CHAPTER 33

GASTON wearily eyed Gold as he limped across the room, still fatigued and sore as Gold ushered him towards a chair in front of the meek-looking hearth, thrusting a heavily laden tray of a wooden crockery bowl of stew, a crust of bread, and a few sausage links, at his chest and commanding the military captain to eat.

Monsieur Gold carefully inched his face towards Gaston's mended but still cold self, retribution burning in the younger man's dark eyes for what D'Arque had done.

It was quite remarkable, the likeness between this Gaston and his Gaston back home in Storybrooke. This Gaston, from the histories, it was said, was devoid of warmth, his words from iron, and all but a few loved him.

Gold twisted the edge of his lips into a frown and stretched his back to lean on his chair as he positioned his own chair opposite Gaston and watched as the soldier ate.

Gaston continued to eye him slightly distrustfully over the bowl of hot stew, his cup of weak wine, and the links of cooked sausage, and crust of bread on the tray that his savior had so kindly given him to keep up his strength.

"You have got a price on his head. Why?" Gaston asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Gaston eyed Gold somewhat indignantly, as Claire hovered by the soldier's side, eyeing him guardedly, watching Gaston's every movement to make sure that he ate and did as told.

Gold flinched. Gaston's narrowed eyes traveled downward and noticed the older Scottish man had a nervous habit of fidgeting with a wedding band on his finger, yet he had seen no signs of any other who lived here, save for this man.

He snorted and resisted the urge to roll his eyes at any woman who was able to marry this one, thinking they were surely as strange as this man was.

Gold stiffened, grinding his teeth, a feral look of anger flitting across his face as his eyes made a quick sweep of Gaston and Claire, his throat suddenly hallowing, hurting.

"D'Arque took something of mine. Something I hold most dear. I'd very much like to have it back. I've not been able to get within a foot of the man's asylum, which is more a fortress than anything, their lives are threatened and I cannot go near him. But you, on the other hand, are his familiar, Gaston," he spat, hissing his words more than speaking them as he continued to fidget with the ring on his finger in his wrath. "You might want to know how you ended up here in my home in the Wolves' Woods?" Gold leaned forward in his chair and pointed a finger at Gaston, and at Claire. "I knew there was something strange of you, Monsieur Dupont. Who would have thought? Gaston Dupont, decorated war hero, the 'Widow's Wail' himself…lying in the snow, mauled to death with your throat ripped out. Were it not for the sign, I would have left you there myself, considering you were once in league with the man."

The sign? Gaston, who had been about to take a bite of sausage, his fork hovering hallway to his mouth, lowered the utensil, going stock still and rigid.

Though he appeared fully mended by whatever means of witchcraft Gold had used on him, his neck and shoulders were unable to control the violent shivering of his chest.

His arm ejected virtual waves of pain, no matter how thick his bandages were. His short shadow raven black hair was wild and disheveled, dark eyes below hollow eyes and sunken in cheekbones, one of which even had a blotch of red around his brown irises.

He was sure he looked a mess.

"Now I want to know…" Gold leaned forward in his chair, the flickering flames of the fire roaring to life in the hearth casting light shadows across the man's angular features. "What the Widow's Wail was doing, strolling over six feet of snow and ice to make for your monarch's castle instead of gorging meat and ale behind the safe, warm comfort of your tavern back in your sleepy little village?"

At this, Gaston finally managed to pull a smug grin, though he could feel his cheeks' reluctance to be molded falsely as he dunked his crust of bread into the stew to soften it, as his entire body ached and still felt sore, to say nothing of his throat and his jaw, where the wolf had bitten him.

"Hoping to convince Belle and her Prince to come back with me, to stop D'Arque from harming either one of them. To stop him…" His last three words caused the edges of his mouth to pinch downward in a heavy scowl.

"Humph. And here we are," Monsieur Gold smirked right back, unfazed. "D'Arque still lives," he spat poisonously, no small amount of contempt dripping from his tone. "Why?" he growled, a flicker of anger passing through the older Scottish gentleman's brown eyes.

"You could see why." Gaston shot him a withering look, his entire body tensing as every cord of his body was pulled taut across his bones.

He only allowed himself to relax as Claire strode forward and curled her fingers around his shoulder. Gaston let out a haggard sigh that felt and sounded shaky, trying to will himself to relax as he reached up with his hand not bound in its sling and clung to Claire's fingers.

Gold sighed tiredly, pinching at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Truly, it's a pity that you failed, Dupont. Milady, if you had your…colleague bound and chained by an enemy, how handsome would you name a price for his head?" Monsieur Gold called out, angrily.

Gaston threw back his head and laughed, the sound steering a clear silence that befell Gold's simple little hut, his handsome face was full of a twisted sense of glee and coughing.

"You wouldn't really bring me hostage to scare D'Arque, monsieur?" Gaston snorted. "You'd what…bend the knee in exchange for whatever he stole away from you?"

