Chapter 45

A/N. Bono & the Edge's "Rise Above" inspired this chapter.

In his life, there have been three things that Rumplestiltskin has been certain of: that he would find his son again and that he will marry Belle.

But, being Rumplestiltskin, just as he had a plan for the former, he must have a plan for the latter. He wishes to give his bride three things: the ring, which he carries; silk, which he will spin and weave, so that she will have a proper wedding dress—

And a child.

That's the third thing he's certain of, because through her messenger, True Love revealed it will happen: there will be a child, maybe as many as five. Magic has shown it to be true. But in the last month he spent in Storybrooke, he developed a begrudging trust in science, so he turns to Archie. "You mentioned once that you would ask Whale for my medical records. I'd like you to do that now."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," Archie agrees. "Have you been having nightmares again? Is that why?"

Rumplestiltskin appears well rested and fit. In fact, he appears pleased as punch about something. "Not at all. But I'd like to know for certain what I am and what I can expect my child to be."

"Your. . . child?" Archie's voice slides up the musical scale. "Are you. . . .expecting?"

Rumplestiltskin chuckles. "Yes, but not for a couple of years. The child was shown to me in a vision. She'll have her mother's blue eyes and sweet nature, but what I don't know is whether she'll inherit from me. . .something unnatural."

"Unnatural?"

"Alien."

"Did you see something in the vision that worries you?"

He shakes his head. "She appeared healthy, happy and human, but it was a very brief vision."

"And if you knew in advance that your child might be not fully human, what would you do?"

"Love her. As would Belle. Fight for her, if I have to. The world, any world, can be a cruel place to a child who's like no one else."

"I think I can guarantee you, a child of yours will be like no one else, but that need not mean the town will reject her." Pride shines in Archie's eyes. "I think something's changed in us. We gained something when we had to start depending upon each other. It's as the writer Monica Wood wrote: 'Once you lose the first essential thing, all things become essential.' We know what's essential now, and it's not money or status or what's in your DNA. If your child is something other than human, she'll be just as essential to this community as any other child."

Rumplestiltskin leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "Get the medical records, please, Archie."

Regina has come to tea. Snow is ready for her this time, though, with a lace tablecloth, a china tea set and candied fruits on a silver tray. Snow smirks as the black carriage rumbles over the bridge and up to the gate—and then her smile vanishes as Dove hands Regina down, for the Evil Queen is dressed in. . .jeans and a red turtleneck. Her face wears nothing but a smile: not so much as a dash of rouge or a slash of lipstick.

"What the fu-udge?" Emma mutters.

"It's not her," Bae decides. "It's her Un-Evil Twin."

"Come on, she already sees us," Snow sighs. "We can't pretend we're not at home." The queen and her consort stroll hand-in-hand across the ward to greet the visiting queen. . . and her consort?

"Crap on a cracker," David says. "He's kissing her!"

"Oh poor Mr. Dove," Snow moans. "Well it's obvious, isn't it? She's got him under some sort of spell. We need to tell Rumple about it."

"What could he do about it, except get sick to his stomach like we are?" David responds, then grimaces. "Aw, man, look how she's kissing him back!"

"Glad Henry's in school and can't see this. He's too young to have a heart attack," Emma says.

"You don't suppose there could be an attraction between those two?" Snow slaps a welcoming smile on, pretending she's seen nothing untoward as she walks forward and holds out her hand in greeting. "Good to see you again, Regina. Won't you come in?"

Emma leans into her beloved and whispers in his ear, "Ten to one, there's gonna be another wedding before the end of the year."

Bae tilts his head, observing the way Dove's hand rests lightly on the queen's back—her lower back, just above the waistline. "Mmm, no, I'd be a sucker to take that bet, babe. Come on, now, we've got to go in; your mom's depending on us."

"Hey, between the two of us, you think we could scrounge up enough magic to send her somewhere she can't bother us again, like, say, Saturn?"

Bae just shakes his head and follows Snow and David inside.

"Well, just in case, I'm gonna talk your father about those magic lessons he owes me."

