A/N: According to the OUAT wiki, the Sorcerer's Mansion is, in actuality, the Cecil Green Park House. I'm borrowing some of the room details from their website in order to set the scene.

Chapter 50

He seemed remarkably spry for an elderly man, Regina reflected. As it had been with the fairies not long ago, the Apprentice seemed somewhat shaken and disoriented when first he emerged from the hat, but he recovered quickly and surveyed the people clustered about with a piercing gaze.

Then he nodded to himself as though satisfied and smiled at Regina. "I expect I've you to thank for my release," he said genially.

Regina inclined her head by the barest fraction. "Actually," she replied, "it was more of a joint effort. Hook told us you were still in there, and it was Rumple's spell that I cast."

The Apprentice focused his gaze on the two men in question, both of whom appeared apprehensive. Regina could guess why. After a moment, though, the old man smiled thoughtfully. "My master used to say that a change of heart benefits more people than the one who changes it," he said. "My thanks to both of you."

Some of Rumple's tension seemed to ease, though it was plain that he was still quite nervous. Hook managed a relieved smile. Regina cleared her throat. "We… have some questions, if you're up for them," she said.

If he was surprised or put out, it didn't show on his face. "Such could scarcely be otherwise," he replied. "But the skies are threatening snow and while I might be able to do something to avert such circumstance, since magic does come with a price, perhaps we might seek more comfortable surroundings than these in advance of the weather." His smile turned hopeful. "And perhaps, some tea and biscuits would be in order. I haven't had either in several weeks, it would seem."

"Granny's?" Emma suggested.

"The mansion?" Henry asked at the same time.

The Apprentice favored the boy with a shrewd look. "I think that would be best. There should be ample seating in the library. And I believe you'll find ginger biscuits in the kitchen. Ground floor, turn right after the main entrance, take the door on the left that opens on the corridor, and it's at the end of the hall, last door on the left."

"Why tell us?" Regina asked. "Aren't you coming with us?"

"I'll join you directly," the Apprentice said. "However, as well-stocked as that kitchen may be, it lacks vanilla rooibos tea. I'll fetch some from my own dwelling and meet you in… say, one hour?"

Before anyone could answer, the Apprentice vanished in a shimmer of rose-colored light.

The others exchanged bemused glances. "I… guess he really likes his tea," August murmured.

"Back to town, then?" Belle ventured.

"Not much point staying here," Rumple agreed, already taking a step in the direction of their parked cars.

The others followed on his heels.


Ninety minutes later, there was still no sign of the Apprentice and the others were getting concerned. At least, the adults were. Henry, bored and growing tired of sitting still, was browsing through a shelf of books. Belle contemplated joining him; it would give her something to do. And, while Rumple was, at least, speaking with her now, it was still only when necessary and, when it wasn't necessary, their silences were more awkward than companionable. Still, as a child, Henry might be excused for leaving the council table and pursuing his own interests. Belle didn't believe that her copying him would sit well with the others. She sighed inwardly. Here she'd thought that she was done worrying about what other people thought. So much for that idea. She ought to just push her chair back and walk over to the shelf. She stayed seated and tried to pay attention to the idle conversation taking place about her.

"How were Blue and the others after you let them out?" Emma asked Regina with a frown.

Regina shrugged. "Pretty much like you saw just now: a bit shaken up and disoriented, but on the whole, fine and glad to be free."

"Not exhausted, then? O-or sick, or…?"

"Not that I saw," Regina confirmed. "Though I certainly didn't spend much time hovering over them once I'd freed them. I just… arranged for the dwarfs to drive them back to the convent and that was that."

"For the record?" August ventured. "Yeah, that's the guy who interviewed me. He hasn't changed much." He hesitated. "At least, I don't think he has; but then, I only met him for about half an hour, over a decade ago."

Rumple gave him a thin smile. "I suppose I can understand why he made an impression on you."

"What's taking him so long?" Hook asked. "D'you think one of us ought to go check on him?"