Gaston spat on the ground, his slaver thick with blood, unmindful if it would be his head rolling afterward.

If Gold was disgusted, he knew how to hide his cringing well enough. Claire on the other hand, not so much. He heard the young woman let out an exclamation of disgust and her fingers curled into a fist over his bicep.

"Gaston!" she squeaked, sounding utterly horrified, not to mention, disgusted by Gaston's rude behavior.

"You—" Gold started to splutter angrily, but Gaston held up a hand and cut the Scottish man off then.

"Bastard, monsieur? Yes, I AM!" he roared, banging the flat of his palm onto the armrest of his leather chair, which elicited a squeak of surprise from Claire, and he felt the brunette shoot him an admonishing look for his behavior, but she said nothing.

The gesture made her freeze.

"I AM THE BASTARD who has lived up to his reputation! What do you call me? Widow's Wail, isn't it? I massacred the garrison at Moat Veena, I would let the hounds feed on the remains of deceased soldiers—these, these, and there are more of me than you could imagine!"

Gaston Dupont had not been seen as a ravenous soldier for a long time, with his teeth bared, breaths shallow, his shoulders heaving in fury and a murderous look that had started to glint in his dark eyes as he thought of D'Arque's betrayal and how he had tried to murder him.

Gold could have taken his arm, but he remained unmoved in his chair, growing even more silent despite every muscle in his body tensing. It sickened Gaston, the way that Gold could only look him squarely in the eye.

"Aye, monsieur. I've heard those stories…all terrible. Terrible, yes…but great. Though they left out one minor detail, lad, not that it would matter too much." Here, Monsieur Gold leaned forward in his chair and almost half-smiled in a way that made him feel uneasy as if he knew something of himself that Gaston did not. "You have sad eyes…for a killer, Monsieur Gaston Dupont, aye."

At this, Gaston felt his throat hallow and dry out.

He had not meant to be so candid, to give so much of himself away with just a single look. He shrank further back into his chair like the scared little boy he had been, once upon a time. He managed a small but bitter laugh and spoke in a low voice that could only be described as a growl.

"You don't know that, Monsieur," Gaston hissed.

Gaston sniffed. "Some men are born righteous while others like Adam and I are doomed, monsieur." He stretched his arms out, more than welcoming the credit of being one of the worst men in the entire country of France.

Gold merely had the impudence to raise his eyebrows as he sat back against his chair and crossed one leg over the other.

"No man is born good or evil, Gaston Dupont. You would do well to remember that, and destiny is the excuse of cowards," he spat out bitterly.

He chuckled morosely as he took note of both his guests shooting him dagger looks.

If looks could have killed, Gold would have been pinned in a second and given virtually no time to react. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Ah, but if looks could carve out lungs, you two," Gold sighed tiredly. "Monsieur, need I remind you that you are at my mercy and owe me a favor in kind for saving your life? And despite this, why is it that I'm left with the feeling that you have plans alone to kill me with that look. Is that why you ended up mauled to death in the snow, eh? Kept glaring at the wolf who meant to rip out your throat? No, wait, let me guess. You had a change of heart and D'Arque did not take so kindly to it. Is that it?" Gold challenged.

"Your bluntness, monsieur, while flattering, isn't going to seduce D'Arque to submission. He won't ransom for me, he'll be more than happy to kill me again a second time when he sees me alive, Gold," Gaston scoffed, disgusted at the very suggestion and hardly daring to believe he was having a conversation of this caliber. Gaston's brows furrowed as he saw Gold frown.

"Why?" Gold's tone was merely curious, not accusatory.

The look on the older Scottish gentleman's face was impassive. Gaston couldn't be entirely sure, but he thought he saw a flicker of feral anger flit through his eyes.

"You have your answer as to why I ended up face down in the snow with my throat ripped out by wolves."

Gold's jaw tensed as he repeated his query. "Why…?"

The way that Gaston shrugged his shoulders with a lock of mocking said it all. It made even Claire shirk away.

"Well, monsieur, what do you do with a bone after all the meat is gone?" he growled, grinding his teeth in ire.

This gave Gold at least some small measure of satisfaction as he leaned forward in his chair and folded his fingers together, a pensive look on his placid features.

"And…you mean to watch him die?"

"Yes. I'll take his head if it pleases you, Gold. And then, if France's king would have me die for my part in all of this, at least I would die with a different title: a hero," Gaston snarled, not noticing how Claire flinched at his words, looking angry that he would even say such a thing.

Almost as if a cold chill wafted over Gold's hut, Gold drew in a sharp breath and bolted from his chair, surprisingly spry and quick on his feet. Gaston took note of the momentary look of queasiness that took over the strange Scotsman.

There was something in the word hero he had said that made the other's skin show gooseflesh. Gaston rose to his feet as well, turning his gaze from Claire who copied his movements, and back towards Gold, who was pensively staring at the dwindling fire in the hearth, a faraway look on his face. Gold was looking quite troubled.