Archie stops in the open doors to the barn. He watches for a moment before he calls out; he's remembering the days he came to the Dark Castle to make deals with the scaly-skinned but always stylishly dressed imp, and all the mornings he and Pongo passed the impeccably dressed pawnbroker on the streets of Storybrooke.

There the spinner is, ripped jeans, stained "I heart NY" t-shirt, manure on his Doc Martens. He's bent over the backside of a horse, a pick in one hand and a hoof in the other. Neither the imp nor the pawnbroker would have given this man the time of day; they would have thought him so far beneath them. Neither of them would have noticed, however, what Archie is noticing: this version of Rumplestiltskin is talking to the horse. Cheerfully. He digs the pick into the hoof and pries out dried mud. He sets that hoof down, slides over to the right side ("off side," David calls it), pats the horse's leg and talks to her some more. She shifts her weight to the left and allows him to raise the off-side hoof, tuck it between his knees and scrape it clean. He rises, easing his back into a stretch, then hangs the pick on a shelf and takes down a jagged-toothed metal comb that Archie can't remember the name of.

"Oh, hey, Archie." Rumplestiltskin catches sight of him now. "What's up?"

"Just thinking. Learning." The psychiatrist enters the barn and is immediately overwhelmed with odors, only a few of them pleasant. "When you had the power to see the future, back in the day—"

Rumplestiltskin snorts. "Not all it's cracked up to be, dearie. The power I least miss."

"Did you ever see yourself here?"

"I never saw myself, period. It seems to be a law: the seer can't see himself." Rumplestiltskin begins to run the comb through the horse's mane.

"Oh." The horse has closed her eyes and is standing hip-shot, so Archie figures it's safe to come forward. "Well, then, how did you see the vision of your daughter that you told me about last week?"

"It was shown to me." Rumplestiltskin contemplates for a moment, then decides to tell the unvarnished truth. "We had everyone fooled for quite a while there, Blue and me: we had you thinking we were the most powerful beings in existence. But there are and always have been higher powers, and sometimes they pay attention to us lesser beings. Sometimes they deign to get involved. One of them decided I needed a course correction, so she sent me Belle. And when I screwed that up, she sent Mr. Slightly to have a little chat with me. He showed me a glimpse of what my life could be."

"That's a tremendous gift," Archie exclaims.

"The gift of a generous and loving power, to a thick-headed and cowardly jackass." Rumplestiltskin attacks a burr stuck in the mare's mane. "Anyone else would have gotten the message the first time, when she sent Belle. Like Belle says sometimes, I take a lot of work."

"She—this power is a female?"

"I don't know. I've never seen her. Slightly referred to her as a 'she,' but I suppose that could be just a simplification."

"What is this being, then?"

"Love."

"Love. You're saying Love isn't an emotion, but rather, a living being?"

"I don't know. Call it an energy, then. Something that wasn't created and therefore can't be destroyed." He smiles ruefully. "I'd like to find out someday, though, just what she is. Scientific curiosity. It's enough, for now, to know that she gives second chances." He drags the comb in long strokes along the horse's back, raising little clouds of dust. "Did you come for something in particular or just to shoot the breeze?"

"Ah. Yes." Bringing the conversation back onto his home turf, Archie regains his footing. "Your medical charts. The Dark curse made no permanent changes to your DNA."

He stops combing and his mouth twitches. "I'm human."

"One hundred percent. You might cut back on the red meat, though; your cholesterol's a bit high."

Rumplestiltskin looks down at the comb. "My daughter will be fully human."

"But unique, I can guarantee you that."

He's heard runners refer to it as "the zone"; that's as good a term for it as any. Archie says it also happens with creative people, when they're lucky: their bodies go on autopilot as their minds sink deep into the subconscious. They lose track of time, lose awareness of their surroundings: you could bang a gong over their heads and they wouldn't react. Aunt Maerwynn would get like that as she spun; when Rumplestiltskin is lucky, he gets like that too.

He is in the zone, aware of nothing but the intoxicating, sleek softness of the silk as it passes through his fingers and becomes thread on his spindle. This state, Archie assures him, is as restful for the mind as an undisturbed night's sleep is for the body; Rumplestiltskin finds it a balm for the soul as well.

