Chapter 27

"I'm sorry," Regina said, noticing that Rumple hadn't finished more than half of the tray the nurse had brought in. "I should have asked you if you wanted anything from downstairs when I sent Henry."

Henry popped the last bit of oversized chocolate chip cookie into his mouth and wiped his fingers on the paper napkin while he chewed and swallowed. "I can still go back," he offered. "I don't mind."

Rumple shook his head. "No need," he replied. "The only thing wrong with what's left on my plate is that it's still a bit much for me to consume at one sitting. I'll likely want more in an hour or so." He looked at the tray again with a faint smile. "I must say that the dietician is showing a bit more creativity than I might have expected," he added. "None of this requires refrigeration."

He looked at the label that had been taped to the clear plastic cover. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard of 'quinoa tabbouleh salad' before, though he needed no introduction to the accompanying olives, green beans, roasted almonds, and clementine sections. Well, whatever it was that had gone into the salad, it had certainly come out tasty enough. He wondered whether it was something Belle might be able to find a recipe for when he was discharged.

"So, uh… what do you do here all day?" Henry asked, looking around the room. "Just watch TV?"

Rumple snorted a bit at that. "That's hardly one of my preferred pastimes," he retorted. "At any rate, it wasn't one of the amenities in the isolation unit. It was here when I was transferred to this room. I've yet to turn it on."

"Oh," Henry nodded, but he was frowning a bit. "Don't you get bored?"

Rumple shook his head. "Not yet," he replied, "though I imagine that will happen sooner rather than later." He might have said that until now, he'd been too ill and spent to do much more than eat, sleep, and converse with the occasional visitor, but he didn't want his grandson or the woman who had been so often his antagonist, albeit less so lately, to see him as weak. His expression grew pensive. "I suppose I ought to ask Belle about some light reading material. She knows my tastes and they don't run to the periodicals in the waiting rooms here, which were likely published several years before the advent of the first curse."

"Next time, don't craft a curse that mirrors conditions in the outside world quite so well, then," Regina put in with a smug smile.

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "Next time?" he repeated, a bit too innocently.

Henry shifted a bit in his chair. Under normal circumstances, he probably wouldn't even have considered raising the subject. Even if his grandfather no longer intimidated him the way he had when Henry had been younger, there were some questions you just didn't ask him; some things that you just didn't picture Rumpelstiltskin doing. "Grandpa? Uh… Do you ever…?" He lowered his eyes and mumbled the rest of his question at a rush, sure at once that he was just being silly, though whether he was silly for wanting to ask or silly for being afraid to was up for debate.

Rumple frowned. "Pardon? I didn't quite catch that."

Hesitantly, Henry pulled out his phone and drew closer to the bed, turning it on as he did. "Do you… Have you ever played computer games?"

He still wasn't sure he'd heard his grandson correctly. "Could you repeat that?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," Henry said quickly. "I know it was stupid. I just thought, I mean I play them when I'm bored and… Sorry."

Rumple struggled to sit up a bit straighter. "No, Henry, wait. It wasn't…" He'd been surprised by the question, yes, but even more so by the intent behind it. His grandson was reaching out to him, he realized. He was trying to find some sort of common ground, however tentatively. "It wasn't stupid," he said softly. "And to answer your question, no, I never have. At least," he gave his grandson a small smile, "not yet." He deliberately avoided looking at Regina; he imagined he could guess at the expression on her face and had no desire to have his suspicions confirmed. "But," he added, "if they're as diverting as you seem to be suggesting, perhaps you might suggest one."

There was no mistaking the surprise on the lad's face, but after the briefest of moments, Henry nodded eagerly. "Well, some of the best ones are on my Gameboy, but there are a lot you can just play on your phone. Here," he brought up a screen with a series of icons. "This one's a hidden object; it gives you a scene and you have to find the stuff it tells you to. And this one's a match-three…"

And Regina turned her face away carefully, knowing that if Rumple saw her smile, he'd think she found the entire thing hilarious—when really, she thought it was rather sweet…

Whale came in shortly thereafter, and Rumple was glad when he told his visitors that 'the patient needed his rest now' and that they could come back tomorrow. They'd spent over three hours with him and for all he'd appreciated their company, it was more of a strain than he cared to admit trying to stay alert and engaged enough not to have them thinking he was in worse condition than he actually was.

Besides, had they stayed longer, Regina might well have asked about her sister again, and although Rumple didn't mind divulging the fate that she'd been facing when he'd last clapped eyes on her, he rather thought it would be better to break the news carefully. For all that the witch had tried to erase Regina's existence, she was the queen's sister and Regina had always had rather… complicated feelings about family.