"Maybe give it a little longer," Emma suggested. She glanced at August. "Remember that snowstorm we had on the way home. Maybe the Apprentice is checking to make sure his pipes didn't freeze."

Regina regarded her for a moment, and it wasn't certain whether the irritation on her face was more from Emma's comment or from the old man's delay. After a moment, she pulled out her phone. "I think your parents ought to be here, too," she said finally. "I'll ask them to stop by the old man's house and make sure he's all right."

She glanced from Gold to Killian. "What address?"

"Mom!" Henry hurried back to the table, his finger holding his place in a thick hardcover. He looked from Emma to Regina. "Moms! Grandpa…"

Regina reached for the book. "You found something?" she asked.

"Sort of." His gaze flicked from one adult to the next, resting on Rumple. "Grandpa, Mom—I mean, Emma—told me that you were trying to figure out how this place came over with the second curse." He passed the tome across the table, opening it to where his finger marked the place as he did so. "If I'm reading this right, I don't think it did."

"Henry," Regina said, with a frown, "I know just about every square inch of this town. For twenty-eight years, I was almost the only person aware of the nature of what was going on and… when the monotony got to be a bit much, I explored the length and breadth of it. This mansion isn't anything I ever came across until now."

"I know," Henry said. "It didn't come over with the first curse, but it did come over after it…"

Rumple drew the book closer, his eyes widening as they moved down the page. "Well," he said faintly, "this is enlightening."

"What's it say?" August asked.

Rumple took a breath. "It corroborates what the two of you," he looked from Belle to Emma, "were telling me earlier. The hat was a test. Or, as you referred to it on a previous occasion, a setup." He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and continued, a slight tremor in his voice marring its evenness. "In the event that a Dark One is able to put aside their," one corner of his mouth turned up wryly and a sardonic note crept into his tone, "their 'base, self-serving instincts' and take the first step back to the Light on their own… Then, if this is correct, the hat 'comes to them at the appropriate time'."

"Neverland!" Emma and Regina exclaimed, almost at the same time.

"When you were ready to give your life to save Henry," Regina gave her son a loving smile, "despite the prophecy that he'd be your undoing—"

"—it must have set this… this…" Emma cast about looking for a better word before she decided to use the first one that had sprung to her mind as the product of an upbringing far more technological than magical, "...program," she said, "running and brought the hat and the mansion to Storybrooke!"

"And less than twenty-four hours later," Regina continued, "We found out that Henry and Pan had switched bodies, Pan cast the curse, you," she looked at Rumple unflinching, barely pausing before she went on, "…died, and my re-casting wiped Storybrooke and everything in it out of existence."

"Including the mansion," Belle breathed.

Rumple nodded. "I'm guessing that when you prepared the curse anew, you didn't try anything fancy, Your Majesty?"

Regina shook her head. "No, I just set it to bring back everything to the way it had been before Pan's casting." Her eyes widened. "Everything…" she repeated.

"Including the mansion," August said, echoing Belle. "And the hat."


"You know," Snow said, "I don't think I've ever been down this street before."

David drove slowly, paying close attention to the numbers on the houses they passed. "Well, it's a residential street," he murmured. "I don't know anyone else who lives on it either."

"Still, after more than thirty years… I mean, David, this town isn't that big. And who is this 'Apprentice' anyway?"

David shrugged as he parked the truck in front of a perfectly ordinary-looking dwelling. "Huh," he muttered.

"What?"

"Look at the walk," David said. "No footprints. So, either he teleported inside, or he can levitate, or he never made it back here."

"Or Rumpelstiltskin gave Regina the wrong address," Snow said.

"Why would he do that?"

Snow shook her head. "I don't know, but it bothers me."

David got out and went around to the front of the truck to open the door for his wife. "Well, we don't know that he did, so let's not assume the worst yet. Come on."

The two walked up to the front door and, after a moment's hesitation, David rapped sharply upon it. Almost at once, they heard footsteps from inside the house.

"Uh, hi," David said, as the door opened. "Sorry to bother you. Regina sent us to make sure—" His words died on his lips as he recognized the old man standing before him. "You!"