Emma finds him at his wheel. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was stoned. He doesn't answer her knock, doesn't turn around when she lets herself in, doesn't answer when she speaks his name (his Storybrooke name; she has trouble remembering he prefers his true name). She gives his shoulder a little shake and that brings him back around.

"Looks like you're making good progress," she comments.

"The weaving will be the slow part."

She fingers the silk on the spindle. "Nice. So I guess you know Neal proposed to me last night." A faint redness spreads across her cheeks.

He fights back a smile. "Did you accept?"

"Come on, you know I did." She slugs his shoulder. "It's gonna be hard to keep it a secret. So how long do we have to?"

"Can you give me five weeks to finish the weaving? I need to produce seven yards."

As Bae has explained to her, Rumplestiltskin intends to offer two gifts to his fiancée on the night he proposes: an heirloom ring and silk fabric for her wedding dress. What Emma has explained to Bae—but neither will ever reveal to anyone else—is that Belle has been preparing a surprise of her own: a book of fables about Storybrooke. She intends to give to Rumplestiltskin just as soon as Grace has finished the illustrations; she will present the book at a lovely candlelight dinner, and as he's admiring it, she will drop to one knee and propose.

Bae and Emma laughed uproariously over this revelation, comparing it to their own easy proposal (they were both on their knees, weeding the vegetable garden): "Hey, you know what we should do?" (Bae), "Yeah, sure I do. I mean, it's obvious, isn't it?" (Emma), "Guess so. You love me, I love you, so why not?" (Bae), "Sounds like a plan. When?" (Emma), "Would you mind a double wedding? Or would that kinda, I dunno, bug you?" (Bae), "It's not Dove and Regina, isn't it?" (Emma), "Aw come on, Em. Give me credit for some common sense. Belle and Dad" (Bae), "Oh yeah? About time. Sure, let's do it" (Emma). They then placed a bet as to which one, Belle or Rumplestiltskin, would get the proposal on the table first.

"We're not in any rush, but Mom suspects I'm up to something. I might have to go out on a hunt for a couple of weeks so she can't weasel the news out of me."

He stands and removes the kettle from the fire. "I appreciate your efforts, Emma. I'll make the favor up to you one day."

"Well, actually, that just happens to be why I came." She reaches into her jeans pocket and extracts a pocket watch, which she sets on the base of his wheel. She flips the watch open. "Dad's. The stem broke and Henry tried to fix it—with magic."

Rumplestiltskin peers at the watch. The stem appears to be repaired; he can't see what—and then he does. The hands of the watch are running counterclockwise. "Huh."

"And Regina tells me he's been playing this guess-the-magic game with her; you know, where he reads her mind and casts the spell that she's thinking of. Apart from the fact that it's highly irritating, his guessing game has set the bedspread in Snow's old bedroom on fire and caused Mr. Dove's hair to fall out."

Rumplestiltskin frowns. "The bedspread I can understand—it was embroidered with little pink unicorns. Regina hates pink and she hates unicorns. But the hair—are you saying she was thinking of making Dove's hair fall out?"

Emma shrugs. "Just for a minute, while he was asleep. She was wondering what he'll look like when he's seventy. So anyway, as the hands on the watch show, it's time—past time for you to pay up."

"Pay?"

"The magic lessons you agreed to. For Henry—and for me, so I can clean up behind him."

He pours her a cup of tea and invites her to sit at the table. He takes his time doctoring his own cup, but when it's sweetened just the way he likes it, he pushes it away. "Emma, when Archie and Bae and I went on that fishing trip four months ago—that wasn't a fishing trip. I was undergoing therapy."

Emma raises an eyebrow but says nothing. She's come to respect his secretive nature, however frustrating it can be when she's trying to conduct an investigation; she's figured out that the less she pushes, the more likely he is to let her in. Particularly if someone they love is involved.

"I'm not sure I can tolerate prolonged contact with magic."

"Oh."

"But I agree, Henry must be taught: Fate has a plan for him that will require all of his faculties. And he's going to need his parents' support."