Best to take the time now to review the past and marshal his thoughts for when Regina asked him again.

As doubtless, she would…

A long time ago, or in just a few hours, Zoso had told or would tell him that he knew how to recognize a desperate soul. At the moment, Rumple reflected, that would hardly be much of a trick. There was so much that could go wrong. There hadn't been anybody about in the corridor and it was unlikely anyone would hear him if he shouted for assistance. If Zelena suspected what he was about, if that ribbon of fabric wasn't what he thought it was, if the few inches of slack in the cord that tethered him to the curtain hook wouldn't let him reach it, if the witch—

"You know, Rumple," Zelena said casually, "I'm not so sure it's a good idea for you to be out in the open like this. When other-you turns up, well, he'll be nervous enough without his seeing you. Yes, I think your original idea was a good one. I really should get you out of the way. And keep you quiet," she added, pulling a wicked-looking sickle out of her belt and lifting up one of wall hangings.

She was planning to gag him, he realized. It was now or never. As the witch began hacking away at the fabric—really that sickle was entirely the wrong tool for the job—he jumped the few inches into the air that he could and caught the ribbon in his teeth. Some distance down the corridor, he heard the ringing of a gong as his heels touched the floor again. He'd been right. The strip was a sort of bell-pull, meant to summon a servant. Already, someone was running down the hall. The door opened and a young woman in plain, but neat attire stepped in. "You sum—" She choked off her words quickly, as Zelena looked up startled, and ran back down the corridor yelling for the guards.

Zelena whirled on Rumple, eyes blazing. "You!" she hissed. "I'll not have you defeat me now when I'm this close!"

Rumple swallowed hard as she raised the sickle. It wouldn't kill him, of course, but it would hurt. With his hands bound, he wouldn't be able to cast a healing spell, and he wasn't sure how his immortality would compensate for a slit throat. Would he become giddy or pass out or…?

The room suddenly seemed to be filled with the smell and clinking of metal armor, rough curses, and too many people. Someone was cutting him loose; someone else was holding Zelena, and the servant woman was standing nervously in the doorway. He met her eyes with silent appreciation.

"Are you hurt?" one of the guards asked him.

Rumple shook his head.

The guard turned toward the woman. "The seneschal should still be awake at this hour. Go. Tell him what you've seen."

The woman began to stammer. "Please, sir, if I disturb him, I may be turned out of doors without wages before I can explain myself."

"I'll accompany you," one of the other guards spoke up. "Milord Ollen's a fair man, but I imagine you've had scant opportunity to see that for yourself."

The servant nodded gratefully. "Thank you, sir," she murmured.

"Lieutenant!" Another guard was holding up a satchel, from which several green fronds protruded.

"That's not mine!" Zelena snapped. "It's his!" she added, jerking her head toward Rumple.

Rumple reminded himself that he was in no danger now. Even if they took her word over his, he had but to teleport away. "I'm afraid that's incorrect," he said mildly. "And you'll note I've neither mud nor grass stains on my clothing. She really can't say the same."

The guard opened the satchel and his eyes widened slightly. "I'm a country lad by birth, Goodwife," he said slowly. "And I know my plants. You've hemlock and henbane here. Deadly poisons both. And this…" he held up a glass vial, unstoppered it, and took a whiff. "Crowsblossom, I warrant. The guard who was on duty in this corridor on second watch took ill sudden-like, with the sort of complaints that an elixir brewed of that plant is known to bring on." He lifted out a bundle of greenery and drew closer to the witch, but his next question was addressed to the guardsman restraining her.

"Would you say that these were cut with a sickle, the like of which you've just taken off of her, sir?" he asked in a tone that suggested he knew his answer.

The lieutenant gave the stems of the plants a cursory examination before he glowered at his captive. "I don't think I envy you your fate, goodwife," he said. "Who were you planning to murder? His Grace? Do you have a vendetta, or are you in someone's hire, hmm?"

"No, wait!" Zelena protested. "I-I'm apprenticed to the healer Master Fendrake! He sent me for those plants! Ask him!"

"A healer?" the guard repeated. He turned to one of the other men. "Fetch the records clerk. Have her check whether this…" He jerked his head at the witch. "Your name?"

"Zelena," she replied with a confident smile.

"Zelena," the guard continued, "is in his employ as she claims to be." He spat on the ground. "Magic. As if this evening wasn't trouble enough."

He turned to Rumple and seemed to take note of the livery he was wearing. "I'd tell you to go about your duties, but I imagine the seneschal will have questions. I'm afraid we'll need to keep you a bit longer."