Emma ended the call and pocketed her phone with an annoyed look on her face.

"What's happened?" Belle asked.

Emma didn't answer for a moment. Then she released a heavy sigh. "Just when you think things are already as complicated as they're going to get, Fate decides to throw a calculus textbook into the mix."

"Don't suppose you could elaborate on that?" August asked, suppressing a smile.

"Uh, you know that big fight I had with my parents and why?"

Everyone at the table, with the exception of Whale—who had been mostly silent since their arrival—nodded.

Emma hesitated again. "Well, from what Dad told me just now, I think I know what the Author did to get himself imprisoned…"


The old man set two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits down on the round wooden table. "I was hoping to consult with my master before joining the others at the mansion," he admitted. "I'm afraid he's proving unavailable."

Neither Nolan reached for a cup. "So, you're saying," David said skeptically, "that the Author wrote down that you told us we had to transfer Emma's potential for Darkness to another vessel and you just… had to cast the spell that would do it?"

The Apprentice raised an eyebrow. "Such incredulity? When a man of your acquaintance can be compelled to obey the will of whosoever wields his dagger?" He made a scoffing sound. "You ought to be aware that the pen is mightier than the sword. Or the quill the blade."

"But with your magic, surely…" Snow's voice trailed off.

The old man shook his head. "You're aware that I'm styled 'the Apprentice'," he said. "That rather implies I've still much to learn. And as for the quill, its power has grown since it was fashioned—and its fashioning dates back to the very dawn of time. I doubt that Merlin himself could break free of its sway." His eyes grew thoughtful. "Though that is something I've never had the temerity to ask him," he added. "Suffice that I could not," he continued briskly. "And since the Author also wrote that I could tell nobody that his will had been superimposed over my own, I had no way to caution others that my actions were not my own."

"But couldn't he have written that there was no way to stop him?" David asked.

The Apprentice gave him a hard look. "You can be thankful he didn't have the imagination to do so. And since his… writing career… was overseen by me, and since he did not know that there was another to whom I was answerable and accountable, he didn't realize that I was but a gatekeeper in this endeavor. Or that I had a master with the power to scry the stars and see how he'd misused the gift he'd been given."

He shook his head. "I trust that answers your questions and accusations. I feel I ought to apologize to you for what was done, even though I was powerless to countermand the directives that were penned for me."

He hadn't been able to keep a worried frown from his face while he spoke and it only deepened as he went on. "I don't believe that my master is able to respond to me, though I'd hoped otherwise. Finish your refreshments, if you please. It's past time we rejoined the others."


While the others around the table engaged in small talk to try to pass the time until the magician—or rather, the Apprentice—joined them, Rumple pushed back his chair and murmured something about wanting to stretch his legs. Belle waited for a moment or two before she got up and followed, hoping she wasn't making a mistake.

She found him on the second floor, in a minstrels' gallery, looking down on a spacious walnut-paneled room with glass-fronted bookcases. Belle noted that the gallery had two doors situated at opposite ends of the back wall. Good. As much as she wanted to talk to him, she knew that backing him into a corner wasn't a wise move. Not after all the other times she'd trapped him—or tried to—with the best of intentions. She couldn't try to convince him to give her another chance if she was going to sink back into the same old patterns. "Rumple?"

His shoulders slumped at the sound of her voice and he did not turn to face her. "Belle."

If she'd heard anger or loathing in his voice, anything other than resigned weariness, she might have backed away. Had there been any warmth or welcome, she would have drawn closer. Instead, she stood in the doorway, feeling as if she were walking on a flimsy bridge that might collapse at any moment. "P-please, Rumple. Just let me talk."

He let out a heavy breath. "There's no point in talking, Belle. Just go."

"I'm not going anywhere." Mistake, a voice hissed in her mind, even as she saw her husband's posture stiffen. She was still doing it: ignoring his requests, trying to prove she knew what he needed better than he did, trying to get him to do what she wanted without once considering why he might be refusing. Quickly, adopting a more conciliatory tone, she all but blurted, "Please, please, I just want a chance to be heard."

