Chapter 17

The sentry saw the lone man approaching on foot when he was still nearly a quarter mile from the castle gate. He kept to the main road, a lantern carried aloft to light his path, though it was fast becoming unnecessary as dawn yielded to sunrise. The man was cloaked, but the fabric billowed free behind him, cape-like in the breeze, and the sentry's spyglass found no weapon in the traveler's belt. To the sentry's eye, he walked like many a laborer or merchant, and not with a warrior's grace. All the same, the sentry alerted the guardsman on duty and, moments later, heard the cry from the barbican's window, "Hold! Who goes there?"

The answer came almost at once. "Please, good sir, I ask an audience with his grace's chamberlain. The knight commander has taken my nephew and his son!"

"Your name?"

"I'm called Gilitrutt. I'm a merchant, resident of the Western Moorlands, but enjoying my nephew's hospitality."

Overhearing the conversation, the sentry relaxed. The merchant's tone was anguished, not angry and he seemed respectful enough. Still something told him that this was a man accustomed to getting his own way, who might be dangerous if thwarted.

"These gates will be barred until the third hour," the guardsman called down. "But I shall inform the chamberlain of your arrival once he awakens. You'll have passed a monastery a half-mile back. If you seek a place to pass the time and a light repast, they will provide it."

The answer that came back was no less respectful than the one that had preceded it, but no less determined, either. "If it pleases you, sir guardsman, I'll await his convenience here."

Rumple and Zoso hadn't walked all the way from Pen Marmor. Teleporting was far more convenient when time was of the essence. They arrived in the woods by the side of the road, out of sight of any unexpected traveler, and far enough back from the castle that the guards wouldn't see them emerge from the trees.

Leaving Rumple to continue alone, Zoso teleported once more, this time landing within the palace, and the bedroom of the duke's chamberlain. Unsurprisingly, the man was asleep at this hour. Zoso regarded him for a moment. Then he lifted the water pitcher from the nightstand by the bed and dashed its contents over the bed's occupant.

The chamberlain awoke with a start and a sputter, but before he could say anything, Zoso flung a towel at him.

"That favor you owe me," he said tersely, "I'm calling it in now. Dry off, get dressed and accompany me to the gate. There'll be a man arriving shortly, seeking an audience with you and you'll grant it."

The chamberlain was already mopping his face, but now he looked at the Dark One nervously. "Why do you want me to see him? Dark One!" he amended, lowering his eyes in fear. "If you mean to harm the duke—"

"I wouldn't need to bring in an outsider for that," Zoso laughed. "Not when the duke trusts you so."

"I wouldn't—" The chamberlain protested, a note of anger creeping into his voice as his eyes jerked upwards once more.

Zoso smirked. "Oh, I think you would," he said menacingly. "After all, you do owe me a favor and a noble's word must be honored. Isn't that so?"

The chamberlain swallowed hard.

"But I'm not ordering you to harm the duke," Zoso continued, drawing another step closer. "I'm not demanding the contents of the treasury, or your daughter's hand in marriage." His smirk grew broader as he took in the chamberlain's reaction to the last bit. "I'm simply telling you to instruct the guard to raise the portcullis and allow my good friend to enter. Ask him his business, and then? Send him away happy with what he's asking. On your authority."

"Which will be?"

"Hordor arrested a man and a boy not yet of conscription age on the road some hours ago. They're currently being held in the east barbican tower. My friend will ask you for the boy's release. In fact," Zoso frowned and his eyes narrowed slightly, "he may ask freedom for both, but if he does, you're to release the boy alone. The man will remain behind as surety that the boy doesn't flee before the recruiters take him; he is very nearly of age. But you'll entrust him to my good friend's care," he stated in a tone that made it clear that the subject was not open for debate.

The chamberlain swallowed again. "Of course, Dark One," he mumbled.

"Oh, don't look so dejected," Zoso chuckled. "I know full well the toll of pain and stress that an unpaid debt exacts on the mind. Once your duty's discharged, you'll sleep so much better." His voice hardened. "Hurry and dress. The man will arrive directly."

