A/N: Thanks to the Legends of America website for information on the healing properties of various herbs.

Chapter 18

The baby was sleeping in Mary Margaret's arms when Emma came into the room. Her mother smiled at her and held one finger to her lips. Emma nodded and drew closer.

"I don't think Henry was ever that small," she murmured. She wasn't sure, though. She had vivid recollections of seeing him, holding him, smiling and cooing at him… But she also had flashbacks of closing her eyes, turning her head away from the miracle that had just come out of her, and insisting to the attending doctor that she couldn't be a mother. She wished that the first memory was the real one, but she knew the truth now and it haunted her. Now that she'd not only gotten to know the child she'd given up for adoption, but that she'd also lived ten years of totally invented but totally amazing memories of what could have been, if she'd only been brave enough to choose differently.

"Well, he's not going to stay this way," Mary Margaret murmured back with a wistful smile. "I'm just enjoying it while I can. And your father is snapping photographs every hour so we'll have a video record of how fast he grows."

Emma grinned. "Where is Dad, anyway?"

"He went back to the farmhouse," her mother sighed, "to see if there's any sign of Zelena's return. Because Regina's convinced that if your magic's still gone—it is, right?" When Emma nodded, Snow continued, "that means she's probably still out there."

"He should have called me," Emma frowned. "If he were to run into her, I mean, shouldn't he have had backup?"

"He took Robin. And Leroy. Anyway, you weren't around and he knew you wanted an early start today. And without your…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"No," Emma sighed. "Without my magic, Robin and Leroy probably are better choices in a fight if it comes to that." She shook her head.

"I didn't mean—"

"What?" Emma smiled. "It's true, isn't it? Without my magic, I'm a halfway decent shot and I can throw a few good punches, but I'm not a trained fighter and those guys are. Just because I'm the savior doesn't mean I can't sit a few fights out, right?"

"Of course not," Mary Margaret reassured her. Her gaze fell on the large paper shopping bag at her daughter's feet. "What's that?"

"Something Regina and I were working on for Gold," Emma smiled. "I'm going to take it into him after." She looked at the baby again. "I-I'm sorry; I probably should have brought something for him, too."

"You had a few other things on your mind."

"And," Emma said wryly, "it seems that a ten-minute YouTube lesson isn't enough to teach you how to knit. Or to teach me how to knit. Or…" She sighed. "I think I'm going to just buy him a few pairs of booties."

"Don't get the newborn size," Mary Margaret smiled. "Babies do grow fast and if they're a little big on him, they won't be for long…

The ride back to the village seemed to much quicker to Rumple. He wasn't entirely comfortable leaving his elder self behind, but the man had seemed so self-assured, so confident, so… so much that he wasn't. Or wasn't yet. Someway, somehow, it seemed that he was destined to become the man he'd always yearned to be. He just wished he knew how.

It wasn't long before the first houses of Pen Marmor appeared on the horizon. There would be few to notice their arrival; at this hour, every able-bodied individual would be in the fields and orchards, trying feverishly to harvest enough runner beans, onions, apples, and raspberries to pay the produce tithes and yet have enough to preserve for the winter months ahead. 'Able-bodied' generally excluded him, of course, and while Bae often participated, it was understood that he was studying his father's trade year by year. (In point of fact, while Bae had quickly mastered the business end of things—knowing how to tell superior wool from that of lesser quality, determining a fair asking price, knowing how to entice an undecided customer to part with a few extra copper—Rumple was forced to admit that his son's fingers were ill-suited to the work itself. He was far better at drawing—a talent he'd inherited from his mother, though not one likely to earn him a living unless he could somehow secure a wealthy patron, or at least a noble one.) With that understanding, while Bae's help was welcomed, it wasn't necessarily expected. In all likelihood, neither of them had yet been missed.

Rumple slowed his horse to a walk and, after a moment, the old man followed suit. There was no mistaking the relief on Bae's face. The beggar might have chosen two solid, dependable mounts for them, but Bae had never ridden before last night and even if the horse wasn't interested in throwing its riders, the boy was still hanging on for dear life.