"And his grandfather's teaching."

Rumplestiltskin studies his hands. His face is unreadable; she waits. "I'll handle the classroom studies. I'll need an assistant for the practica."

"Fine. Blue? I'll go ask her."

"Not Blue. She'll take away your passion, neutralize you."

"Well," Emma frowns, "who's left? Gonna bring in someone from the outside?"

He shakes his head, and she moans, "Ohhh noooo. . . "

Now he nods. "Yeah. The only other possessor of cellular magic in the vicinity."

Emma slaps her forehead. "Crap on a cracker. You want me and Henry to learn magic from Regina."

The lessons begin the next morning. Out of curiosity, Belle and Snow sit in on the classroom lectures: two hours a day, five days a week on the history, philosophy and science of magic. Archie sits in too, but for other reasons. After lunch, Regina takes over with the practical stuff: transportation, transmutation, elemental manipulation. Rumplestiltskin watches from a distance; Bae watches from an even greater one. Privately to Belle, Rumplestiltskin frets about the difficulty he expects to have keeping Regina in check, but perhaps it's because it's her son she's teaching that she behaves herself, adhering to Rumplestiltskin's lesson plans. Or perhaps it's The Looks from Mr. Dove.

For a twelve-year-old, Henry catches on to the book learning strangely quickly: Rumplestiltskin says it's clear the Fates are eager for him to progress and prepare for his place in the world.

Emma flunks the Theories of Alchemy exam, beginning with the first written question: "Spell alchemy."

When Henry is fourteen, Rumplestiltskin announces he's ready for graduate studies. "What about me?" Emma protests.

"You get a gold star for effort."

"Any symptoms?" Archie asks periodically, applying his thermometer and stethoscope. "Sweats, shakes, anything? Insomnia? Bad dreams?"

"No," Rumplestiltskin replies. "When I feel affected by the magic, I meditate and Belle makes me a cup of herbal tea."

"Good, good." Archie is relieved.

"Do you miss it?" Regina asks her former instructor. This time there's no nastiness in her tone.

"No."

"If you could get it back again, would you?"

He answers honestly. "Not for all the magic in the worlds."

Bae has discretely bugged out for the evening. The silk is finished.

Rumplestiltskin borrows china and silver from Snow, and Granny's recipes from David. He's not much of a cook, but Belle hasn't complained yet. There are fresh eggs, fresh milk, fresh vegetables, all grown by Bae and Rumplestiltskin's hands. There are two wrapped packages, one small, one large, beside her plate. There is music, compliments of an itinerant minstrel. There is fragrant fire, compliments of evergreen twigs, and stars and a crescent moon to decorate the night.

Belle arrives, a determined light in her eyes and a package, wrapped in brown paper and bound with a silver ribbon, tucked under her arm. When she walks into the setting he's prepared for her, she hastily hides the package behind the door.

His hair, neatly trimmed and perfectly combed, cries out to be ruffled, she thinks. His tanned face, newly shaved, calls out for a thorough kissing. But she reigns in those impulses so that she can appreciate the esthetics of his plan. She is pleased to find that, for a man who's about to make a major life change, he's not the least bit nervous. In the past year, an increment at a time, he's grown in self-confidence, in trust in their relationship, and in faith in love. He's ready, they both realize; there is nothing to doubt.

As for Belle, she's been ready.

A small gesture from Rumplestiltskin and the minstrel fades out, giving them privacy. For a long time now, he's thought about these words, rehearsed them, but he finds now that when there's nothing to doubt, it's clear what needs to be said. Standing before her, he drops to one knee and takes her hand. "I love you, Belle, and nothing would make me happier than to devote the rest of my life to making you happy. If you'll have me?"

She curtseys to him. "Long ago, I promised you forever. I still mean it. I love you too, Rumplestiltskin."

"I, uhm," Regina clears her throat. "I'd like a word."

