Chapter 4—"Sweep up the Years"


"I am here because—because I am your mother. And I was forced to be away from you for far, far too long."

"What?"

"I realize that this is probably just a bit of a surprise for you. I don't know what that obnoxious adolescent told you about me." The woman scowled, and Rumplestiltskin watched her warily, all the while feeling like his soul had just been emptied onto the floor at his feet. There was no way—none at all!—that she could be his mother. He was nearly three centuries old, and his mother, whoever she was, was long dead.

And even if she wasn't, she never wanted me, he knew. The certainty that both parents had abandoned him had weighed him down for his entire life.

"He told me that she dumped me on him 'like a needy, squealing, pig," he snapped, goaded into didn't mention that he'd always assumed that meant his mother had died in childbirth. It would have been typical of his father to try to make it her fault, and Rumplestiltskin had no memories of her, anyway. It had suited the gentle spinner he'd once been to think kindly of her, this mother he'd never known.

The Dark One was not so kind.

"I never wanted to leave you." Her shoulder slumped, and her all mirth left her expression. "I made a terrible choice that doomed you, but I never wanted to leave you. I was forced to, and I've spent every moment since trying to find a way back to you."

"Why should I believe that?" Hurt her, the voices inside him whispered, taunting him and driving him. Rumplestiltskin could feel the darkness gathering within him, building and building as his emotions tried to go haywire, and he didn't have the energy to put it down. His head was spinning too badly, and hope—damn hope!—kept trying to lift his heart.

She had said that she didn't want to leave him.

She snorted out a bitter laugh. "Because the truth is much more brutal." She gestured towards his head. "I will show you, if you'll let me."

"If you mean letting you touch me, dearie, you've a very poor appreciation of what the Dark One is."

"I'm the Black Fairy, my son. Of course I know what you are." She smiled slightly, but it was a surprisingly sad expression. And it almost knocked Rumplestiltskin right off of his feet.

That was impossible. His mother was dead. Long dead. His dear father had made sure Rumplestiltskin knew that growing up, that she'd abandoned him by dying and left Malcolm to deal with the 'wailing, needy pig' all on his own. This woman—the so-called Black Fairy!—could not possibly be his mother. She probably wasn't even a fairy, for which Rumplestiltskin was grateful for; the idea of his mother being a fairy made him more than a little nauseous. Of course, the magic in the air hinted at power around her, but the Dark One knew that with power came lies. Clearly, this was some sort of trick. Maybe Cora was even behind it, looking for another way to make him vulnerable and weak. As if breaking his heart wasn't bad enough, she now wanted to send some sad fake fairy woman to pretend to be his mother? He had known she was a cold-blooded bitch, but this was beyond what even he would have thought of her. Kill her, the voice of his darkness whispered, sounding like Zoso. He didn't always see the other Dark Ones, not anymore, but he could always, always hear them. Kill them both.

Magic leapt to his hands, making his entire body shiver with power and rage. Rumplestiltskin needed Cora—at least until her daughter was properly damaged by her—but he didn't need Cora's puppet. So, he teleported himself swiftly, landing inches away from her and reaching out to grab her throat in one clawed hand. He squeezed roughly, using magic to move them both roughly until her back slammed against the wall and she made a gratifying little cough-like squeak.

"Joke's on you, dearie." The words snapped out of him like something breaking. "I'm a little older than your typical Dark One by centuries. My mother would be long dead, because she was no fairy."

She burst out laughing, patting the hand around her throat almost fondly. "But I am the Black Fairy, my dear. I am not exactly what you'd call a normal human being with a traditional lifespan. I'm so much older than that. Older than you."

Her other hand came up to touch his face, and suddenly images burst into his mind. He could see this woman standing across from another fairy, this one dressed in red. Strangely enough, she was wearing gold, and she was pleading with the other fairy, desperately and passionately. He couldn't make out all the words they said; the image flashed by too quickly, but he caught a few:

"…I will not let my son die!" In a flash, his mother ripped out the other fairy's heart. "And if I have to kill his own fairy godmother to protect him, that's exactly what I'll do!"

The red-dressed fairy groaned, but her eyes were on the Black Fairy as she transformed from a gold fairy to black. Her voice echoed eerily as she recited words she obviously knew by heart: "And you will know the great evil by the crescent it bears. Evil was not born this winter. It was made."

"That's not possible!"