"The horses," the old man said, "they're a loan from the chamberlain. I should return them. I'll be back," he added, taking the reins of the horse he'd been riding and reaching for Rumple's.

"Wa-wait," Rumple said quickly. "I gave you a coin last night, but you can't have spent it yet; you must be hungry." He reached into his pack and pulled out a loaf of bread. He broke it in half and handed one piece to the old man.

The beggar's eyes lit up. "Thank you!" he exclaimed. "Oh, if you knew how long it's been since I've had this much at one time… Thank you, thank you!"

Rumple tried to hide his discomfort with a smile, but he was sure his nervousness was showing. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been shown this much gratitude—and for half a loaf of coarse bread! It was somewhat unnerving, if the truth were known.

"There'll be no running now," he said heavily. "The duke's soldiers will be watching more closely now. And with my uncle at the castle…" His voice trailed off, even as he wondered whether his elder self might not be able to handle that situation, just as he seemed able to handle everything else.

"Never you mind that," the old man reassured him. "For now, I'll wager you're both exhausted. Why don't you get some sleep? And, when I return, we'll put our heads together and see if we can't come up with something."

Rumple couldn't imagine that there was any solution to the problem now, but perhaps the beggar was right and things would look better after some decent sleep. Heaven knew he wasn't about to start spinning now, after having spent the last several hours at the task. "Perhaps, you're right," he admitted.

"Of course I am," the old man smiled. "Why all you need is a bit of power..."

"Power?" Rumple snorted. "Why not say diamonds? I'm as likely to get the one as the other."

"Get a hold of yourself!" the old man snapped, his eyes glittering. "Listen. Think. Why would you imagine that anyone as powerful as the Dark One would work for a useless fool like the Duke of the Frontlands? It's because the Duke has him enthralled by a mystical dagger..."

As the old man continued, Rumple's and Bae's eyes widened. Then Rumple shook his head reluctantly. "It's a fine tale," he said heavily. "But that's all it is. I've only just escaped the Duke's palace; I'm hardly about to go breaking in." He made a scoffing sound. "As though I could, once the potion on my ankle wears off. No. No, I'll trust my uncle to find a way out of this."

The beggar sighed. "You're right, I'm sure. I mean, he hasn't steered you wrong yet, has he?" He smiled to see the faintest flicker of doubt cross Rumple's face and gave him a warm clap on the shoulder. "Rest now. I'll take the horses back for your."

So, saying he took a lead rope from one of his saddlebags and threaded it through the bridle of the horse Rumple had been riding. Then he got back on his own mount. "I'll take care of everything," he repeated, as he kicked his horse into a canter. The second horse followed suit almost at once. "You'll see!" the old man called, as he headed back down the road on which they'd come. "You'll see!"

It wasn't until he was more than a quarter mile away and well out of earshot that his friendly smile became a smirk. The elder Rumpelstiltskin had taken great pains to spare his younger self from a momentary indignity—clear proof that the slight still smarted after all this time and all that power. Zoso wouldn't have cared, except that if the younger Rumpelstiltskin was to be the instrument of his own freedom, then Zoso needed him bitter, desperate, angry, and despairing. He needed the spinner at his limit—or as close to it as possible. And, thanks to the elder Rumpelstiltskin, he now knew exactly how to get him there. He urged the horse to go faster, all the while thinking to himself, "You poor fool…"

Emma was more than a little relieved that Gold was sleeping when she stopped by to drop off the dish garden. She could never quite make up her mind whether she didn't understand him at all, or whether she understood him more than either of them was comfortable admitting.

On the one hand, she knew from Henry's book—and from a few conversations she hadn't meant to overhear on the return from Neverland—that his early years echoed her own in the broad strokes. True, the Enchanted Forest hadn't had a foster care system, as such, but he'd grown up without parents—a mother he'd never known and a father who'd abandoned him to strangers. And while, from what he'd told Neal, they'd raised him and cared for him, he'd still had to live with the same question that her mother had voiced so long ago, when Emma had first arrived in Storybrooke and was trying to understand the son she'd surrendered for adoption.