It was barely a quarter hour before the gate lifted and the guards bade him enter. Rumple found himself ushered into the castle proper and then to a well-appointed room with a roaring fire in the grate. The chamberlain was a portly, nervous middle-aged man in a green velvet robe who harrumphed a great deal but struck Rumple as more self-important than tyrannical.

"I thank you for seeing me, my lord," Rumple said, after the chamberlain bade him be seated. He was playing the role of the wealthy merchant to the hilt, showing deference but not obsequiousness. And he wasn't giggling either. "I realize that the hour's late."

"Or early," the chamberlain replied. He tugged at his collar a bit. "You're fortunate sleep eluded me this night. How might I be of service?"

Rumple lowered his eyes. "My nephew, my lord," he said. "He has a son, turning fourteen in two day's time."

"He'll be to the army then," the chamberlain nodded. "Exemptions are hard to come by in these days; we need every soldier we can conscript."

Rumple forced himself to nod back. Now wasn't the time to protest. And killing the man wouldn't change the policy. Nor was it likely to help his younger self or Bae in the long-term. Neither was immortal and magical shields worked best when the person or thing they protected was stationary. Once on the move, an arrow might well find its mark and he was the only one who wouldn't be directly vulnerable to such an attack. "I know that, my lord," he said. "I'm not here to plead for an exemption. Only that the lad be permitted to return to his village with me until that time. Let him bid farewell to his friends, visit his favorite places, gather what small keepsakes he possesses. You mean to take him on his fourteenth birthday; at least let him go home until then."

The chamberlain mopped at his brow with a lace-edged handkerchief. "That sounds… reasonable," he said with a heartiness that belied his body language. "Yes, I see no reason why I shouldn't grant that request." He rose to his feet and gestured to Rumple to follow. "Come."

Rumple obeyed. And he wasn't overly surprised to find Zoso waiting in the corridor when the chamberlain pulled open the door. Nor did the noble voice any protest when the newcomer fell into step alongside them.

Rumpelstiltskin started on a fresh bale of straw—his third. He had no idea how much time had elapsed; the sun was coming through the window now, but he couldn't tell its height from where he was sitting and he couldn't waste a second going to check. He knew only that he was spinning as fast as he could.

And then he heard voices outside and the bolt drawing back and he kept working feverishly, hoping against hope that Hordor would be happy enough with the gold that had already been spun and forget the part about how it was all supposed to be finished by noon.

Only it wasn't Hordor at all. It was a man he'd never seen before—noble by his dress and bearing—together with his future self and the beggar from the night before.

"…Lord Chamberlain," the guard was saying as the three stepped inside. "The knight commander gave orders that—"

"And now I'm giving you orders as well," the noble said. "Wait outside." His eyes widened as he took in the spinning wheel and its gleaming output.

Rumple lowered his eyes respectfully, murmured a nervous 'My lord' and started to reach for another bit of straw. Then, he let his hand fall and slid trembling from the stool to his knees.

The chamberlain shook his head. "Carry on," he said, sounding nonplussed. "I don't mean to keep you from your work. I've just come for the boy."

Rumple had already begun to rise obediently, but now he flung himself to the stone floor anew. "P-please, my lord, he's not yet fourteen—not for two more days! Please, I was promised if I spun this, they wouldn't take him early and I'm doing my best, please my lord, you see that I am! I beg you…!"

A half-step behind the chamberlain, Rumple watched his younger self groveling at the noble's feet and cringed inwardly. He hated watching this as much as he knew his younger self hated doing it, but he knew that he'd have done exactly the same thing to save Bae. He had done pretty near exactly the same thing the first time around. But it was still a painful thing to watch and he was about to interrupt the scene, when the chamberlain spoke again.

"Really, that's not necessary," he said, taking a hasty step back. "No, I'm releasing the lad to his uncle's custody; there's no reason for him to be confined here."

"Papa?" Bae spoke up nervously. "Uncle Gilitrutt?" Then he nervously lowered his eyes to the floor. "M-my lord?"