More images ripped through his mind, and suddenly the Blue Fairy was there, opening a portal that immediately started pulling his mother back…and away from the child he had not yet noticed. Was that him? Could it be? She howled in fury, fighting against the vortex that tried to suck her in.

"I promise you, son, I will spend every moment of every day trying to find my way back to you!"

Rumplestiltskin dropped her like a hot rock, skittering backwards a step. She couldn't be. His mother hadn't been a fairy, and if she had been, she'd wanted to leave him. This image had to be full of lies. My mother is dead, he thought desperately. Isn't she?

She's lying, Nimue's acid whisper insisted. Just kill her. And part of Rumplestiltskin wanted to listen so badly. The mere suggestion that this woman, Fiona, might be his mother brought with it too much pain, brought up too many memories he preferred dead and buried. Years of experience as the Dark One, however, told him that whatever Nimue wanted was probably in direct conflict with anything that was actually good for him, so Rumplestiltskin ignored her.

"Why should I believe you?"

"If what I have just showed you isn't enough?" She gestured at the castle around them with a shrug. "I assume you would believe blood magic. And I would think"—she glanced around pointedly—"that in a castle like this, you have several doors, locks, or other objects that are so enchanted. Point me at one, and I will prove it to you."

He was too much of a sorcerer to doubt she could pass such a test if she had suggested it—even if he would demand proof. But that was simply him being detail-oriented, particular. Ornery, even. That did not, however, lessen the emotional impact that the realization had. "You…you could be…"

"Another long lost relative? How many fairies are in your family tree?" Her smile faltered after a moment, though, and the pain he'd originally spotted deep in her eyes came back to the surface. She hesitated slightly, looking uncertain. "But if you grew up in Hamelin and your father's name was Malcolm….you are—"

"Enough!" He loomed forward again, this time his fury all Rumplestiltskin and not the Dark Ones inside him. He didn't want to be reminded of his father, not even by this woman who claimed to be his mother. Yet that line of thought, hateful though it was, brought up a thousand other questions. "How would he"—he refused to use his father's name—"manage to sire a child on you? Assuming you are who you claim to be."

Rumplestiltskin snapped the last sentence nastily, but he could hardly ignore the magic swirling around the Black Fairy. It was dark and old, angry and desperate, tainted somehow by something dark enough to make even him shiver. But there was certainly power there, real power, and old Malcolm hadn't been worth anything in that respect. His precious little game of follow the lady wouldn't have won him the admiration of any woman with half a brain, and Rumplestiltskin had always suspected that his mother had been a whore, a fool, or too new to town to know what Malcolm was.

For the first time, Fiona looked away. "I loved him. He was…different when he was younger. I gave up my wings to be with him." Her head turned back to him, and were those tears in her eyes? The Dark One inside him wanted to scoff, but the lost little boy he'd been couldn't help but listen. "And the knowledge that you were with him gave me solace through all the long years that the Blue Fairy exiled me to the Dark Realm."

"Solace." Rumplestiltskin couldn't help snorting. "If you loved me so much, why didn't you even bother to name me?"

"I was too busy trying to save your life. And we couldn't agree on a name. Malcolm"—she swallowed hard—"wanted to name you after his father, and I said Tom was a boring name. I wanted Myrmidon, but he thought it was too complicated. He always said the worst name we could ever saddle you with was Rumplestiltskin—"

"And he did." He cut her off harshly, remembering the way his father sneered that name at him. Go do something worthwhile, Rumple. Earn your papa some money, you worthless little rattle stilt! Rumplestiltskin felt his lips curling up into a vicious sneer. "That's exactly what he named me. The worst thing he could come up with."

Fiona jerked back as if slapped. "He what?"

"You heard me." Rumplestiltskin sneered again, and spat the word at her. "Mother."

Much though he wanted to, he couldn't shake the realization that this woman was his mother. She was the Black Fairy; he could feel her power. And while the Black Fairy might be dark enough to tell that lie simply to amuse herself, doing so to the Dark One would be the height of stupidity. And Fiona just didn't strike him as stupid. If she'd come in here with arms full of teacups and roses, there was no way Rumplestiltskin would have believed her. But the haunted look in her eyes was one he knew all too well. It was the look of someone who had made too many mistakes, had been ripped away from those they cared about and had embraced darkness and power because they had nothing else left. Fiona looked lonely, and a little broken, and those brown eyes told stories that were far too much like his own.

