'd kept the hand, particularly after Hook's recent misadventures with it, he had no idea. Now, however, the hand was a useful olive branch.
"You going to mock me with that again?" Hook bristled immediately. "I'm not so easily fooled a second time, Cro—err, uh, Gold."
Rumplestiltskin couldn't help snorting. Better man he might have been, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to remind Hook why he'd had so much trouble with that hand of his. "If I recall correctly, I didn't mock you with the hand the first time. You blackmailed me and demanded it back, and I gave you exactly what you asked for. Your hand wasn't cursed, but it was a part of the old you. That meant the hand contained a part of your old soul, complete with the villainous and vicious pirate you weren't quite over. Given time, you would have overcome it, and it would have become part of what you are now."
His explanation only earned him a glare. "Then why bring it up now?"
"As I said, I think a peace offering is in order." He shrugged. "If you want your hand back, it's yours."
"…What?"
"Can you do that, Papa?" Bae asked as Hook stared, flabbergasted. "Reattach it? Make it work like new?"
"Well, not like 'new', but certainly like 'old'." Rumplestiltskin smiled slightly. "It'll work. Any minor crises of conscience and soul, however, are the responsibility of the good Captain here."
Hook was still staring, but Bae was starting to smile. Seeing a proud look on his son's face was enough to make his heart skip a beat, and that was worth doing this, even if it meant making peace—for now and forever—with the pirate. With Killian, he supposed, given that the pirate was now his nephew. Who would have ever thought I had siblings? he thought, the very idea almost taking his breath away. He'd had two brothers other than Mordred, one who died young and the other who had died in an effort to contain the very enemy who now threatened all of Storybrooke. Rumplestiltskin had never been proud of his lineage, had never thought that there was anyone of his blood worth caring about aside from his son and grandson, yet perhaps he had been wrong.
A long moment of silence reigned while Rumplestiltskin mused. Meanwhile, Hook seemed torn; he was staring at his hand hopefully, obviously not daring to believe he might actually get it back. But Rumplestiltskin was a firm believer in catching the opposition—even if it was now a family member—off guard, and if they were going to make peace, he was not going to be caught flat-footed.
"C'mon, Killian," Bae finally said. "Don't you want your hand back?"
"Aye." Killian swallowed hard, his blue eyes uncertain. "You're certain it's not cursed?"
"I am." He almost went on to mention that he'd had the hand since he'd cut it off, but decided that was a little uncalled for. It certainly wouldn't reassure Killian, so Rumplestiltskin chose to say no more.
"Can it control me?"
"Only if you let it."
Slowly, Killian looked up and met his eyes. A part of Rumplestiltskin—the part that would always be the frightened spinner, scraping up what little courage he had to face the man who had stolen his wife away and could kill him in an instant—wanted to flinch, to cower. But he did not. He was no longer that man, and he had learned to be brave even when he did not feel it. So, he met the pirate's eyes levelly and calmly.
"Then do your work." Killian swallowed visibly, and his nervousness was such a far cry from the brazen way he'd demanded his hand back last time around. Or how desperate he was to get me to remove it once more. Rumplestiltskin vividly remembered being stabbed with that damned hook, and even though he'd laughed that off, it had hurt like hell.
Now, however, he didn't anticipate any such problems. The pirate actually had changed, which meant his hand would follow suit eventually. It hadn't suited Rumplestiltskin to say that the first time around—not when he'd been sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness, unable to fight it and often unable to tell his own thoughts from those of the others—but these types of things did tend to run their course. Hopefully, it wouldn't take the hand three hundred years to work out a way to be better. Let's also hope that it doesn't need Emma Swan, because I'm sensing rather a cold front in that direction, he thought without amusement. The fact that his newly-discovered nephew and his son were in love with the same woman could prove a problem in the future, but so far they seemed to be united.