Zoso inclined his head toward the chamberlain. "I think your presence makes them uncomfortable. Perhaps, my lord chamberlain, the two of us ought to withdraw?" And while his suggestion was phrased as an interrogative, neither spinner nor Dark One missed the note of command in it. Nor the way the chamberlain tugged nervously at his collar and allowed himself to be led away.

No sooner did the door shut behind them when the younger Rumple turned furious eyes on his future self. "I was right all along," he said bitterly. "You do mean to take him from me."

The elder winced. He really should have expected this reaction. But time was of the essence. This had to be finished before Hordor came to check on his prisoners. "Shut up," he snapped. "Here." He pulled off his cloak and started to unfasten the belt of his tunic. "Get out of your clothes and put these on. And hand me those rags while you're at it."

"What?"

The elder Rumple sighed. "I'm not taking him out of here. You are. I—" He spun faster than his younger self, was what he'd been about to say, but he noticed that Bae was looking from each of them to the other. Bae, whom he loved more than the spinners who'd raised him, more than the power that he would soon acquire, more than life itself. Bae, from whom he had traded a world and turned countless lives asunder. Bae… who couldn't always hold his tongue when it was most prudent and, perhaps, shouldn't be aware that the man he thought was his uncle could also spin straw to gold. "I look enough like you that the guards won't think anything amiss if the two of you walk out of here together."

His younger self frowned, "If the two of us could walk out of here," he repeated, his eyes flickering meaningfully to his wooden staff that leaned against one of the bed frames.

The elder Rumple smiled. "That problem did cross my mind. Fortunately, in my travels, I acquired a temporary solution." He held up a vial. "If you'll allow me," he said, "I can buy you a full eight hours without a need for that thing," he gestured to the staff, distaste plain in his voice and on his face.

Wide-eyed, his younger self nodded, and Rumple stepped forward to apply the potion—well water, really, but again, he'd rather not reveal that the healing was coming out of his magic directly. As he poured the water over his younger self's ankle, he pressed his fingers to the joint. A faint wisp of purple smoke puffed and then dissipated, and it was impossible to visually detect whether it had come from the potion or Rumple's hand.

His younger self's eyes widened. Then, almost giddily, he lifted his leg slightly from the ground and flexed the ankle. "It's… I-I'd forgotten what it felt like. For it not to hurt," he exclaimed. A laugh escaped him as he rotated the joint, turning circles in the air with his foot.

Rumple smiled. "You'll have plenty of time to enjoy your new mobility, but for now… Your jerkin and leggings?"

His younger self nodded quickly and began unfastening his own garments.

The elder Rumple followed suit, checking surreptitiously that the scrap of vellum on which he'd penned a hasty note was still in the pocket in his jerkin. It wasn't much of a warning, but then, he still wasn't sure of the wisdom in giving one in the first place.

When the door was unbolted again, both younger Rumple and Bae rose hesitantly. "The chamberlain's been called away on business," Zoso said smoothly. "But I'll see you both out."

"But if the knight commander sees us…" Bae ventured.

Zoso smiled. "That's the business he's been called away on," he replied wryly. "Worry not. The chamberlain outranks the knight commander in such matters and right now? Hordor is being reminded of that fact. So. Come along. The lord chamberlain has provided horses for the journey back."

"I-I can't ride," Bae admitted. "And Papa…?"

His younger self smiled. "I can," he said softly. "At least, well enough to remain in the saddle and keep you there, too." He glanced at Zoso. "I think one horse will suffice for the two of us."

Zoso swallowed nervously. "I-I was hoping I could accompany you back," he admitted.

"What?"

"After you gave me that coin," Zoso said, lowering his eyes, "I-I saw what befell you. My lord chamberlain… Once, before hard times befell me, I did him a favor and he gave me leave to call on him if ever he could repay me. I admit I was tempted a time or two. When I was turned off my land for defaulting on my taxes. When my wife took sick and there was no money for a healer… Maybe I should have gone to him on any number of occasions, but I kept thinking that there might come a time when I'd need his help more. But you helped me and I realized that I could use the favor owed me to pay the one I owed you." He smiled warmly for a moment, but then sobered once more.