"He's like any adopted child. He wrestles with that most basic question they all inevitably face – why would anyone give me away?"

Emma winced. She'd grappled with the same question and she'd never even made it to the adoption part. Of course, she'd grown up knowing she was on her own. She'd learned to watch her own back, because she'd never had anyone she trusted enough to do it for her. And even when she'd finally been reunited with her family, it had taken a long time for her to believe that their love was real and that they were going to stand with her.

He's never had that at all, Emma thought, as she tiptoed past the bed and set the globe-encased garden down on one of the side tables.

On the other hand, as bitter and angry as Emma had been over the life she'd led, she'd never tried to force an unwed mother to give up her baby to a black market adoption agency. Or murdered her ex (though she'd had a few fantasies in juvie about what she'd do if her path and Neal's ever crossed again once she got out). Or tried to rig an election. Or…

And if she tried to reach out to him, he'd probably bite her head off, like he had on the trip back from New York when he'd been dying of dreamshade. Emma realized that she could understand that part, too. If your experience told you that allowing people to see your vulnerability got you hurt, you damned well didn't let them see it. If that meant refusing the help and support you needed because you couldn't risk admitting that you did…

She'd been there. She'd lived that. And if Gold didn't have that damned talent for intuiting the barb that would dig in the most cruelly, for knowing which retort would cut the deepest and which accusation sting the sharpest, it would be easier to tell herself that she could handle whatever he flung at her. She felt pretty confident that she could, but she wasn't sure she wanted to.

She took a few steps back, careful not to bang into the bed, and tilted her head, looking critically at the garden's placement. Then she went back to the table and moved it several inches to the right. She wanted him to see it first thing when he woke up. It was in the right position, but given the height of the table, she wasn't sure whether he'd spot it easily unless he cranked up the mattress so he was sitting up. Thoughtfully, she moved it a bit closer to the edge of the table. Then she wondered whether moving it back and closer to the wall would be best. Maybe if she could find a box or a book to mount it on. Or maybe, it would be better if she stood beside the head of the bed and crouched down so she could get a better idea of what he'd be able to see at his angle.

She turned around and, despite herself, she felt as though a cold wave had just washed over her.

Gold was awake and he was staring right at her.

Zoso didn't have any difficulty in locating Hordor. The knight commander was in the stables, tending to his mount, when the Dark One returned with the two borrowed horses. "No hard feelings, I hope?" he asked brightly.

Hordor looked at him and grunted.

"All's well that ends well, I say. The duchy has a new source of… uh… lucre; the boy gets a few more days at home; and you? Well, you'll be high in the duke's graces once you share your find. It'll go a long way toward paying for those mercenaries."

This time, Hordor kept his eyes on his horse as he brushed him. "What mercenaries?"

"Well, this Gilitrutt character certainly appears to have the chancellor's favor. Or, at least, his ear? I shouldn't wonder if he'll be asked to intervene by the parents of other youth in the district, now."

"It won't matter," the knight commander said, continuing with his brushing. "Even the boy he rode back with wasn't granted an exemption; just permission to return home until he's officially called up."

"All true," Zoso nodded, closing the stall door behind the second horse and conjuring up an apple. "After all, there can be no question about Gilitrutt's loyalty, now, correct?"

Hordor looked up for the first time. "What are you saying?"

Zoso held out the apple to the horse with a shrug. "Only that the decision to lower the draft age was not a popular one. Until now, though, the villagers have accepted their lot. The individual families may cry out, of course, but they're cries of anguish and futility, not of rebellion."

"Go on," Hordor said in a voice that was nearly too calm.

"Without leadership, they've no hope of altering their situation. And until now, they've had no leader."