He had to test her, of course. A half dozen times, with different locks, spells, and traps, just to make sure. But Fiona passed every one of them, all without using a bit of magic that Rumplestiltskin could detect. By the end of an hour, there was no denying that she was related to him. After a second hour, even Rumplestiltskin had to accept that he was facing his mother.

His mother.

For the first time in his life, Rumplestiltskin had a mother. That didn't mean he could trust her, of course; he knew full well that parents, at least his parents, were not to be trusted. She'll only want your power, Nimue reminded him softly, and Rumplestiltskin felt his odd and hesitant excitement cool abruptly. Why would she want Rumplestiltskin? Even Cora only wanted your power, and you thought she loved you. Fool. Banishing the small strongbox he'd held while Fiona proved she could open it, Rumplestiltskin pulled away from his mother.

He'd neglected to think of one other possible reason why someone like the Black Fairy would fall for a huckster and a thief. She's just like him. Lies with a pretty smile, and then cuts you where it hurts. He didn't know if that last thought was his or one of the others; perhaps it had been Nimue, or even Zoso, but Rumplestiltskin didn't care. That didn't make it less true.

"Do you believe me, now?" Fiona asked softly, as if she couldn't sense his sudden coldness.

"Yes." Armoring himself with his anger—he would not suffer another heartbreak!—Rumplestiltskin swung to look at her with a snarl. "And that brings us back to the original question, dearie. What do you want? Hmmm? Come to find a willing tool to help you bring darkness down upon all the realms?"

She blinked, staring at him like he'd gone insane. And maybe he had. He was a Dark One who had thought he could find love, after all. They didn't come crazier than that.

Then his mother laughed. "I don't need your power to do that…Rumplestiltskin." She said the name like she was testing out its sound on his tongue, rolling it around to see how it fit. "I have quite enough of my own, after all. I am the 'Great Evil' destined to bring down a Savior." Fiona rolled her eyes. "But I don't care about that. Not now. I came because this was the first time I could come for you…and because your father told me what he did."

"He what?" Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard. She'd been to Neverland. Was his mother in league with his father, or was there something else going on here?

"He told me that he gave you up for power, and I realized that I had done the same…even if I hadn't meant to." She grimaced. "What I didn't show you is that the Blue Fairy exiled me when I would not give up my power. I gave up my wings to be with you father, but I turned myself back into a fairy to protect you. And she…she didn't like my methods. But if I had not chosen power, I would never have been forced to leave you. And then perhaps he would not have done what he did to you."

"You have no idea what he did to me." The words came out before he could stop them, but Rumplestiltskin already wished he could take them back.

"No, I don't." She stepped forward, and much to Rumplestiltskin's surprise, put a hand on his arm. Rumplestiltskin twisted to stare at that hand, not knowing what to do with it, and he almost didn't hear as she went on: "I only know that I am sorry that I could not be there to protect you, and I will never fail you again."

Part of him burned to hear those words, and there was still a little boy within the monster who wanted to throw himself at his mother and cry. But he was the Dark One, not a lost and broken boy, so Rumplestiltskin did no such thing. He just narrowed his eyes. "Easy to say that now." His smile was nasty, all sharp edges that were not caused by the broken shards of his soul, thank you very much. "Particularly when I'm perfectly capable of defending myself. I'm the Dark One, Mother, not some helpless child."

"I know." Her smile was sad. "And even if my apology means nothing to you, I want to you to know that I love you."

"Why don't you think that'll mean anything?" he snarled defensively, trying to ignore the last three words. He didn't want a mother. He didn't need a mother. It was far too late. "Because I'm the Dark One? Because the Dark One can't possibly feel or care?"

Of course that was it. He was a monster, and monsters did not have feelings like men.

"No." Amazingly, Fiona reached up, cupping his cheek in her palm, and Rumplestiltskin froze in shock. "Darkness doesn't make you feel less. I should know." She laughed softly, bitterly. "I simply meant that you have every right to be angry."

How long had it been since someone had touched him so gently? Cora had, but she'd only wanted his power. This was…this was his mother. She had to want something. She had to. He knew how to deal with that. Nothing else made sense.

"Had I been here, perhaps you would not have had to make the choices you've made," Fiona said softly.

"I…"

His mouth worked uselessly, gums flapping emptily. Rumplestiltskin, silver-tongued wordsmith that he was, had nothing to say. He didn't know how to cope with someone offering compassion. This wasn't darkness, this wasn't lust born of a joined love for power. This was a simpler love, something softer and more open than he'd ever experienced in his life.