"I hate to admit it, monsieur, but I wish I knew more men with your wits. You'd not believe the idiots I have to deal with back home, particularly Killian." Gold scoffed and rolled his eyes, his smirk widening a bit as the Scottish man seemed to be enjoying some private joke with himself before his expression sobered, and Gold returned his attention to the matter at hand. "You aren't stupid, Dupont. Bloodthirsty, aye, but not stupid. Far from the likes of what I have to deal with, a pirate whose little more than a sellsword and not as good a captain as he likes to boast, no matter what his wife tells me, and a queen who favors pyromancy and leeching, wicked witches…" Gold's frown deepened as he pondered to himself out loud, ignoring Claire and Gaston exchanging a dark look. "Whatever reason D'Arque had to discard of you, he must have to do it later then. Idiot man, a stupid man. Do you think that he believes you to be dead?" he said.

Gaston shrugged. "Man sees what he believes. And I'm here aren't I? You and Claire saved my life." As if to emphasize his point, he tugged the baker's daughter close and squeezed onto her shoulder. "I owe you," Gaston murmured gratefully.

Soon, what the strange Scottish man asked made Gaston lift his eyes at him in utter astonishment.

"How much do you know of D'Arque's fortress?"

"What…?" Gaston let his voice trail off as he stared.

"If you mean to see Monsieur D'Arque die like you so boldly expressed to us earlier, then you can tread down this path by telling me what you know, since you claim to be his familiar. How to breach its walls, how many men there are at the gates, the length of those accursed dungeons," Gold spat, the feral look of anger in his eyes growing more rapid the look they spoke of D'Arque. Gold swiveled his gaze towards Gaston, now with his full utter attention. "Help me sack his asylum so that I may take back what he stole that is rightfully mine and I could give you your wish of taking his head. That is, if you want to continue your device against me since you clearly don't trust me but turn it against your own…colleague. If not, I wouldn't take it against you. Either way, the next time you die, I could just leave you there to rot and you'd better start praying to your God for a miracle, Dupont, because you won't get another favor like what I did for you tonight from me," Gold said to him, threateningly.

Gaston slowly eased himself in his chair, breathing out a steadying breath in the form of a long, slow exhale to calm down.

"What promise could I possibly give…? I'm not even strong enough to lift a torch, much less my sword to take a man's head."

"I saved your life, didn't I? I can promise you, you will be stronger by the morning, of that I am confident, provided you rest," Gold challenged, crossing his arms over his chest, and shot his eyebrows so far up onto his forehead that they almost disappeared into the man's grey hairline. "Well? If you swear to me that you vow to do as I ask and return the favor, then I guarantee that your lady friend here will be safely taken to the Prince's castle to lay in wait for her handsome hero till we return, which shan't take us but more than three days or so. A week at most I would wager, if these damned winter blizzards don't let up," Gold grumbled.

Gaston felt that same familiar aching chill that had been plaguing him since he had first started becoming aware of his growing feelings for the baker's daughter. He could not understand now whether or not it was fear or excitement that was burgeoning in the pit of his stomach as he never once broke eye contact with the strange chap who'd saved his life.

One thing he did know for sure was, he wanted Claire safe, to check on Belle and Adam before going with this man, and he wanted this—the sweet beauty of vengeance and death.

This strange man had asked for his cooperation, this sorcerer, and even though their alliance was to be temporary, Gaston felt himself nod his head, a tired sparkle growing in his eyes. Gold was immediately on his feet as he nodded at Claire, who had but touched Gaston on his shoulder to advise him without saying a word that the conversation was concluded.

Gaston rose from the armchair, grunting in pain and at the stiffness in his newly mended joints, and shuffled back towards the meager pile of blankets and pillows that he guessed was meant to serve as his bed for the night. Gold, sensing that Gaston was tired, moving to shuffle towards the opposite end of his hut, to do what, only God Himself knew that for sure.

But before Gaston could hobble back to the bed with Claire's assistance, Monsieur Gold's clipped voice had him halt.

"Monsieur Gaston…if you do this…I should tell you, where I come from there is a saying. The people say that love is the death of a man's duty. Normally, I'd be inclined to think that they are right. I know that you and D'Arque once might have been…friends if nothing less than mutual acquaintances."

Gaston swallowed thickly down past the lump in his throat as he felt his heartbeats pick up speed against his chest.

Claire clutching onto his arm as she had been in the midst of guiding him back to the bed, insistent he rest before leaving this place on the morrow paused, shooting the military captain a worried frown that Gaston was rather touched by.

Gaston turned around slowly to face Gold and answered the older Scottish man between his gritted teeth.

"I've no kindness left in my heart for D'Arque."

"Very good, monsieur." Gold inclined his head slightly, but he did not smile, seemingly unimpressed by the hunter's words. He watched, almost satisfied, as Gaston's face fell. "And what about Claire?"