"However, I'm still penniless, homeless, and friendless. And should Hordor learn of my involvement in your cause, there'll be nobody to speak up for me; the chamberlain and I are quits, now. But if you'll let me ride with you, I can help protect you from any dangers you might encounter on the road; three riders may pass unmolested where two might be challenged by bandits or worse." He flung one arm around the younger Rumple, the other around Bae, and began steering them to the door. "You let me accompany you, feed me what you can spare, and… I'll find ways to be your benefactor…"

The younger Rumple glanced quickly over his shoulder, but the man he was fated to become only shrugged, smiled, and sat down at the wheel.

"Uncle—?" Bae started to say.

"Quickly now," Zoso urged. And then they were gone.

The elder Rumple frowned as they left. He could get this spun in time, of course. Even if he had to cheat to do it. Funny. He didn't usually think of magic as 'cheating', but he was a craftsman at heart and centuries of Darkness hadn't changed that. Magic might transform the straw into gold, but the actual spinning of it was all his; the work of his hands. Even his hands wouldn't be able to get all of this spun in a few hours, though. And it wasn't as though he'd never taken a shortcut before. Cinderella would never have found her Thomas had his pride dictated that he spin and weave the gown she wore to that ball.

Even so, he spun another bale and a half before he finally pushed himself away from the wheel and waved his hand at the remaining straw. An instant later, piles of gold gleamed where it had sat.

And that was when Rumple noticed a small strip of rolled vellum lying on the floor.

With mounting dismay, he stooped down to pick it up and read the note, penned in his own hand, that he'd left in his jerkin pocket for his younger self to find: Your companion's name is Zoso.

No, it wasn't much of a warning, but Rumple had hoped that it might give his younger self pause. At least, it might have made him ask a few pointed questions when he got his hands on the dagger and summoned the Dark One. The elder Rumple wasn't sure what his younger self would do once he got the answers. He'd always wanted power, even back then. Especially back then. Maybe Destiny was Destiny and events would unfold as they had the first time. But there would be a difference. Armed with this new knowledge, Rumple knew that his younger self's suspicions would be aroused when he read the name on the blade. He'd demand answers and Zoso would be compelled by the dagger to provide them. His younger self would have a better understanding of what it would mean to 'kill the Dark One and take his power'. And if, armed with this new knowledge, his younger self chose again what his elder self had at this juncture, well, the elder Rumple was hard-put to say that his life would have been better if he hadn't.

Until his Darkness cost him Bae.

Rumple winced. At least, this time around, he would be able talk his younger self out of some of those early… excesses. He could make him realize what—who—he stood to lose. If he could just get his younger self through those first few months, then perhaps he'd settle into his power and Bae wouldn't grow to fear what he might do.

Rumple remembered those first hours. He'd been terrified, anguished, hurting from the betrayal and mockery of a man he'd thought a friend who'd manipulated him from the start. And the Darkness, when it suffused him, had played on every fear, every doubt, every feeling of helplessness and impotence he hadn't been able to express. Until then. Until he'd given in to his newfound power and let it sweep him away in its maelstrom.

But if his younger self took on that mantle from a position of strength, rather than weakness, then perhaps…

But Zoso had intercepted his warning. How had he known—?

"Darkness calls to its own," Zoso had told him. Rumple realized that his own Darkness might have played a role in this. After all, it had an interest in who its next host was to be.

It was you, he thought furiously. Wasn't it?

Maybe he only imagined the mocking laughter in his head. And then he heard a sound he knew he wasn't imagining: that of heavy boots tramping on a stone floor. Hordor had returned to check up on his captive.

Rumple sat back down on the stool and forced his inner turmoil behind a façade of servility. There would be time to deal with Zoso after the knight commander's visit.

The old man helped Bae onto the horse with an encouraging smile that did nothing to assuage the boy's worry. "Uncle Gilitrutt… Are you certain he'll be all right?" Bae asked.

"Of course, of course," the man replied, springing into the saddle behind Bae with a sprightliness that belied his aged appearance. Rumple was already mounted, though he looked uneasy as well.