"You think that this Gilitrutt might—"

Zoso shrugged. "I think nothing of the kind. He's a merchant, not a rabble-rouser. But as to what the rest of the district might think once word gets out, well… It wouldn't be the first time that a man got swept up in revolution's tide, riding a wave of his own popularity. And you know as well as I do how stories spread. And how many embellishments can creep in when they do. Before you know it, they'll be singing ballads about the heroic merchant who rescued a platoon of peasant soldiers from sure death while the Chamberlain and Duke looked on gob-stuck. And then, similar ideas are sure to sink into other heads… Hotter heads," he added meaningfully.

"We can't afford that," Hordor said, knitting his eyebrows. "We're already facing a threat from without; if the peasants rise up now, we might as well lie down and let the ogres trample us!" He reached for his helmet.

"What are you planning to do?"

"I'm going to ride to Pen Marmor and put a stop to things before they go any further!"

Zoso held up a lazy hand. "Cutting down a loyal citizen for fear of what he might do could play right into a mob's hands."

Hordor paused. "You're certain he's loyal?"

Zoso laughed. "My certainty carries no weight with that village. Nor any of the others in the district, sorry. But perhaps, my lord, if you were to arrange for Master Gilitrutt to demonstrate his fealty, in a manner so decisive that no one would dream of approaching him to spearhead a revolution…" He smiled. "Well I think that might be enough to maintain order, don't you?"

"Fealty," Hordor repeated, giving him a sharp look. He nodded slowly. "That might just do it." He strode quickly out of the stable and signaled to a passing soldier. "Assemble a squad of ten," he ordered. "We ride for Pen Marmor within the hour."

"I… uh…" Emma's throat was suddenly dry. "Hi," she managed. "I didn't mean to wake you. I just came by to give you this. Uh…" Awkwardly, she turned back to the globe, lifted it, and turned toward him once more, holding the gift out before her as though it were some sort of shield.

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. And then, one hand slid out from beneath the blanket and beckoned Emma closer.

Emma obeyed, doing her best to hide her nervousness. It wasn't because she was giving him the gift exactly, it was because she realized that now that he was awake, she couldn't just leave it in the room and walk away. No, this called for a conversation. And a conversation with an ill, vulnerable Gold was going to be like navigating a minefield. "Regina helped," she said, as she approached. "I mean, actually, she did most of it; told me which plants, decided how to arrange them. It was my idea though," she added, wondering whether she was babbling. Probably.

Gold, however, gave no indication that he'd heard her. His eyes were on the leaves and blooms inside the transparent sphere that glowed ever-so-faintly of magic.

He recognized them all, of course. And their uses. Hibiscus: an emollient for rough or dry skin and many other skin conditions. Also respiratory and gastro-intestinal complaints. Broom snakeweed: any number of uses from fever reduction to snakebite to… whooping cough and other respiratory disorders. Schisandra, also called magnolia vine: a tonic to lend strength after illness. Also improves the mood, protects the liver, treats… respiratory conditions. Honeysuckle: bee stings… respiratory conditions. Horehound: respiratory… Black cohosh: respiratory… Echinacea: respiratory. He looked up. "This is… quite a gift," he murmured. "But I think you'd best put it back where you'd placed it originally." It was heavy in his hands and while magic might protect it from shattering, if he were to drop it, then on the floor it would remain until someone saw fit to pick it up for him.

"You'll be able to see it from where you are?"

Rumple nodded and, after a moment, Emma took the sphere back from him and did as he'd instructed. Then she sat down. "Whale says you're going to make it," she said, aiming for concern and hoping he wouldn't construe it as pity. "How are you feeling, though?"

He forced himself to smile. "Dr. Whale informs me that I'm responding well to the treatment. Though if he hadn't bothered, I must confess I would have wondered." His eyes were locked on the sphere, still. "I'm sorry," he said. "When one receives a gift, it's only polite to give thanks for it. A-and I do… That is to say…" He hesitated. "I recognize the significance of the contents. And I do thank you both for them."

"I just," Emma hesitated. "I figured it might get a little dull in here and I didn't know how alert you were going to be or if you'd be up for any reading," she raised her eyes slightly ceiling-ward, "or what you'd want to read. Plus, Belle would probably handle that and…" She caught herself. "I'm sorry. You're welcome." She smiled behind her mask. "I thought maybe you could use something to look at in here that wasn't… sterile."