And Rumple remembered that among the duties of the palace seneschal was the oversight of servants and realized that pleading heavy tasks and an unforgiving supervisor would likely bring the suspicions he'd thus far avoided crashing down about him. He nodded and resigned himself to waiting.

The records clerk was a dour, officious woman in her late forties, who wore her ash-blonde hair skinned back from her head so tightly that Rumple rather suspected it had left her eyebrows permanently raised in an expression of surprise or suspicion.

"Master Fendrake has registered in his service one Tavronius Gavver's of Pen Marmor," she said, peering down her nose over a pair of bone-rimmed spectacles that sat on the bridge of her nose without the benefit of earpieces to secure them. "A lad of twelve years. The contract was filed some four months ago and appears to be in order." She smiled humorlessly. "Unless you're the victim of a glamour spell gone awry, I must say you don't appear to match the decription."

"What?" Zelena tried to spring forward, but was checked when the guards on either side of her crossed their halberds before her, the blades at the level of her throat. "There… there must be some mistake. I signed a contract with him not a week after this boy entered his employ. Check again!"

"I have," the clerk intoned with a hint of asperity. "No other contract has been registered."

"Then someone's taken it!" She whirled toward Rumple. "You! You did it!"

Rumple tilted his head with a puzzled frown, not letting on how much he was enjoying this turn of events. "I've done nothing of the kind," he said mildly. He looked at the guards. "I assure you, sirs, this is the first I'm hearing of any such contract."

"He's lying! Search him!"

Rumple sighed. "Really, if I was going to abscond with such a document, I'd like to think I'd have had the good sense to burn the evidence, but if you'd prefer…" He took a step forward and stood with him arms spread wide. "Search if you like. I've nothing to hide."

The seneschal massaged his brow with a manicured hand. "Ride for Master Fendrake," he ordered one of the soldiers. "Tell him what's afoot while you bring him here. We'll settle the matter tonight."

"Wake a mage?" the soldier repeated, a bit nervously.

"He's a healer mage," the seneschal reminded him with a snort. "Worst he's like to do is give you a tonic without the honey to mask the flavor." Outside, the clock chimed the half-hour. "It's only half-past ten," the lieutenant continued. "He may not even have retired for the night. The faster you ride, the less likely it is that you'll wake him at all. Off you go."

Rumple kept his peace. If he called attention to himself, the seneschal might ask the kinds of questions of him that would make it clear he had no business here whatsoever, and having already caught one intruder, they'd be less likely to let another off with a warning. Even if he used magic to escape pursuit, it would raise the alarm and he wasn't forgetting that his younger self would be here in less than five hours. The wall where the blaze would start needed to be unguarded and it definitely wouldn't be if they were trying to hunt him down. Best keep his head down for now.

Besides, he had to admit that he was rather enjoying the spectacle playing out before him.

Rumpelstiltskin sat bolt-upright in bed, eyes wide. "Tavronius," he whispered. "That's where I'd heard the name before!" But it hadn't been the only time he'd heard it. Tavronius Gavver's. He'd known a Gavver in Pen Marmor, a fletcher by trade. That skill had kept the man occupied in relative safety behind the main battle lines and he'd returned home after three years' army service to the embrace of a happy wife. There had been a son, he remembered now. A frail, sickly thing, a year or so younger than Bae. As he recalled, there'd been something wrong with his breathing. Perhaps today, it would have been diagnosed as asthma, but back in the Enchanted Forest, it had simply been termed, 'a delicate constitution,' 'weak lungs,' or something else, equally vague.

Rumple frowned. He vaguely recollected Bae's telling him that Gavver had gone to Fendrake in hopes of treating the boy, but had been unable to come up with the healer's fee. Come to think of it, after he'd become the Dark One, Gavver had sought him out, as well. By then, the lad's condition had been dire and the parents desperate. He'd…

Rumple went cold. He'd made a deal for the boy's health. Some task for the parents he couldn't now recall. He'd promised to cure their son when it was completed. But that night, Bae had taken him to the woods and used the bean and when an anguished Rumple had returned home alone to find Gavver on his doorstep, he'd… No. No. No, no, he'd always believed that he'd only ever broken one deal in his life.

He'd been wrong.

"But you promised! I-I'm doing as you asked. Please, my son…!"

"Go! Leave me! I've just lost my son, so why should you get to keep yours?"