"It doesn't sit right with me either, abandoning him like that," he said nervously.

"Fear not," the old man replied. "He'll come to no harm here, I promise you. The important thing is to get the two of you both home safely." He kicked the horse into a canter and, after a moment, Rumple did the same. The guard at the gate let them pass unchallenged and both former captives heaved sighs of relief.

"What did I tell you?" the old man smiled. "You're out of danger now."

"For another two days," Rumple said bleakly. "But then…" He shook his head and mumbled under his breath, "There'll be no fleeing now."

He was certain that he hadn't been heard over the wind and the hoof-beats of the two horses. And yet, all at once, Bae and the old man were riding beside him and he heard the old man's soft reassurance, as clear as brook water on a calm day. "You'll need to find another way. You'll have to choose a different path."

"Choice?" Rumple repeated bitterly. "What choice do I have?"

"Everyone has a choice," the old man assured him. "Everyone."

Emma was carefully taking the dish garden—a mix of live plants and magically-preserved cuttings—out of the front passenger seat of her beetle, when Belle emerged from the hospital's main entrance looking worried.

"Emma?" she asked, approaching the car.

Emma felt her heart sink. "What's happened?" she asked. "Is he…?"

Belle took a breath. "I don't know," she said, and Emma intuited that she was making an effort to keep her voice calm. "The… they said that Dr. Whale won't be in until later. I was hoping that maybe he'd be at Granny's. Or I'll check his house if I have to. Nobody else seems to have any answers about this. They tried, but I could tell they were guessing, so…"

"Belle?"

Her face seemed to crumple. "I just want someone to tell me if it's normal for the medications or-or the consumption to make him forgetful!" She took another breath.

"Forgetful, how?" Emma asked. "You mean, like losing track of the day, or whether he's had breakfast or…?"

Belle shook her head. "No, not like that. That wouldn't worry me; I spent enough time shut up in one room to know how days and routines can blend into each other. It's easy to lose track. No." She pressed her lips together and pushed them in and out for a moment. When she spoke again, it was with the same brittle calmness with which she'd started.

"Rumple asked me about the elixir, the recipe I'd found in Tavronius's works. The one that…"

"That keeps his magic from interfering with the treatment," Emma nodded. "I remember."

Belle nodded. "He started asking me all kinds of questions about what was in it, how it was brewed… He was more alert than I'd seen him since," her voice caught for a moment, but she rallied and went on steadily, "well, since before he died. And then, he said that, while normally, he'd take issue with rushing to implement some treatment than an obscure hedge-witch had concocted, he couldn't fault the results."

Emma frowned. "And…?"

For a moment, Belle blinked. Then she smiled. "I'm sorry. I keep forgetting that you didn't grow up in our land. Tavronius was… Well, before he came along, medicine in the Enchanted Forest was either magical healing or… or… bandages and hot soup. You might have a skilled midwife in one village who knew something of herbs to relieve pain, or some apothecary who recalled a recipe for a poultice that had been effective in the last sweating sickness, but there was no real attempt to compile that knowledge or determine which ingredients were effective or why. And while healing was taught in the universities, it was all very academic, very theoretical." At Emma's puzzled frown, she continued, "Students wrote papers speculating on the causes of illness, why some treatments worked some of the time and others didn't, and so on. But there was never any real effort to apply their studies in any practical way. If someone became ill, well, the wealthy paid for magic," Belle sounded almost apologetic here, "and the poor did what they could with what they knew."

Emma nodded, even though, going by the look on her face, she was more than a little put out by what Belle was telling her. "So Tavronius changed all that?"

"He started out compiling all of those bits and pieces of healing lore and went from there; taking what was known and… extrapolating from there." Belle smiled as she warmed to the topic. "He did more in about half a century than the rest of the realm had managed in half a millennium," Belle said. "Not knowing who he was would be like not knowing," she frowned for a moment, "Pasteur," she said. "O-or Freud." She smiled again. "I've always been a bit proud that he was one of my own countrymen, but really, it's a name that should have been familiar to anyone from our realm. For Rumple not to know…" She took a breath and let it out. "I guess I just need some reassurance that it, this… forgetfulness, I mean, is normal. Or, at least, temporary."