The smile on his own face broadened for an instant, but faded almost at once, as his eyes narrowed. "You know, Emma," he began, "one thing that always impressed me about you was that you—unlike nearly everyone else in this town—didn't fear me in the slightest. And yet," his voice hardened, "here you are, stammering, babbling, mumbling inanities… Now, what can be the matter, I wonder?" he asked slowly, noting her guilty twitch. "Do you want to be here? I know better than anyone that the terms of a deal bring a certain amount of coercion to the table, but they're scarcely the only thing that do." A bitter edge crept into his words as he went on. "Has someone been twisting your arm, Savior? Shaming you for your reluctance until you realized that the only way to quiet their incessant nagging was to put in an appearance here? Well. In that case, dearie, consider the obligation met."

"No!" Emma shot back. And then she felt her face seem to twist and crumple. "Nobody pushed me. It was my idea."

"And yet, you'd rather not be here," he stated, his voice harsh and accusing.

Emma sighed. "You know something? You're right." She shook her head. "Mostly. I'm forcing myself to be here, because…" she took another breath. "Because after Henry was born and I signed the papers, they kept me in the hospital for observation for a few days before shipping me back to juvie. And in all that time," her words tumbled out faster now, and she struggled to keep them from getting garbled, "the only people I saw were the ob-gyn and a few nurses who treated me like I was scum; I almost couldn't wait to get back to the facility. I didn't want to think about you maybe going through anything like that. I didn't know how to tell you without saying the wrong thing and getting my head bitten off, because I was afraid you'd think—" She caught herself. "You know what?" she sounded angry now, but Rumple intuited that her anger wasn't directed at him, not even when she looked him dead in the eyes and said, "Screw it." Her hand started to fly to her mouth, but then she stopped it partway, let it fall, and repeated, "Screw it. I don't know half of what Zelena did to you, but I saw the cage and even if that was all of it, it was bad enough. And then Neal and her using you against us and you were in the past and Regina said you lost him again and now you're sick and…" She squeezed her eyes shut and groped for where she'd last seen his right hand, gripping it tightly when she found it. "Screw it. If I'd gone through a fraction of that, I'd want to bite someone's head off, too, and since I'm the only other person in the room right now, just… go for it." She took another breath and nearly whispered, "Chomp away."

She waited, but there was no response. A moment dragged by and then another and Emma began to feel a bit foolish. And then, she felt a warm pressure on the back of her gloved hand and her eyes flew open. Rumple's free left hand now covered hers, sandwiching it between both of his. There was something softer in his eyes, as he said faintly, wonderingly, "So. You don't despise me after all."

And now, her face really did fall, as she shook her head. "Gold, you have to believe me. He sounded so sure that he convinced me, too. I mean, you've pulled off so many crazy-impossible things, I thought he knew what he was talking about—"

"Emma?" he asked with some confusion.

"I never would have separated you and Neal if I'd known it would kill him!"

It felt wrong to be sitting at the wheel and spinning in such finery, but Rumple had no other clothing. He'd left his pack, with the only change of clothes he owned, behind in the barbican room with his elder self, and he was still too keyed up from the events of last night and this morning to sleep.

Not so, Bae; the boy had fallen asleep on his pallet (he'd gone automatically to the straw tick he'd been using since 'Uncle Gilitrutt' had come to them, though he really could have used his own bed now) almost at once.

But Rumple sat feeding woolen rovers to the wheel, and as it spun, so did the thoughts in his head. The old beggar had regaled him with a fine tale indeed. Despite himself, Rumple couldn't help imagining himself holding such a blade, even though he didn't much like the idea of enslaving anyone. When he'd expressed his reservations to the beggar, not missing the relief on his boy's face when he did so, the old man had given him another option, but it was one Rumple liked only slightly better.