Rumple turned toward her then, anger and pain glinting coldly in his brown eyes. "Another one?" he asked flatly. He shook his head as his voice grew bitter. "Well. When, in the past, have I not granted you that? Even when I expelled you from my castle, I heard you out before you left. Speak, then, if you think you must."

She flinched at the fury that simmered beneath his words. Then she nodded slowly. "That… was the first time I made a mess of everything, wasn't it?" she asked. "I was so sure that you wanted to be free of your curse, so certain that if I could only break it for you, you'd be happy…" She took another breath. "Rumple? What would have happened if I'd done it differently? Suppose I'd come back from the village, told you I'd met someone on the road who'd told me that True Love's Kiss could break any curse, and offered to try? In-instead of assuming I knew what was best and went ahead and did it?"

She tensed, waiting for him to brush her off or, perhaps, brush past her in search of another place of refuge. Instead, his eyes widened slightly. And when he spoke again, although there was scant warmth in his voice, at least its edge seemed less sharp. "That was a long time ago," he said slowly. "And we were both… different." He waited for her slight nod, before he continued. "But if I had to speculate, I imagine I would have laughed in your face at first. Then cautioned you not to try it. And, at the first opportunity, I believe I would have had a word or two with Regina—likely words you wouldn't have been overly familiar with unless, during your delicate upbringing, you'd had reason to frequent soldiers' barracks."

Belle blinked at the faint note of humor in his words—a humor far less bitter than she'd expected to hear.

He wasn't finished. "But in the scenario you describe," he continued pensively, "I don't believe I would have sent you away. I might have offered you your freedom after making it plain that I had no interest in giving up my power, and had you accepted, there would have been an end of u—of it," he amended hastily. "But in that circumstance, I'd venture to guess you would have passed your last evening in surroundings more comfortable than that cell."

Belle nodded, closing her eyes to hold back the tears that burned and threatened to overflow them. "I'm sorry," she said. "For that, and for not learning from that mistake afterwards. That's… I guess that's all I wanted to tell you." She took a step toward him. Then she shook her head, took a shuddering breath, released it, spun on her heel, and left the gallery at a brisk trot. Her heels clicked a frantic staccato on the wooden floor, growing fainter as they receded down the hallway.

Had she been a fraction of a second slower, she might have seen Rumple's hand begin to extend toward her, even as he took an involuntary step in her direction.


He loved her still, but he wasn't sure he could risk letting her in again. He'd never planned to. Oh, he'd needed someone to keep house for him; that much had been true. He'd been working at crafting the Dark Curse for decades, his research frequently leading to blind alleys and dead ends. But matters had finally been coming to a head. Progress, which had, in the beginning, assumed a near-glacial pace was now snowballing as one piece after another fell into place. He didn't have time to bother with such mundanities as tidiness or organization. And yet, without those mundanities, his work would stall as he searched fruitlessly for this ingredient and that scroll.

Duke Maurice had needed his help. And his daughter could read Fairy. Among other languages. She had a good head for books and research. He could use that. So. He'd set the terms of the deal. She'd accepted them. Over the protests of father and fiancé.

Had she begun to win his heart, even on that first day, when she'd declared for all to hear that nobody would determine her fate but herself? He'd taken the dagger and killed Zoso for that privilege. It hadn't occurred to him that members of the nobility could be just as powerless as he'd once been. If he hadn't begun to love her then, he'd at least recognized something of a kindred spirit in her. And in the months that followed that day, he'd grown to love her, even if he hadn't quite recognized it.

There'd been a thousand rationalizations. Of course, he'd rescued her from Ursula, Maleficent, and Cruella. Couldn't have those 'Queens of Darkness' spreading rumors that he couldn't confront them when they stole someone out from under his nose. Couldn't let anyone think that he was afraid to confront them. And nobody stole from the Dark One. Nobody blackmailed the Dark One with impunity. It hadn't been love that had sent him racing after her or letting loose his fury on those three afterwards.

And he'd only caught her when she'd tumbled off the ladder because good help was hard to find and he didn't want to clean up the mess she'd make on the stone floor.