He looks up from the stack of books on his desk. Snow has given him the pick of the empty rooms in the castle, to use as his classroom: he chose the uppermost one in the eastern turret. It reminds him of his lab. Maybe that's a bad thing to be reminded of, but if he's going to be around young mages whose magic flashes in their eyes and sparks off their fingertips, he's got to get used to things that are bad for him. After all, even if he doesn't touch the stuff himself, that word's going to be rolling off his tongue a hundred times a day now: magic, magic, magic.

"Perhaps this will serve as desensitization," Archie has suggested. So far, he seems to have a point. The more Rumplestiltskin talks about magic, the more ordinary it seems—the less tantalizing.

"Your Majesty, good morning." He knows Regina would prefer that he rise and bow in her presence, since this is their first encounter of the day, but democracy spoiled him. When he bows, it's to the person, not the title.

There's a twinge of the old smart-ass in her voice; he suspects that even when she's ninety, she'll still have that edge. "I hear congratulations are in order. Doubly so. A groom and father of a groom. And the first wedding in the village. Quite a cause for celebration, all the way around."

"Yes." He turns a page on the book he was reading, signaling an end to the conversation, but instead of going away, she walks farther into the room.

"Well, I. . . thank you for the invitation."

Is that nervousness he hears in her voice? And sincerity? "You are welcome." He means it in both senses of the phrase. "We hope you and Mr. Dove will be able to attend."

"Yes." And is that a blush rising from her neck to her cheeks? "We're looking forward to it." She doesn't mention the odd statement added to the handwritten invitation: Come as you are. She's too decorous to find denim suitable for a formal occasion. Even though she makes daily visits to Evaton now, she doesn't seem aware of the fact that no one here, not even Snow and David, has access to finery. "Frank and I"—Rumplestiltskin raises an eyebrow: a first-name basis, is it? Dove worked for him for two years and he never once called him by his first name. "We'd like to offer a wedding gift, but I thought I should talk to you about it first, before I mention it to Belle."

He closes his book. "That's quite kind of you." He carefully arranges his features to hide his suspicion.

"Something for the town, actually, but I think it would make Belle happy. A library."

He blinks: for once, she's caught him by surprise. "That's extremely generous, Regina. Are you offering to purchase the construction materials?"

"Not 'purchase,' exactly. I thought I would take the plans she's drawn up and—"

"Conjure a building to her specifications."

"Using an existing building. As they would say in the old world, it would be a win-win situation."

She has him stumped. "What building would that be? Everything's in use."

"Here, yes, but there's a perfectly good castle going to waste." She places her hands on his desk and leans forward; she's actually excited. "It could be the library that Belle and David dream of. It's even big enough to house a school."

"What castle is that?"

"Yours." Before he can digest that, she plunges in, breathlessly. "It's completely intact, it's huge, it's already got a huge library, and a museum of sorts. Labs where the kids could study chemistry and physics. Chambers where they could practice music and dance and art—spinning and weaving. Why not let me bring it here? I can put it on the hill on the eastern edge of town." She hammers the final nail in. "Let it become a place that people remember for the good it's done, not the hiding place of a monster."

He swallows hard, then he nods sharply. "Thank you, Your Majesty. That's a very thoughtful gift."

She smiles at him—a real smile. And he smiles back. It's a learning moment for the two magic teachers. In that moment, the ground between them shifts ever so slightly.

That night, when she recovers her voice after a long, stunned silence, Belle has an explanation: "It's love. I don't know if it's Henry or Mr. Dove, but that's love working in her. And I accept the gift, gladly."

Bae and his father are sitting out on their porch after dinner. They're watching the sun go down and Bae's talking about the meetings Snow and David have been holding with Storybrooke's civil engineer to map out a water treatment system. "So we could break ground as early as May of next year," Bae concludes. He falls silent for a bit, then adds bitterly, "Or Emma could just snap her fingers and voila, instant toilets."

"That bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he admits.

"She's conflicted about it herself," Rumplestiltskin says. "That's why she's not concentrating. She's not practicing her magic and she's not keeping up with the reading. She's afraid using magic means giving in to it."

"Doesn't it?"

"Having the ability to conjure something changes a person. Of course it does. But with white magic there can be a balance. You can retain your sense of self and still practice magic."

"Not from what I've seen," Bae snipes.