He'd slammed the recently-replaced door in Gavver's face and commenced to lay his old walking staff into every stick of furniture and recently-acquired luxury he'd then possessed. Finally, when the hut was in shambles, he'd used his magic to transport himself 'someplace where I can dwell away from the company of other humans and perform my magical workings in peace'. There, in the wilderness, he'd arrived at an abandoned castle and it hadn't taken much effort to make it livable again.

And what of Gavver's boy?

Technically, the fletcher hadn't completed his end of the bargain, but only because Rumple had left the village before he could. The boy had never been in Fendrake's service—word of that sort of thing got around quickly. And by the time Gavver had sought Rumple's aid, the boy had been bedridden and the Dark One his last hope.

And yet, apparently, this child—this Tavronius—had been in the healer's hire before Rumple had ever become the Dark One and had grown up and gone on to do so much more. So much… that Rumple surely should have heard about over the years.

So, why hadn't he?

He was still pondering the answer to that question when the nurse arrived with his supper tray.

Rumple knew that there was yet plenty of time to spare before his younger self arrived, but he still fought to remain calm when the messenger departed. And as the moments ticked by, he did his best to keep his worries from mounting. If Hordor appeared on the scene and recognized him… If the Duke's people decided to interrogate both Zelena and himself, if the steps he'd be forced to take to protect himself were to scare off his younger self or worse, put the castle on high alert so that the perimeter would be heavily guarded this time out and his younger self spotted setting the blaze…

His gaze stole toward Zelena, who was waiting with a confident smile on her face. She seemed to feel his eyes upon her for she turned to meet them and her smile broadened.

Rumple looked away.

The chamber door opened again and Rumple saw, with only momentary relief, that the newcomer was not Hordor, but the Duke himself.

"Your Grace!" the seneschal bowed respectfully, and the soldiers followed suit. After a moment, Rumple ducked his head as well and a light cuff from one of the two guarding her had Zelena doing the same. Her smile was gone, replaced by an angry scowl.

"I've just been apprised of the situation. What progress?" the Duke asked, and from the tone of his voice, it was impossible to gauge his emotions.

"We're just waiting on—"

"Your Grace!" a liveried servant who had clearly been standing just outside entered, two other figures following in his wake. "The healer, Master Fendrake."

"Well, finally!" Zelena huffed, as the healer strode briskly into the room, his escort trailing a pace behind. "Would you believe that these cretins couldn't find the contract I signed to enter your service?"

"Master Fendrake," the duke came three steps forward. "I do apologize for the late hour. My soldiers inform me that this woman was caught with hemlock and henbane within this chamber, and that she might have incapacitated a guard earlier. She claims to be in your service. What say you?"

Fendrake regarded the duke calmly for a moment. Then he shook his head. "She is not."

"Liar!" Zelena shrilled. "I signed with a blood oath! That hemlock and henbane was gathered on your orders!"

"And did I order you to carry it to this castle? Or indeed to pass its gates at all?" Fendrake shook his head. "As for the agreement you signed with me," he reached into his robe and withdrew a rolled parchment from its folds, "it has no relevance here."

"What?" For the first time, Zelena began to look a bit worried, and Rumple felt a bit of his tension ease.

The healer unrolled the parchment and ran his finger down the page, stopping near the bottom. "If Your Grace would care to read the relevant section?" he asked, approaching closer. One of the servants hurried forward to take the scroll, placing her finger where Fendrake had indicated.

The Duke looked at the paragraph in question and, with raised eyebrows, read aloud, "In the event that the party of the second part should demonstrate a magical proficiency to the satisfaction of the part of the first part, she will then enter his household as a journeyman apprentice for a period of not less than six months. Within twelve months from that day, the apprenticeship shall be reevaluated and a decision made as to whether to renew the contract under the same terms, renew with altered terms, or discontinue entirely…" He turned back to the healer, paying no mind to the widening eyes and smile playing on the lips of liveried man standing with the guards.

Rumple was doing his best not to laugh. He'd long recognized Fendrake's talent for striking deals—a trait he'd later cultivated in himself, of course, but he hadn't quite appreciated how wily the healer could be. And apparently, neither had Zelena.

"I believe I understand why you did not file this document with my records clerk," the duke remarked.

Fendrake nodded. "She is neither student nor servant of mine. I agreed to allow her to assist me on a probationary basis in exchange for room and board, in the hope that she might indeed prove to be as adept at magic as she claimed to be, but she is not bound to me and has always been free to stay or go at her whim." His voice hardened. "Until now."