But today was not the time for such worries. Waving his hand over the jar, Rumplestiltskin quickly worked the magic to reunite hand and arm once more, removing the hook, bracer, and all of its accoutrements at the same time. On a whim, he threw a thread of magic in at the last moment, linking the new (old) hand to Killian's present soul. That would give the pirate a bit of an advantage over the hand's toxicity; if he chose to fight it, he'd probably win.
"There." He gave a simple nod, and watched Killian flex his fingers.
"Damn, that's cool," Bae breathed from the side, eying the hand admiringly. Rumplestiltskin felt that flicker of pride, again; this was his son, the man who had come to hate magic. And yet now Bae didn't hate the fact that his father had it. He even wanted his father to help with said magic, and that meant the world to him.
It also meant that Rumplestiltskin overcame his moment's hesitation, adding: "What little of the old you remains in that hand shouldn't overcome the rest of you. Not if you don't let it."
That earned him a scowl. "It did last time."
"Well, you might say I put an insurance policy in this time. A bit of a dampening spell, if you would." He smiled crookedly. "We can't have you punching random drunks or stabbing people with your old hook, now, can we?"
"You couldn't do that last time?"
Rumplestiltskin shrugged unrepentantly. "You might have asked for it back, instead of trying blackmail."
"You'd have said no," the pirate pointed out.
"Perhaps." He might have done it just to keep people thinking he was on the right path, but with how hard a hold the darkness had on him at that point, there was no knowing. "But I was a different man, then."
Killian hesitated. "Aye. We both were." The pirate hesitated, swallowing hard. "Thank you."
Their eyes met, and for the first time since they'd talked about Milah that day Rumplestiltskin and Emma had battled, they actually understood one another. They'd probably never be loving family, but this was, at least, a start. Bae was smiling, too, and that meant that reattaching Killian Jones' hand was an incredibly small price to pay. And maybe it means that I have changed, Rumplestiltskin thought to himself. He'd always be scarred by the darkness, never to be the simple and good man he'd been before becoming the Dark One, but he didn't need to be. This could be more than enough.
"David! You didn't tell me you were coming by."
Hearing Arthur's voice behind David made him turn, trying a friendly smile on for size. He and Arthur were mostly on good terms, though learning that the king of Camelot had actually married the darkest of all fairies really made it hard for Storybrooke's sheriff to like him. Had Mordred not tried to kill Emma and Henry both—and Baelfire, who was tentatively becoming a friend—David might have actually chosen to believe the awful things that Mordred said about his father, but the way things stood, he was rather firmly against anyone from Camelot. Except these poor bastards who had the misfortune to live there, he reminded himself firmly. The people of Camelot were blameless, for the most part, and they deserved a lot better than any of the rulers they'd had.
"Sorry, it was kind of a short notice thing," he replied as casually he could. "We just came out looking for an old friend."
Arthur had to be a better actor than David could ever dream of being. Either that, or Arthur was supremely confident that his secrets were safe, because the other man looked relaxed. "I didn't know you had any old friends from Camelot."
"Well, Snow and I"—his voice cracked there, but David couldn't help it, even when a ghostly and slight press of his hand made the pain a tad easier to bear—"met him in the Enchanted Forest, long after he'd left your realm. But we're hoping to find him here."
"You, my granddaughter, and my son-in-law." Arthur's blue eyes swept over Belle and Maurice both, and David tried not to shiver. He's almost as dangerous as his wife, I think.
Belle, however, seemed to have noticed him, and she came over with a slightly concerned expression on her face. "We're looking for Lancelot, Grandfather. Have you seen him?"
"No more than the last time you asked me." Arthur sounded a little annoyed, but Belle didn't seem to notice. Or did she just not care? David imagined that news of who her grandmother was had shaken her to the core; Belle was a kind and loving person, but she was incredibly strong. Not to mention determined as hell.