And…

And he'd actually believed all of that until she'd kissed him. And then he'd seen that she was just another one out to weaken the Dark One. Out to take away his power. Out to…

Well. He hadn't believed that part, not even when he'd accused her. But her actions had only reminded him that love was a weapon. And in the proper hands, it could cut more keenly than any dagger,, including his. He couldn't take the chance that she'd keep him from his goal, not when he was so close. He couldn't risk her stealing his power—and her actions had demonstrated that, whatever her reasons, she'd wanted to. It hadn't really been her fault; he realized that once his temper abated. But she was still too dangerous to keep. So he'd turned her out… and when the Queen had informed him of what had happened afterwards, he'd had one more loss to blame himself for. It would be nearly thirty years before he'd realize he'd been lied to. Pity the Seer's talent hadn't been useful on that score.

He'd found her again at last, but he'd been terrified of losing her. Resigned to it, loving her enough to let her go, he'd tried backing off, but each time, she'd given him hope and reason to think that Fate might finally grant him some small happiness. He just had to try his best to be a better person. Become the person she convinced him he still could be.

While so much of his heart railed against it.

It hadn't been until she'd wielded what she'd believed to be his dagger that he'd understood. She was one more person who wanted to control him. Once more, he'd learned that love was a weapon. If he wanted to keep hers, he had to do as she wished. And really, how would she react if she knew how Dark he could be? As much as she'd told him he could tell her anything, he hadn't dared to fully take her up on it.

It had been a wise move, as he'd learned over two months ago. When he was able to suppress his Darker urges, act as though he'd changed, 'did the virtuous thing and hoped virtue would follow,' then all was well. But the slightest slip and he risked losing her. And that loss cut deep. Because he had thought she loved him for who he was, had thought she understood. And to have her prove otherwise after he'd lowered his walls and let her in? No. He'd been right to back away this last time. He'd been honest with her, finally, as she'd always demanded of him. Maybe he hadn't deserved any better treatment than he'd received at her hands, but she'd let him think he might expect it, only to turn on him.

What would have happened if I'd done it differently?

The question stabbed through the defensive wall he'd erected to protect himself. And despite his fears and doubts, despite the distance he'd tried to keep between himself and the woman he loved…

For the first time in over a fortnight, he felt the faintest glimmer of hope that perhaps, if he gave love another chance, things could go differently.

Perhaps.


She'd just wanted him to be the good man she'd always seen behind the monster—and she had always seen him. Even when she'd told him otherwise, what she'd really meant was that she'd believed the monster to be gone and, like a mud stain on a white tablecloth, once she'd spotted the monster again, that had been all she saw. Not that the tablecloth hadn't been there too, but that her focus had been on the stain. The stain she'd finally despaired of washing out.

She sucked in her breath. What had he said about not blaming her for disposing of something ruined beyond repair?

Belle stepped outside, heedless of the cold, and stood on the terrace, leaning against the stone wall. She'd been horrified to hear Rumple describe himself so. She was more horrified to realize that he'd been right. That had been exactly how she'd been acting. She might have phrased it differently. She'd definitely rationalized it. But at the end of the day, face to face with the monster she'd been telling herself was gone… she'd rejected him.

She hadn't even tried to understand. After everything Zelena had done, of course Rumple would want to be free of his dagger. And, though she hadn't known of Hook's attempts at blackmail until Emma had enlightened her, of course Rumple would have reacted far more disproportionately toward someone who had tried to bend him to their will after that year of slavery. Someone else who thought they could order him about with impunity. Someone else who…

No, it was no mystery that Rumple had brought the monster to the fore. The mystery was that he'd done his best to hide it from her, for as long as he could, despite her attempts to force him into a mold he hadn't fit and then blamed him for not fitting it. It was easy enough to condemn Hook for his actions. But what of her own? Every time he'd tried to do the right thing… not because it was right, not because he wanted to, but because he had every reason to believe he'd lose her if he didn't… If that wasn't a form of blackmail too, Belle didn't know what was.