"I will tell you my story if you tell me yours." His mother's formerly bitter smile turned crooked. "I think both have more than their share of ugly moments, but it's a start."

Don't let her in. She won't love you. She'll see you for what you are and hate you for it! He had to get control of this situation somehow. "What makes you think that you can walk in my castle and make demands?"

"I'm hardly making demands. If I were, I would—"

"I am not a child!" Rumplestiltskin cut her off, white hot fury rising to meet the infuriating smile she wore. "I don't want you here, and I don't need anyone!"

"Oh, stop acting like a toddler!" Fiona's hand moved to his chest, one finger poking him in the sternum. "Of course you do. We all do. Being a lonely monster in a castle may fit every cliché there is, if the Black Fairy can admit she wishes for family, so can you!"

That jerked him up short. Rumplestiltskin didn't really know how to respond to that, so in the end, he wound up telling her his story.

All of it.


Rumplestiltskin told her his story haltingly, at first brokenly and then angrily. He spoke of a boy who he loved more than life itself, of a Seer and a prophecy, of making a deal he did not understand. Fiona listened without comment, burning to reach out to her beautiful boy who had lost far more than she had ever imagined he could. He was meant to be a hero, she thought for the thousandth time, taking in the scales on his face and the darkness that had settled into his soul. And he tried so hard. Her actions had robbed him of that fate, and while Fiona had contemplated forgetting the promise she'd made Tiger Lily prior to coming to the Dark Castle, she now knew she couldn't. Had cutting his destiny away left him more susceptible to the darkness? Had it left him knowing he should have power yet bereft of it? She had no way to know, but she suspected both hypotheses were true. Listening to his story made her want to hold him so badly, but the way he kept himself in check stopped her from doing so. His emotions were clearly whipping back and forth between every imaginable extreme, yet somehow, he didn't lose control.

That was fascinating.

Only after he told her of Cora, of this miller's daughter who he had taught magic, fallen in love with—in love with!—and who and then betrayed him, did Fiona ask her son how he had survived being the Dark One for so long. She knew enough about that curse to know that most of Nimue's spawn did not tend to last long before some would-be hero put the dagger through their heart or some power-hungry sorcerer thought they could control the darkness better. There had been dozens of Dark One since the first, as any careful student of magic was well aware. They never lasted, and the fairies counted on that fact as an absolute truth. It kept Dark Ones from growing too knowledgeable, kept them from gaining too much power.

Yet Rumplestiltskin was a sorcerer. Fiona hadn't realized that until he told her of the way he'd studied, of the way he'd learned magic. He learned like I did—by reading books others ignored, by exploring new magics that no one else understands. She had not expected to find something else in common with Rumplestiltskin, and certainly not this. Fiona had been a minor fairy when she'd given up her wings for love, and she'd never regretted that until she'd learned that her son was supposed to die as the Savior. Then she studied and studied, had turned herself back into a fairy and had learned everything she could find about magic. Over the centuries since losing her wand, she had experimented with other magics, too, expanding her horizons past simple fairy magic.

Now, sitting across from a Dark One who had done much the same thing, Fiona found herself looking at her son in a new light. She had come to him because Rumplestiltskin was her son, and because she loved him more than she loved her own life. Even her power was less important than her son, but now she could have both. Her son was not a Savior destined to kill her, and she had promised to save him.

Not that she told him that. Instead, she told him the story of falling in love with Malcolm and giving up her wings. She told him that she had learned of a threat to him and done everything she could to protect him, only for the Blue Fairy to intervene when she disliked Fiona's methods and exile her. None of that was a lie, and part of Fiona—shockingly!—wanted to tell the truth, but she sensed that her son was not ready to learn he had been destined to be the Savior. There was too much darkness in him, too much pain, and that knowledge might just break him. I will tell him when the time is right, she promised herself. She thought she could even keep that promise, provided that the darkness did not eat them both alive in the meantime.

So, she shared her story and then finally convinced him to share his, listening to every word with a heart that wanted to break. I made him into the Dark One, she knew. I did not want to, but I chose my power over his, which meant I left him with no other option when his own son was threatened. I changed his fate, when I could have chosen to change my fate, but I sacrificed his instead. Yet it was too late to change the past; no one knew that better than Fiona did. All she could do was fight to make the future better.


A/N: Stay tuned for Chapter 5—"Of Sadness and Tears," in which Fiona realizes that saving her son will not be easy, Rumplestiltskin returns something that was stolen, and uncomfortable realizations are made.