David had agreed to help her look for Lancelot because he was worried about his friend, but also because he was growing increasingly wary of Arthur and whatever plots Camelot's king was hiding. The last person to have been seen with Lancelot had been Archie, and that really wasn't starting to add up in ways that David was comfortable with. He'd never considered that Arthur might be involved with the theft of Archie's heart, but if Guinevere was the Black Fairy…none of that boded well for any of them.
"We were hoping that you might have remembered something, or seen him recently," Maurice added, and David could have hugged the florist. No one had told him about Guinevere's real identity (Belle didn't think her father could keep it a secret), but his arrival was very well timed.
"No, I haven't." Arthur hesitated, and then shrugged. "I'm happy to help you look for him, though."
"Thanks." David made himself smile. "I'm sure that'll help a lot."
He would have refused the help if he could, of course; Belle wanted to talk to Lancelot to learn more about her mother, and Arthur had a vested interest in keeping Lancelot's knowledge secret. That meant that people who might have been willing to talk to them before wouldn't, not with Arthur along for the ride. Oh, Arthur played at being a great and gracious king, and some of his people seemed to believe he was, but the peasants seemed a little less trusting. David spoke their language, and he'd hoped to sneak away from Arthur and have a few candid conversations, but every time he felt like he was getting somewhere, Arthur seemed to turn up out of nowhere.
He, Belle, and Maurice left a little over an hour later, no closer to finding Lancelot than they had been when they arrived.
It was a damned good thing that Happy was trying to romance that girl from Camelot, Grumpy decided later. If Happy hadn't insisted on going out to the camp that night, they'd have never seen Archie walking that way, a bottle of lighter fluid in one and a pack of long matches in the other. Archie seemed damned glassy eyed, too, and when they shouted for him, he didn't seem to notice they were calling his name.
The dwarves barely rushed up in time to stop Archie from lighting fire to one of the tents, and Archie didn't even seem to come back to himself when Grumpy knocked the lighter fluid clean out of his hands. "Go find that!" he shouted at Happy, trying to wrestle the matches away from the therapist.
"Let go!" Archie finally seemed to wake up, and for a moment, Grumpy thought everything might be all right. Then Archie landed a really weak right hook in Grumpy's midsection, making him grunt. It wasn't the worst punch he'd ever taken, not by far. His cursed self had picked fights as a hobby and done some underground boxing, too, which meant Grumpy knew how to take a hit. Even the bad ones.
"What the hell is wrong with you, man?" Finally, he got ahold of the matches and threw those towards Happy, only to find Archie swinging at him again. "C'mon, Cricket! This is getting ridiculous. I don't want to hurt—"
Archie punched him again, this time making better contact. Grumpy doubled over, retching, but he refused to let go of Archie's other arm. He didn't want to hurt Archie, not like he had bloodied and bruised some of his opponents, but enough was freaking enough.
"This isn't you!" he bellowed, and reached up to slap Archie across the face. Hard.
The blow contacted, but Archie didn't even yelp. This is way too weird! After a moment, though, Archie finally started to blink—rapidly. And then he slumped straight to the ground, passing right out.
"What'd you do?" Happy reached his side, puffing for air, matches and lighter fluid in hand. "How could you hit Archie, man? He's as gentle as a feather!"
"I didn't knock him out! This isn't my fault!"
"He's kind of unconscious."
"Yeah, well, help me get him back to the van, will you? Something's definitely wrong here, and Archie needs help."
"Guess my date's off, huh?" Happy didn't sound too upset, not that he ever did. Grumpy just grunted in response, and the two dwarves hauled the former cricket off to the van together. Once they safely in the car, not to mention far enough away that he was pretty sure Archie wouldn't wake up and immediately try more arson on for size, Grumpy called David.
This was really one hell of a mess.
A/N: Stay tuned for Chapter Fifty-Four—" Children Born of Thee are Sword and Fire", in which Rumplestiltskin and Mordred have a 'friendly' chat, Henry and Bae talk to Isaac again, Belle talks to her grandmother, Emma meets Henry's great-grandmother, and Morgan tells Rumplestiltskin about what she's learned.