Years ago, he'd been unable to slay the healer Fendrake, not even to save Bae's life. Now, he faced that choice anew: if he were to slay the Dark One, then all of that vast power would be his to command. He wouldn't just be able to save Bae, but all the children. He could be the hero he'd wanted to be when he'd rode to the front fourteen years ago, filled with dreams of glory that hadn't stood up to the reality of war. Well, he was dreaming now. But still… to take a life? Was he truly willing to contemplate such a deed? And even if he was, would he stand the course this time or freeze in panic as he had with Fendrake more than eleven years ago?

Shouts from outside startled him and a moment later, two burly soldiers burst into the hovel. One seized him by the front of his tunic; the other scooped up Bae, startling the boy out of his sleep. They hauled the two of them to a waiting cart and flung them into it. Then one jumped inside, took the reins with one hand and flicked a whip with the other, starting the horses on a quick trot toward the village square.

For a long moment, Rumple said nothing, but his grip tightened on Emma's hand. Finally, he shook his head and murmured, "So, he didn't recall."

Emma's eyes were pointed at the floor, and her voice sounded leaden when she answered, "What?"

"Or he didn't know. When we occupied the same body, there were times we both knew what was going on, and times where only one of us was aware. And times," he added, "when neither of us was. That last frustrated her most."

"Her," Emma repeated, frowning slightly until she realized to whom he had to be referring. "Zelena, you mean."

Gold nodded. "Yes. Bae's consciousness could, at times, interfere with her control; allow me to fight her orders. And, at times, keep me from hearing them in the first place. So, she waited for a time when my consciousness was ascendant and then," his voice hardened, "she forbade me to use magic without her permission."

He winced, as he heard her voice anew in his head. "I know how fond you are of finding loopholes, dearie, so I'll be more explicit. Should anyone manage to separate you from your son, don't reabsorb him. Don't preserve him. Leave him to his fate."

All the color drained from Emma's face. "When I pulled him free from you—"

"You played into her hands. She left the cage unlocked, knowing that I would run. She trusted that I would find you—or Bae would. And she knew what to expect from you." His expression turned pensive. "It wouldn't surprise me to learn that, at a time when Bae's mind was in control, she cast a spell on him to prevent his recalling her name so that he, too, would encourage you to unravel my enchantment." He shook his head. "She might have made you her weapon, savior, but it was she who guided you and it was she, not you, who slew him." He placed his left hand on her forearm. "Dearie," he said, and for once, it was with genuine affection, "do you mean to say that you've been blaming yourself all this time?"

Emma wasn't sure she could trust her voice now, but she gave a slight nod, and let him draw her closer so that he could rest his hand on her shoulder. "B-but why would you think I despised you?" she managed. "If you didn't blame me for… I-I mean, we've had our differences, sure, but… despise?"

An embarrassed smile sprang to his face. "Oh," he said. "That."

"Gold?"

He released her and turned his face away for a moment to cough. Then, with a half shrug, he said, "I generally assume everyone does. It tends to save time."

"Gold," her voice was little more than a sad whisper. "Seriously?"

It was his turn to avoid eye contact. "Previous experience isn't necessarily predictive, but one tends to forget that when one's lived it."

"Push everyone away before they do it to you?" Emma asked, bitter now. "We ought to start a club."

His hand found the bed control and, once he'd raised the mattress so that he was half-sitting up, he gripped her shoulder again. "It's an idea," he allowed. "However, when I found myself reliving some of those past experiences, I learned that, perhaps, I wasn't quite the outcast I'd believed myself to be. Or I wouldn't have been, had I allowed myself to realize that there were many who didn't judge me nearly as harshly as I judged myself. It made me wonder," he continued softly, "whether the same might hold true here. Though I'll admit I could have chosen a better way to test the hypothesis," he added, with a catch in his voice that ruined the nonchalance he'd been trying for.

"Ya think?" Emma demanded. She slid her free arm behind him and pulled him closer. "Gold, you're Henry's grandfather. You're family. If things had been a little different, you could have been my father-in-law."

"So," he murmured, "you managed to dodge a bullet."

"So did you," she managed, smiling a bit as fresh tears began trickling down the tracks the earlier ones had left.

