Chapter 8
A/N. My thanks to Guest, Hannah097, Angry Penguin and jcat30 for helping me to select the victor for this story! But I want to give everyone else one more chance, so I'm extending the voting period until March 30. Who should defeat Cora: Emma, Bae, Henry or Regina? Or cast a write-in vote. Elect a hero! And Marcie, I think you're going to like the ending I have planned—something special for Belle and Gold.
Storybrooke 2:16 pm
Cora has joined her daughter at the mirror, where they are watching the idiots' progress. "If they had an ounce of sense, they'd go into hiding," Regina remarks as the mirror shows her an image of David, Snow and some of the dwarves making their way down Main Street. "What do they hope to accomplish? Against us, they have no more power than a troop of ants against a pride of lions."
"Emma has magic," Cora reminds her. "Though she has no idea how to use it. We'll need to watch for her. If we play our cards right, we can take her power as well."
"Thank you, Mother, for helping me bring Henry home." But even as she expresses gratitude, there's a twinge of uncertainty in her voice. Regina can't recall a time when Cora ever cared what anyone else wanted, least of all her daughter. It doesn't seem likely that when this battle is over, Cora will simply hand over Henry and allow the little Mills family to go its own way. Whatever Cora's current plans for Regina might be, Henry could well get in the way of them.
As if reading her mind—a skill no sorcerer has ever possessed, but when it comes to Cora, who knows?—Cora assures her, "All I want is your happiness."
Inwardly, Regina sighs. She almost wishes it was Rumplestiltskin she had partnered with instead of her own mother. With the imp there were secrets and manipulations, but at least he never pretended to be on anyone else's side but his own. "Mother. . . why do you hate him—Rumplestiltskin?"
Cora's smile and her voice are honey. "Oh, I don't hate anyone, darling. I'm incapable of it. No, if I were capable of feeling anything for him, I suppose it would be a sort of nostalgic gratitude. He was my first teacher of magic. It was through him I discovered myself."
"Why do you want him dead, then?"
"Well, he's a liability, isn't he? A loose cannon. So many of his decisions are based on whimsy, and that makes him unpredictable and unmanageable."
"And dangerous." Regina turns her attention back to the mirror, but she doesn't see the Charmings any more: she sees a tent in an open nighttime field and she feels her heart breaking all over again as the doctor gives her the bad news: "I'm sorry. I failed. The heart wasn't strong enough. It couldn't withstand the procedure."
The field dissolves, and in the mirror she now sees herself floating through her castle in her black robes, her hair and her head high. In the kitchen waits the hatter. She's made him come in through the servants' entrance, for he's hired help, not a guest, and she makes him wait and wait, growing increasingly nervous as the minutes tick by and he's late in returning to his wife and their newborn. When he leaves today, he will bear in mind that his priority is not his family but his service to the queen.
When at last she summons him to her parlor, she dispenses with niceties: as hired help, he merits no courtesies. She doesn't even offer him a chair. She gives him his orders—a particular mirror she's heard tales of; he's to travel to the far-off land in which the current owner resides and he is not to return to the Enchanted Forest without the mirror. She tosses a velvet bag filled with gold coins at him; he's to pay for the mirror with this gold. "You may keep whatever remains after you've bought the mirror," she says casually.
He examines the contents of the velvet bag. From the condition of his clothes, she judges that he is in need of more than he is likely to earn from this chore, and when he turns forlorn eyes to her, she sees she's right. "Your Majesty, have you any other foreign purchases you'd like made—perhaps some pearls fresh from the sea, or newly mined diamonds from the Northlands?"
"The mirror. That's all." But the corner of her mouth quirks up, for she can smell his hunger.
"Suppose—" he starts, then shakes his head. "Never mind."
"Suppose what? You know I detest a tease, Jefferson. Ask what you were going to ask, or I'll deduct a coin from your pay."
He's caught now. He licks his lips nervously, and she knows she's about to hear something juicy. "Suppose there was a piece of information. . . about someone you think is an ally, but who backstabbed you. What would that information be worth to you?"
