Chapter Two: Gold's Decision
Where turned out to be a house Gold had purchased as a secondary residence, in case of emergency. On the outside, it was a plain, modest building, single story. On the inside, it was well appointed with the subtle elegance and comfort that Emma generally associated with Gold.
Regina had stayed to watch over Henry. The rest of them had come with Gold, so he could show them the conditions they were working under.
Gold led them into the house, only the set of his shoulders and the grimness of his eyes revealing his unease. Emma and Neal wound up leading the others by default, Mary Margaret and David walking as wary shadows behind them.
Gold made no theatrical presentations, no offers for the grand tour or any of the other gestures Emma would have expected. He simply led them down the hall to a room, murmured "Here." and went inside.
The room on the other side of the door was a bedroom. Well appointed, with a large comfortable looking mattress that Emma would have bet would cost her a month's salary. There was an attached bathroom as well and everything was neat and tidy, almost to the point of looking unlived in. The only things out of place in the model home look were the chains.
There were four of them, two secured to the foot-board, two to the headboard. They were long, heavy and thick. Emma stared at them.
"I put them in before I came to the hospital." Gold's voice startled her out of he study of them.
She stared at him as he stepped past her, set his cane to the side, then stripped off his jacket and braced himself to remove his shoes. "Why?"
"Because I am likely to be under stress, and in such cases, my magic is a tad...unpredictable." Gold looked up, baring teeth in a shark's smile. "And you already know of my penchant for physical violence, when it suits me. Trust me dearie, you'll be lucky if these hold." Gold removed his second shoe, then set both to the side and undid his tie.
The whole scene looked eerily familiar. It took Emma a moment to place it, and then her stomach clenched. "You're going to poison yourself."
"In a manner of speaking, yes. It's not fatal, if that's what you're worried about. Uncomfortable, yes, but not fatal. And it will allow me to fulfill my end of the bargain." Gold set his tie and jacket to the side and settled on the edge of the bed.
"Wait a second." Neal stepped forward, but Gold raised his head to look at him, and the younger man stopped.
"I know what I'm doing." Gold hesitated, then spoke softly, his voice pleading. "I know you've no reason to trust me Bae, but I'm asking you to, for this. For your son. I swear to you, I know what I'm doing. And this has to be done." Another painful pause. "I promise, I'll tell you everything, after."
Neal stood a moment longer. Then he stepped forward and took his father's hand. "It's a deal. And you'd better hold up your end of it this time."
Gold looked up at him, gratitude in his eyes. "I will, Bae. I will." He clenched his hand around his son's, head dipping briefly to brush Neal's arm. Then he leaned back. "Help me."
David and Mary Margaret stood to the side while Emma and Neal helped Gold get comfortable on the bed. At Gold's request, Neal was the one who locked the manacles in place, his hands careful and gentle as he made sure there was a cushion of cloth between his father's skin and the cold metal. Emma helped arrange the pillows to prop him up, as comfortable as possible. Then Gold nodded at a small cabinet above the dresser. "In there."
Mary Margaret opened the cabinet to find a vial. She lifted it out, and Gold gestured. "Give it to me."
Mary Margaret brought it forward, but hesitated before dropping it into his hand. "Are you sure? You don't have to..."
"Yeah, I do." Gold took the bottle and examined the contents, then worked it open. He looked up at the four surrounding his bed. "After I drink this, I'll fall into a trance. Rather like a coma, actually. And after that, it'll begin. Whatever happens, whatever you see, whatever you hear, whatever I do, you cannot break the spell. Don't try to wake me. For this to truly save Henry, it has to take it's course, and you have to see it. Understand?"
Emma nodded along with the rest, but couldn't help the question that slipped from her mouth. "Why do we have to see it?"
Gold's eyes flicked to her. "There's no point in vulnerability if there's no one there to witness it." Before she could say anything further he took a deep breath and swallowed the contents of the vial in one quick gulp.
Whatever the potion was, it was fast acting. Gold barely had time to swallow before his eyes fluttered closed and he went limp against the pillows, head lolling slightly. Neal caught the vial as it rolled from his grip.
Magic flickered over Gold's still form, purple-black and glimmering blue. Seconds later, Emma's phone rang. She dug it out and flicked it open, seeing Regina's number. "Hey. Something happen?"
"Yes. There was magic. The doctor is checking him now, but...he seems to be breathing better. What happened?"
"Gold started something. No details on what he's doing, but right now he's unconscious, and there was a burst of magic here too. Purple and blue and black." Emma swallowed hard, feeling something clench in her gut. Whatever else Gold was, he was Neal's father, and Henry's grandfather.
"Whatever he's doing is fighting the curse." Regina sounded as surprised as Emma felt.
"I guess so. We're just going to have to wait and see." Emma couldn't take her eyes away from the still figure on the bed.
"I guess we will. I'll keep you updated on Henry's condition if you'll keep me updated on Gold's."
"Deal." Emma snapped the phone closed and shoved it back into her pocket. She and Neal shared a look, then left the room. Emma found a dining room and took two chairs, and Neal grabbed two more. They dragged them back to Gold's room and arranged them around the bed. Then Emma flopped into one on one side, and Neal into another across from her.
Neal sighed. "I guess we wait."
Emma grimaced, not liking the feeling of unease snaking around her spine. "Yeah. I guess we do."
***SM***
He fell and fell, into the darkness. Into fire, into emptiness. Terror clutched at his heart. He knew what he was falling to, and he wanted desperately not to land. But he was going to.
Pain wrenched at him, soul deep and agonizing and he cried out. He didn't know which was worse, the pain or the knowledge that worse, far worse, awaited him.