Emma rested a hand on her shoulder. "I wish I could give you that," she said. "But yeah, I think this one's for Whale. I was going to look in on him, though, after I spend a little time with Mom and my new brother. I'll let you know how it goes."

Belle nodded. "I'd appreciate it. Thank you." She sighed. "I guess I'll go to the library. Maybe I can find my answers there. But if you see Dr. Whale on the floor, could you please ask him to call me? Or could you call me and let me know he's arrived?"

"Will do."

Hordor was in a bad temper this morning, but there was no mistaking the gleam in his eyes when he took in the scene before him. "So," he said, examining one of the golden straws, "it seems you were telling the truth." His voice hardened. "Which begs the question of why you didn't bring your skills to His Grace's attention until now. The district has been beggared by the Ogres War; this talent of yours could have gone a long way toward alleviating some of those costs."

Rumple lowered his eyes, holding his tongue and temper with difficulty. Hordor continued speaking, clearly not expecting a reply.

"I'll have food sent up and you should get some rest. Perhaps it's just as well that your son's gone; you'll have less to distract you tonight, so I'll see to it you have more straw to occupy you." He smiled coldly. "Continue to finance the war effort, and there may be no need to send your boy to the front quite yet."

Rumple forced himself to nod, stammer some words of gratitude, and pretend he hadn't noticed that Hordor was promising nothing. May be no need… not quite yet… The knight commander wasn't looking to strike a deal; he was looking to squeeze whatever he could out of his captive.

There was a smile in Hordor's voice when he added, "And of course, His Grace's chamberlain will expect some payment for the favor he did you, so you might want to spin a bit extra tonight. Otherwise, while I could be persuaded to stall your boy's conscription, well, nobles tend to be far quicker to respond. Whether to a favor… or a slight." He chuckled. "I think you'll find that if you try to enlist aid from other corners, they'll expect to be similarly compensated, so take that into consideration," his voice hardened, "before you, or anyone connected with you should try going over my head again. Your food will arrive shortly."

Had Hordor lingered even a moment longer, Rumple might well have snapped his neck now—especially since it was currently uncertain whether his younger self would do the honors in two days' time. No sooner had the knight commander left than Rumple leaped to his feet. He needed to unleash his temper on something, and really, he couldn't see the harm in routing the ogres two days ahead of schedule. If there was no war to fight, then Bae wouldn't have to worry about being drafted. And as for becoming the Dark One, well, if such was his destiny, then it was probably going to happen anyway. And if it didn't… If it wasn't… If he made things worse…

He didn't know, but if he did nothing, he had a pretty good idea of what would happen. Belle, Henry, Emma, Regina… He closed his eyes. When he'd first arrived in this time, he'd had every intention of keeping that timeline intact. But as he'd told Regina some time back, one couldn't always have everything. And if he had to choose between a lifetime with Bae and several lifetimes without him…

Forgive me, Belle, he thought sadly, if my actions in the past cost us our future.

His eyes were burning as he thought of the battlefield, and with a cry of anguish, he willed himself there…

The anguish morphed to frustration when he found himself flung violently back into the room he'd just left. Frowning, he tried the spell again, paying more attention now. And because he was paying attention, he recognized the protection spell around the castle. More, he recognized the telltale signs of a Dark magic as familiar to him as his own. Because it was his own magic that had cast it—or at least, the magic of the Dark One. And while, with enough time and concentration, he might be able to dispel it, Rumple could see from the complexity that doing so would take him hours. And once the enchantment was broken, the individual who had set it in place would know it instantly. Zoso, he thought with an oath. Zoso was out there filling his younger self's ears with dreams of power while he was stuck here. Out of the way, unable to warn his younger self of Zoso's schemes, unable to protect Bae from the blow that was about to turn the boy's life irrevocably upside down.

Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice…

One way or another, Zoso's days were numbered. And should his younger self choose differently two nights hence, Rumple thought viciously that he'd stab the wily old beggar himself.

And to hell with the timeline.