Her face darkens. "Which ally?" She has so few; if one of them has betrayed her, there will be hell to pay. Oh, but thanks to her mirrors, she knows everything that goes on in her kingdom; the hatter is bluffing, desperate for money.
"Rumplestiltskin."
"Rum—" The half-syllable has passed her lips before she can prevent it. Tilting her head to the side as though to empty her ear of the word Jefferson has just spoken, she takes a moment to regain her composure. "Rumplestiltskin, you say." She conjures a second velvet bag and it floats into the hatter's hands—that way, she doesn't have to come near him. "I'll take it all back if you're lying."
He opens the bag and peers inside. Relief floods his face. "You'll find this information worth every copper, Your Majesty."
"Out with it, then."
"He tricked you."
Again? She wonders. It's becoming quite a bore, really; the imp fears her growing powers, which exceed his, and so he resorts to petty tricks in the little game of one-upmanship between them.
"When you left his apprenticeship, he needed a way to rope you back in."
She sits up straighter now; this sounds interesting.
"Do you remember Doctor Frankenstein?" He shifts his feet; what he's about to say will reveal his own culpability, but he's hoping he can gloss over that; the news itself will be shocking enough to distract her from his own role in it.
"Of course I remember! The fraud promised he'd bring my Daniel back to life—"
"No, he didn't. He promised he'd try, and that was the promise he broke. He didn't actually try."
She jerks to her feet and her skirts swish angrily as she comes at him. He gulps and takes a step backward. "Frankenstein lied about the procedure? He didn't even do it? Is that what you're telling me?"
Jefferson nods meekly. "It was all a scam. A show. That's why he wouldn't allow you into the tent to watch him work—he wasn't working."
Regina wheels, her fists clenching. "Where is he? I'll kill him! I'll draw and quarter him the traditional way!"
"He's back in his own land, conducting his research. He still hopes to find the procedure to reanimate the dead. His research is quite expensive, Your Majesty, but he's well funded—his benefactor is Rumplestiltskin."
"Not any more," Regina shouts. "I'll put a quick end to that."
"No, you won't, Your Majesty. It's all part of a deal."
The word brings her up short. She knows full well the power that a contract, whether written or oral, holds over her former master. "What deal?"
"It wasn't by your request that Frankenstein came to our world. It was Rumplestiltskin's. To disillusion you, once and for all; to cure you of the notion that magic could bring Daniel back. 'To create a monster,' he said."
She says slowly, "A monster to cast his damn curse."
The idiots and their lapdogs have arrived at Sidney's apartment building. Regina's hands shake with power and fury. As soon as they make the first move, she'll have them, Snow and David; she'll crush them like ants who've dared to disturb a sleeping lioness. Then she'll find Emma and take her out too, and reclaim Henry. And when Henry is safe, Cora will summon Rumplestiltskin with the dagger and Regina will introduce him to Racy Lacey. . .
And his new jewelry. With a satisfied smile, Regina conjures a tight leather collar studded with spikes and a little gold name plate engraved "Rumpie."
Jolly Roger 2:16 pm
"I better go too—" Emma starts, but Gold grabs the sleeve of her jacket. His hand is still shaking and the effort seems to tire him.
"Wait. Before you go against Cora, you need to learn a few maneuvers. Sit," he points to the chair Henry's vacated. "This won't take long." Emma forms a protest, but he hasn't the time to argue—or the strength. "Some defensive tricks to protect David and Snow." He lowers his eyes. "And Bae."
Humbled, she nods and seats herself. In two minutes he provides her a very general overview of the process of conjuring; the laws of magic will have to wait for some quiet Sunday afternoon when they can sit on a park bench and watch Bae fly a kite with Henry while Snow and David spread a picnic.
He draws in a sharp breath. He's growing soft in his dying hours. Inexcusable: there's a war to be won and Good's sole sorceress must be educated. In three more minutes he teaches her the simplest of defensive spells. There's no time for more. He teaches her how to conjure four enchanted swords to distribute to her parents and Bae; that will have to be enough.
