12 May 2014
He gave the oily pirate a chance to leave. Two chances, in fact. Was it Rumple's fault that the Old Spice Cover Boy didn't take the hint and scram? The cocky bastard hadn't smartened up a whit these two hundred years: he actually believed he could blackmail the Dark One.
But Rumplestiltskin had learned something these past centuries: he'd honed his greatest skill, and it wasn't magic. Oh, yes, he was the most skillful and knowledgeable of all mages in his time, but his greatest strength—a secret to most people, who were too afraid of him to spend much time observing him—was his patience. If any of these lunkheads had given him half a thought, they'd understand that about him: the man who'd designed the Land without Magic Scheme had to have possessed a patience supreme.
If Hook could pull his head out of his arse for just a moment, he'd benefit immeasurably from the lesson in patience that Rumplestiltskin was about to provide him. For a price, of course.
"I know that dagger you gave Belle was a fake," the tackily bejeweled jerk purred.
Rumple, the fisher of desperate men, let out a bit of line, pretending to be guiltily uncomfortable. To be baldly honest, Rumple's blood did chill: blackmail was a form of control, and too little time had passed since Zelena.
Then Rumple did as he'd always done since acquiring magic: he turned his fear inside out so that it became a cold anger. No one would ever control him again, especially not this smarmy half-wit.
Hook, who's clearly done too little fishing in his long life, swallowed the bait. "So we have a deal?" He practically crowed, Pan style, as he announced to his new win-Emma-over-by-helping-the-needy project, "Good news! He's agreed to help."
Rumple hadn't, of course. He'd merely let Hook assume he'd accepted the blackmail. When would people finally learn to pay attention?
This "deal" turned out to be even better than Rumple had anticipated: by answering Elsa's question, he picked up on a very valuable piece of information: another practitioner of the extremely rare ice arts was in town and had decided to show herself. In his many years of studying magic, Rumple had met just a half-dozen ice sorcerers, and half of those had committed suicide. He needn't guess which of the living had made his/her way to Storybrooke: every spell bore its creator's unique signature, and he immediately recognized the spell laced through the lock of Marian's hair that Elsa presented him. How interesting. Elsa would no doubt be shocked to learn her aunt was in town, probably here to torment her nieces.
Information, Rumple had learned long ago, was often more precious than gold, and this bit of news ("Good news" indeed! But not in the way Hook expected.) perhaps could be turned to serve Rumple's pet project. It would be worth his while to spend some time researching Ingrid the Ice Maid. At the least, Ingrid could be encouraged to keep Elsa (and Anna, if she was in town) out of the way as Rumple filled his Hat with power. And it was quite possible, Ingrid herself could be useful in preventing the town from preventing the Gold family's escape.
Patience would reveal possibilities.
That same night, as Belle slumbered in a deep, magic-aided sleep, Rumple paid a visit to the Ice Maid, or as she imagined herself, the Snow Queen, to do a little information fishing. The egotistical creature thought herself too powerful to require a deal with the Dark One—yet. He let it drop that he knew she had a history with Emma, but she didn't rise to that bait. He didn't know yet exactly what Ingrid wanted with Emma, but he'd find out eventually. Uncovering secrets came easily to a man with patience.
Just as uncovering the secrets of the Hat was coming easily to him now, as he pored over the many books he'd collected on the subject.
Books that he'd kept stored in his other library—the one he hadn't given Belle.