Had she realized that she'd used his love for her as a weapon against him? A shred of a conversation she'd had with Emma after Rumple's revelations on their second night in New York came back to her.

"Either I was callous or I was clueless," Emma had said bitterly. "Seriously. I feel like I just came face to face with myself and I want to throw something heavy at the mirror."

Belle knew how Emma had felt. The monster she'd seen when she'd looked at Rumple that night at the town line… It had been there, of course. It had never really gone away. But she wondered whether it had truly been Rumple she'd meant to drive away…

…Or her own reflection.

At least, he'd spoken to her. He'd answered her question. And maybe… maybe there had been the tiniest crack in the fortress he'd constructed to keep her at arm's length. Maybe.

But now wasn't the time to push for a reconciliation. Pushing too hard would surely push him further away. As much as she yearned to tell him that she'd been trying to change, trying to be the person he needed her to be, trying to…

Her eyes opened wide. "No wonder he's not letting me back in," she whispered. "If I've been making him feel like—" She sucked in several breaths of crisp, cold air. Then she realized that someone was calling her name and she turned to see Whale standing in the doorway she'd just come through.

"The Apprentice is back," the doctor said apologetically. He frowned. "Aren't you cold out here?"

Belle shrugged, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to discuss the matter. "I suppose you're going to tell me I'll catch my death of pneumonia."

Whale smiled and shook his head. "No, even if that was a prevailing myth in my realm, too. But cold temperatures could dry out the lining of your nose which could make you more susceptible to infection..." His voice trailed off as his smile fell away. "Are you all right?"

Belle forced herself to nod. "I'm fine," she said, pasting on a bright smile. "Let's go back to the library."


"I can't get over how many different types of trees went into this," August murmured, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "And not common ones either. Flame mahogany in the dining room, Australian walnut in here…" He caught Rumple's impatience and shrugged. "The Apprentice is back. Thought you might want to head back to the library. Unless you need a minute?"

Rumple shook his head. "I suppose there's no point in delaying the inevitable," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Gold? You okay?"

Rumple sighed. "The curse gave me false memories of being an indifferent student in school. It's interesting to discover that I still have no interest in knowing precisely how badly I failed an examination, once I knew I had."

August hesitated for a moment. Then he reached out a hand to clap Rumple on the shoulder. "Maybe there's a remake," he said.

Rumple shook his head, but a bitter smile played on his lips. "I've the worrying notion that it was the remake I failed."

"Well don't sign up for summer school yet," August said. "To continue the analogy, the grades haven't been posted yet. You might have done better than you think."

Rumple regarded him for a moment. Then he sucked in a breath and released it noisily. "Well, I can scarcely see how I could have done worse," he muttered, gently shaking himself loose from August's hand and heading for the closest door out of the gallery.

August fell into step behind him.


There were three more chairs occupied at the table, Rumple saw. Emma's charming parents had arrived, together with the Apprentice. There were also two empty seats that had previously been filled. Rumple wasn't sure whether to be worried or relieved that one of them was Belle's. Then the door opened again and Belle and Whale entered hurriedly, mumbling apologies.

The Apprentice smiled at them as they tumbled into the two vacant chairs. "In point of fact, the apology's mine," he remarked. "After recent surprising turns of events, I'd thought it wise to consult with a head more knowledgeable and experienced than mine before proceeding." He hesitated, and Rumple realized for the first time that the man was worried, though he hid it well. "Unfortunately, that option doesn't appear to be open to me." He took a breath. "So. It's hardly fair to make the rest of you wait indefinitely."

Regina hesitated. "You can change my ending?" she asked.

The Apprentice raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what you've been doing on your own?"

It was rare for the formerly-Evil Queen to appear flustered, but her usual collected poise wasn't much in evidence at the moment. "I-I've made changes," she said, "but no matter what happens, after a brief respite, everything just… blows up in my face. My mother murdered my first love. I had to send my son away, never expecting to see him again. My sister tricked my new love away from me and is now carrying his child…" Her voice trailed off.