He landed with a thump in a dark, featureless area. He couldn't make out what he was standing on, only dimness all around him. Fear trickled through him, mounting to dread. He didn't want to be alone here.
He was terrified of the specter he knew would come, and what it would mean.
"Well, well. Here we are dearie." The voice hissed and snickered out of the darkness, sending chills wracking through him. A shape resolved out of the dimness.
Rumplestiltskin stood shivering as the Dark One emerged from the shadows, leering coldly at him. The Dark One laughed. "Interesting trick that. I wonder what you hoped to accomplish."
He swallowed down terror and tried to force his trembling limbs to still. "You know what I mean to do. And why I've done this."
"So I do. So I do." The Dark One snickered again, pacing with restless energy around him, gleeful and malevolent. He stood still, resisting the urge to bolt away, to seize the Dark One and subjugate him, end this by dragging his darker half back and breaking the spell. "Save little Henry, by making yourself acknowledge your own wrong-doings, your regrets. That's why you used the Shattered Mask Spell, of course. But are you sure? There's no going back. Once I drag you into the dark, you can't return until the end. And that's a long list to live through dearie. After all, your regrets with Baelfire and Belle are only the tip of the iceberg, as it were. Really want to go through it all? For a boy who's meant to be your downfall someday?"
"I've made my decision." And how he wanted to take it back. But he had made a deal. He had promised his son. He couldn't break his promise to the boy a second time. And Henry...for all he feared the boy, Henry was his grandson. "Get on with it."
"As you wish." The Dark One made a mocking bow. Then cruel hands seized his shoulder, yanked him into oblivion once more.
He landed in a camp he knew, in a memory that had haunted his waking moments. The night he had listened to a seer's prophecy, and set himself on the path that had doomed him. Until that night, he had been an honorable man. Perhaps not the bravest of men, but honorable and strong and determined to do right. Determined to prove himself.
"Know this, don't you? First step to becoming me." The Dark One paced beside him, snickering coldly.
"I just wanted to be there for my son. I didn't want to leave him fatherless." A lump formed in his throat.
"That's not everything, dearie. You know it's not." The Dark One hissed in his ears, sneered in his face and he flinched, even as he watched himself shrinking into a corner, eyes wide and fearful, expression desperate.
"I didn't want to leave Bae fatherless." His voice trembled.
"But there were other ways. You'd seen them. You knew them. Could have chosen one of those. Something a little more...heroic?" The Dark One leered. "Come on now, mustn't keep lying to yourself dearie. You know the truth."
And he did. There were so many other paths he could have taken.
He could have lied to the commanders. Everyone knew he'd been guarding the seer. He could have told them she'd told him their plan would end in disaster. Or he could have gone into battle, and done something to be wounded there. The front lines were a brutal place. How hard would it have been, really, to sustain a severe injury, but not a fatal one? Perhaps difficult, but not impossible.
He knew how to lame horses temporarily and not get caught. He'd worked with farm animals before. Delay the army's plans. And if he had been caught, again there was the seer's warning.
He had justified himself as not wanting to leave his son fatherless, but the truth was that wanting to avoid the battle wasn't what had damned him. What had damned him was failing to try to save more lives than his own. He'd given no care to the consequences, not even that his son would endure the burden he himself had fought so hard to get free of, the stigma of being a coward's son.
"Too afraid to take a risk, eh? Too afraid to lose face. But you did lose it." The Dark One's words mocked him. "Could have tried. Could have made an effort for the others. I wonder...how many other men died in that battle you avoided?"
Too many. He'd still been in the recovery tent when they had returned, their numbers dramatically thinned. And he'd spent more sleepless nights than he could ever admit, wondering if he could have saved lives. For all that he was no soldier by trade, he had turned out to be a fair hand with weapons. If he'd gone, even with the intent of being injured too badly to fight again, could he have saved some of those who died?
He bowed his head, knowing the moment for what it was, a moment of selfishness and cowardice. He had decided his life was worth more than any other man's. That his child was too important to lose a father, as though no other soldier on the field risked leaving behind sons and wives. Many children had been left fatherless, many wives widowed by the Ogre Wars.
"Finally got the measure of it, have you dearie? Seen the truth. This might have been the more innocent of it, but this was your first moment of darkness. Maybe a shade of grey, only the tiniest little shadow of what you became, but here's the first stain on your heart." The mocking words beat at him, pounding in his mind.
"I know it." His throat was thick. "I know it. I was selfish. I was a coward." He lifted his head, feeling desperation curling in his heart. "I understand. Please...I don't need to see this..."
"No. I think you do. All the way to the moment they dismiss you."
The scene switched, and they were in the medical tent. He was lying in a cot, leg elevated, bandages around his shattered bones. Shouting rose outside, causing the medics to come to instant attention, faces grim as a runner burst in, gasping out breathless news of the wounded. The tent burst into a flurry of activity. He was moved to make way for the soldiers, sitting in a chair so the more heavily wounded could be put in cots. Then the fallen began to arrive.
It was horrific. Blood and screaming and the smell of cauterizing irons filled the air. Men writhed, begged, clawed and pleaded, and were drugged unconscious or made drunk to numb their pain. His memory self closed his eyes. After a long moment, Rumplestiltskin did too.
Nothing could stop the screams and howls from echoing in his ears. Or the scent of blood and burned flesh from filling his nose. Eyes closed, Rumplestiltskin stood amidst the carnage and wept in helpless fury at the choice he had made.
Author's Note: And...there we go.
Before the story goes any further...this is not a Rumple-bashing story. His actions are presented in a negative light, yes, but the effect of the spell is take one's mistakes and present them in their worst light, without any justifications or rationalizations. Rumplestiltskin is not the only one doing a little soul-searching here, and others may have something to say...