Eyes wide, Zelena tried to rush forward but was checked again by the crossed halberds. "You tricked me!" she cried. "You knew I was under the impression that—"

"The terms of the contract are quite clear," Fendrake replied coolly. "Had you questions or uncertainty about the terms of our arrangement, you could have asked at any time. Much as young Tavronius did not long ago, if you'll recall. If you misunderstood the agreement, I am sorry, but your misinterpretation of clear wording is not my responsibility."

He looked at the duke. "I can assure you that I had no knowledge of this woman's actions this day. I sent her to the meadow outside these walls to gather the herbs in question, but she was under orders to return with them to me."

"So you claim no right to intervene in the judgment that awaits her?"

The healer shook his head. "Neither the right nor the desire, Your Grace. As your loyal subject, it cannot be otherwise."

Rumple did his best not to smile, but he was definitely enjoying this.

The Duke favored the healer with an apologetic smile. "We are sorry to have roused you from your home at this late hour," he said. "Know that I am satisfied with your account of matters." He glanced at the lieutenant. "See to it that Master Fendrake is fairly compensated for his time according to the rate due a mage for testimony before a tribunal. And see that he has an armed escort back to his home." His gaze was hard as he turned to Zelena.

"Your Grace," she began, speaking quickly, "I meant no harm. I—"

"—Entered my castle uninvited, drugged a guard, and when caught by one of my loyal retainers, attempted to incapacitate him as well, all the while believing that you could do as you pleased because you fancied yourself a mage's apprentice." The Duke's voice was hard.

"I could have you executed for even one of those offenses," he continued. "But I'm inclined to be merciful. This fief, this kingdom, is currently embroiled in a war and we've a shortage of able-bodied men and women of age to bear arms. This then is the choice before you: service in the army for a period of three years or six months past war's end, whichever comes first. Otherwise I'll have you hanged for treason in three days' time. You may have that long to decide."

"No," Zelena said, smiling with relief. "No, I'll take the army."

Rumple could well guess what was going through her mind. She knew that within twenty-four hours of becoming the Dark One, Rumple's younger self would put a stop to the Ogre War. And six months of army life when there were no inconvenient enemy troops trying to put an arrow through your heart (or, in the case of an ogre, a foot through your skull) wasn't so terrible a fate. At least one didn't have to worry about food or shelter.

"A wise choice," the duke nodded. He motioned to his soldiers.

"Take her away. She goes to the southern front for the King's war as soon as we've enough mustered for it."

"Wait," Zelena exclaimed, as a soldier took her arm. "The King's war? No, it's supposed to be the Ogre's war!"

The duke raised an eyebrow. "It is not for any conscript to dictate the front to which they are sent. You will be sent where I choose to send you and that is either to the southern front or…"

Perhaps it was only a shift in position that had the guard on her left move the blade of his halberd so that it seemed poised to descend upon her head. Perhaps it was a warning. Either way, Zelena had time to fling one half-furious, half-pleading look behind her as she was dragged off.

Rumple couldn't quite hide his smirk now. Really, he wished his future-sight had shown him this earlier; he'd have enjoyed anticipating this moment nearly as much as he had watching it. And it wasn't even midnight yet. He had plenty of time to—

He realized that the seneschal was talking to him now and he recollected himself. "Pardon, my lord?" He thought fast, faked and smothered a yawn, and asked the seneschal's pardon again.

"Tarry a bit longer," the seneschal said. "I know you've passed a difficult night, but I should like to hear your account of it before I release you to your duties. Or your bedchamber, from the look of you," he added, not unkindly.

And Rumple forced himself to smile and reminded himself that in this case, telling the truth—or at least most of it—probably was all he needed to do.

On the road, Rumpelstiltskin's leg was dragging. He had one hand tight on his staff, his other arm heavy on Bae's shoulders. He didn't know how long they'd been walking and he only hoped he'd make the castle before daybreak, but they were still more than a league away and three miles with a bad ankle might as well have been thirty.

They rounded a bend and Bae gasped. "Papa! We're nearly there!"

Rumple nodded, not quite believing it. He could have sworn that they hadn't passed the ruins of the old stone barn, nor the three pastures gone fallow, nor the bridge over the creek. But yet, here they were at the meadow and the castle loomed high scant yards away. "Come on, son!" he gasped, hobbling forward with renewed vigor. "And watch for patrols!"

From the shadows in the nearby trees, a hooded man smiled in satisfaction. "There will be no patrols tonight," Zoso said softly. "No guards outside the dagger's chamber. And no interfering witch or other version of yourself to keep you from your destiny. My ending and your beginning are both drawing near…"

…And all he'd had to do to ensure that thing proceeded properly was cast a simple teleportation spell to get the spinner to the castle two hours earlier.