The Apprentice shook his head sadly. "Has your Majesty never seen the underside of a tapestry?"

"What?"

A slight smile came to his lips, though there was no merriment in his voice. "If you haven't, you ought to. All knots and tangles and threads that zig and zag and vanish into clumps, only to surface elsewhere. A mess, in point of fact. But if one turns the work to the other side, it's easier to see the true picture." He shook his head. "In hindsight, it's easier to see how a destiny can be shaped by both free choice and fate. But that's hindsight. And no comfort to you, I know."

"I don't want comfort!" Regina snapped. "I want my happy ending!"

"And you would use the Author's quill to compel one?" the Apprentice asked, quite coolly.

Regina hesitated. "Well, I tried using brute force a few times," she said. "I tried doing the right thing afterwards. The results haven't been appreciably different."

"Really?" the Apprentice asked. "Can you truly claim that your life has been no better since you took it upon yourself to turn away from the Darkness that once overpowered you?"

Regina flushed. Then, slowly, her gaze panned the room, taking in the others seated at the table. Her son. Her stepdaughter and her son's biological mother—two close friends when, for over twenty-eight years, she'd barely been able to claim a casual acquaintance that the Curse hadn't 'programmed' to want to be in a relationship with her. She remembered the rush of incredulity, joy, and determination when she'd used Light magic to defeat her sister. As alive and excited as Dark magic had made her feel, it had been but a pale shadow of that thrill. But… "Are you telling me that I can have a happy ending?"

"If you've the wisdom to recognize it when you've found it," the Apprentice cautioned. "And that's not always easy when it doesn't look as you might have expected." He smiled apologetically. "I'm no seer. I can't say what form your happy ending is taking. But I assure you that your potential for one is as great as that of any other." He paused. "Well. Nearly any other, I suppose."

Regina exhaled more noisily than her dignity would normally have allowed and she gulped in another breath. "Thank you."

The Apprentice shook his head. "It's a strange thing to be thanked for stating the obvious."

And then, Belle spoke up somewhat nervously. "Is that true for Rumple, too?"


Rumpelstiltskin flinched. He'd had no intention of drawing the Apprentice's focus—not when he had no safe means of protecting himself. Not when he knew what the Apprentice's answer would be. Getting free of the dagger would have assured him his happy ending. But on that score?

Every Dark One tries. Every Dark One fails.

And while his heart might be better halved than it had been whole, even if Regina was able to find a compatible match, even if a complete transplant would work as the others seemed to hope, none of that would alter the fact that he was the Dark One.

Suddenly, the letters reappearing on the dagger—the 'k', a mere outline two days earlier was beginning to shade in—seemed less a reason for optimism than a reminder. There could be no happy ending for him. No matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to change, no matter how long he was able to suppress his worst self, it was a part of him and would be until he died. And the Apprentice was hardly about to overlook it.

He realized that the room had grown silent and that everyone—including the Apprentice—appeared to be staring at him. He blinked. "I beg your pardon," he said diffidently. "What was it you asked?"

The Apprentice smiled. "I merely wanted to know if you're ready now to take a path that was first presented you some thirty years ago." His face was serious, though there was more than a hint of kindness in both eyes and voice. "Are you prepared to relinquish your role as the Dark One and take the second chance that can be offered?"

Rumple froze. He hadn't expected— He'd stepped away from Nimuë, yes, but she'd simply been the embodiment of the force that wanted its freedom and his death. He'd never truly thought that he could be free of—

Eyes wide, he scanned the room, looking at each of the others about the table in turn, trying to keep the hope that the Apprentice's question had kindled from showing on his face. On each face, he read support, relief, elation—

He froze. And then, almost hesitantly, he asked, "But what then of my magic? I assume that it would be forfeit?"

The Apprentice raised an eyebrow. "Such magic as was granted to you when you became the Dark One would be taken from you when you are no longer he."

Rumple closed his eyes and nodded. For a moment, he'd actually believed… Well. Never mind that now. There was no point in dwelling on what couldn't be altered. "Then," he said, lowering his eyes and shaking his head, "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't."