"You must cultivate your power," he insists. "There will be other Coras and Reginas and you're still the savior. And though we have yet to see it, I sense in Henry a power like no other that's ever been. It stands to reason: his mother is the product of True Love; his father is the product of True Evil. If I'm correct, this power should start to manifest itself within the next two or three years. He will need training, just as you do; if he receives it, he can accomplish things for his people that you and I can't begin to imagine."
Emma's mouth twitches in grief. "Who do I go to, Gold, if you aren't here?"
He thinks for such a long moment that she fears he's fainted, but at last, begrudgingly, he answers, "Let Blue start you on your way, but don't let her get into your head. She'll take away your passion, and with that, your ability to understand and care about other people. Let her teach you the basics, but then go to the Enchanted Forest and seek a teacher who won't tamper with your humanity. And don't let Blue get her hands on Henry. You must train him yourself; don't let anyone else do it. You're seeing what my dagger does to those who know its power—when he comes into manhood, Henry's power will be even greater. Only someone who truly loves him can resist the temptation to enslave him."
They hear Henry calling from above. "Emma! Dad says to tell you we're dropping anchor in five minutes!"
"I'm gonna have to go," Emma said, "but before I do, what was it you were starting to tell me about a weapon that can kill Cora?"
"Under the bed in my workroom there's a floorboard that will come up with a little leverage. Buried beneath the board is a jewel box—inside is Cora's heart."
"For real?" Emma wonders if the poison's gone to his brain. "Her heart?"
"Actually, her soul. The ancient sorcerers who discovered how to remove and manipulate the soul mistakenly called it the heart, and so it's still called. With slight pressure applied to it, terrible pain will result. If the heart is spoken to, the owner will be forced to obey any instruction given. If the heart is crushed, the owner will die."
Emma utters a profanity.
"Exactly. The one who possesses a sorcerer's heart will possess the sorcerer. You must make certain no one finds that heart and tries to use it."
"An obedient Cora? I don't see the problem, Gold."
"Emma, it's slavery."
"Seems fitting to me. It's what she'd do to you and any of the rest of us she thought she could get something out of." Emma shrugs. "A fair fight. A guy who reads westerns should be able to appreciate that."
"It's not Cora I'm worried about. To control a person by manipulating the heart is the blackest act of magic there is. The evil inherent in this magic will not just break the slave; it will destroy the soul of the slave owner."
"That's why you said 'not for Snow.' But Henry—you said Henry could do it without harm to himself."
Gold sighed. "I didn't say that; he did."
"Was he right?"
"What a child can do and what he should be allowed to do are two different things."
"But as you pointed out, Henry's not just a Charming—he's a Gold."
"Heroes shouldn't become villains, dearie! It goes against the laws of nature."
Bae shouts from above, "Emma! Come on, let's go!"
The pain in Gold's head and his gut has gone. He knows enough about poisons to be nervous about that. "As soon as it's over—"
"The very second, we'll call," she assures him. "And we'll get our butts back out here."
"That won't be necessary. I'll come to you. One way or another." He squeezes her hand. "You can do this. You were born to do this."
Doubt clouds her face, but she bends over him. "Goodbye. . . Rumplestiltskin." She kisses his forehead before flying up the stairs.
Storybrooke 2:19 pm
Cora stands at the window, hidden behind the drapes. "They're here."
"I can see that, Mother. I've been watching it all along, right here in the mirror." Does Cora not see the two idiots framed in the mirror? Does she not trust Regina's magic? Or is this a snub to Regina, insulting her by insulting her specialty, mirror magic?
"They aren't moving."
"I can see that too."
"They're just standing there in the road, the whole lot of them. Talking."
"Snow is talking on a cell phone, Mother," Regina snaps. "Obviously she's plotting with Emma."
"Emma must be back in town, then."
"Maybe, maybe not."
"They don't appear intending to attack."
"They're powerless against us and they know it. All they have is guns and swords and arrows."
"I can destroy them from here." Cora yanks at the window but can't figure out how to unlatch it. "How does this open?"
"No, Mother; they have to attack us. So Henry will see we had to kill them to defend ourselves."
"We haven't much time." Cora withdraws the dagger from her jacket pocket: the "l" has vanished.
Regina's face is hard and her tone cold. "Not yet, Mother. This is my kingdom; I'll say when and how we defend it."