"I would have welcomed you," he choked and, feeling her arms tightening about him, crushed her to him in turn.

A throat cleared from behind them and they both looked to the doorway, where an apologetic nurse stood, clipboard and chart in hand. "I'm so sorry," she said, "but visits are supposed to be fifteen minutes only and you've already been here nearly half an hour.… I-I can't give you any more time now; Dr. Whale will be here on his rounds shortly."

Emma nodded. "I'll go," she said, giving Gold an apologetic look and struggling to pull herself back together quickly. "Uh…" her gaze flickered over to the dish garden on the table. "Regina said that the plants need to stay sealed up for now; until you're out of isolation."

Rumple nodded. "She's quite right," he said, almost as calm himself as though the last few minutes hadn't happened. "But I appreciate the reminder. Emma?"

"Mmm?"

He hesitated. "Will you be back?"

She nodded. "At least, if you want me to be. And Whale clears it, I mean."

"Well," Gold allowed, "you were right about the tedium. I think I'll welcome an opportunity for conversation, even if it can be for but a quarter hour." He paused once more. "So long as you wish to return."

"I'll try to come tomorrow," Emma smiled. "Meanwhile, you should get some rest." She took another breath. "And eat something, will ya?" she added with mock exasperation

"I'll endeavor to do both." His answering smile was small, but it was also absent any hint of its usual derision.

Hordor was waiting in the square when the cart arrived. Along with most of the village. Mail-gloved hands gripped Rumple's arms, lifted him from the cart and half-carried half-dragged him to the knight commander's feet.

"So," Hordor said coldly, "this is the man who attempted to interfere in the matters of his betters."

Terrified, Rumple could only shake his head mutely.

"Your nephew is a coward," the knight commander sneered. "I thought that was bad enough. But you would overturn the natural order here. You would go over the heads of those tasked with the protection of the district and disturb the nobility with pleas for favor when they are occupied with the safety and security of all. Some might call such actions seditious. Even treasonous."

Fear-addled though he was, Rumple found himself protesting. How could it be treason to beseech a noble for help? His elder self had done nothing wrong, he was sure. But Hordor was reveling in his power and position and there was nothing Rumple could do but plead and grovel.

"You're not from these parts, Master… Gilitrutt, is it?" He didn't wait for Rumple to nod. "Are you just here to visit relatives, or were you seeking to stage a revolt?"

"R-revolt?" Rumple gasped. "No! No, no, no, please, my lord, I mean no harm; I sought only to help my boy. My nephew!" he amended, hastily. "My nephew and his son. I'd never—!"

Hordor pretended to think matters over. "I could almost believe you," he said slowly. "But I think some show of fealty would in order. Something that will prove to all assembled that, for so long as you reside here, you are his Grace's most loyal man."

"Yes, yes, of course!" Rumple said quickly. "Anything…"

It wasn't even an hour later that Rumple limped back to his hovel, one arm draped across Bae's shoulders, while the boy whispered reassurances. The healing spell had given out when they'd been some three quarters of the way home. By then, Hordor and his fellow villagers were long out of sight and earshot, though Rumple imagined that he could still hear the knight commanders jeering laughter ringing in the air about him.

As the two approached, the old beggar who'd accompanied them earlier sprang up from the rock on which he'd been sitting, an expression of dismay on his face. "What in all the realms…" He began. "What happened to you?" He came around to support Rumple's other side. Once they were all in the hovel, Rumple turned to Bae.

"I think I'll need a poultice, son," he said. "Have we any fresh rosemary about?"

"I think so, Papa," Bae said at once. "I'll go check." He hesitated then. "Can I get you anything else before I do?"

Rumple shook his head. "Just the rosemary. You know how to prepare it?"

Bae nodded. "Yes, Papa."

As soon as the boy was gone, Rumple turned to the old man. "All right," he said, struggling to sit a bit straighter. "That story you began to tell me earlier, the one about the Dark One's dagger? I'm ready to hear the rest of it, now."

Zoso smiled.