"You don't have an example to follow, and I'm sorry for that. Every mage you've ever known has failed to maintain his independence from the magic. But it can be done: your son will be the proof of it. And Emma—I doubt if she'll ever make magic a part of her life; it will always be, for her, a last resort, to protect her family and this town."

"And to help her relate to what Henry's going through."

"Ah." Rumplestiltskin understands now: Bae feels left out, perhaps envious of the bond that magic gives Emma and Henry. "It's your choice, son. You could do what she's doing, learn just enough to share the experience with Henry. Or you could find another way to connect to him."

"Like what? Baseball?"

"Why not? It works for most fathers." The sun has fallen below the horizon now and an orange paintbrush streak joins the darkening sky with the land wherein their sustenance lies. "Every father goes through this; every father always has. Teenagers think they can't find their own place in the world until they disconnect from their parents, and every father fears the disconnection will be permanent. But deep down, Henry wants to hang onto you as much as you want to hang onto him. You just need to give him an excuse."

"He's moving away from me. I've had him barely for two years and he's moving away from me at the speed of light."

"But you can fly." Rumplestiltskin shifts in his seat. A phantom pain creeps up from his ankle. There's no physical cause for it; it's just an old memory. "He's a teenager and he's changing; he needs to hear his father say he went through the same changes and came out all right."

Bae grunts. "Maybe I didn't, though. I was Peter Pan; I dodged the growing up thing for two hundred years."

"It's not too late. Growing up means learning when, not just how, to use your power. I don't have an example to show you, but you can exercise your power and still be the man you want to be. You'll just have to take me on faith."

Four men stand in a cloak room just off the Great Hall. The beloved Doctor Hopper, here as a friend rather than a counselor, wears an off-the-rack suit brought to him by a wedding guest from out of town—way out of town. As the grandson of the queen of this castle, Henry is dressed in a yellow, high-necked jacket with epaulets, made special for this occasion by his mother, the other queen—the jacket, Dove assured them, was mostly sewn by her own hand. As the consort-to-be of the princess-sheriff, Bae is dressed in a red jacket with silver braid on the chest; it looks somewhat familiar, his father thinks, knowing it was borrowed from David's closet. As the untitled commoner of the family, Rumplestiltskin wears a simple but new shirt, made from the same silk as his bride's wedding gown, and dyed a midnight blue that, he's aware, makes him appear more broad-shouldered than he really is.

Out of old habit, his hand moves to his collar to adjust a tie that isn't there. He doesn't mind that his shirt is a Rumplestiltskin original instead of Armani, but he does miss his tie collection.

David pokes his head in. "Everybody ready? Anybody nervous?"

"I am," Henry confesses, but the grooms glance at each other and shake their heads. The princeling watches his grandfather's fingers seek something, and Henry realizes what's missing: with a flash of his hand, he conjures a plum-colored silk tie that looks a whole like one from Gold's Armani collection. Rumplestiltskin's fingers relax as they smooth the tie. "Thank you, Henry. This one was my favorite."

"I remembered." Pleased with himself, the boy is no longer nervous.

Bae nods: his father now looks ready for the big day. Except. . . Bae knows those worn-out Doc Martens are all the footgear his father has, but. . . . "Dad, the boots." He gestures.

Rumplestiltskin follows his son's gaze and a muscle in his cheek twitches. "Belle understands," he mutters.

Bae keeps staring at those boots. He knows what this day means to his father; he remembers that clothes once meant something to Rumplestiltskin. He deliberates, and then he decides. "If you'll let me, Dad, I'd like to help."

Rumplestiltskin raises a puzzled eyebrow. Bae snaps his fingers. Rumplestiltskin's feet are encased in a puff of orange smoke; when it clears, the Doc Martens have been replaced by black Ferragamos. Rumplestiltskin's eyes widen and his voice cracks as he says, "Thank you, Bae. They're perfect." He nods to David. "Now we're ready, Your Highness."

David signals Dove, who raps on the door of Emma's bedchambers. Snow bestows a final good luck kiss on her daughter's cheek and steps carefully in her long white robe into the corridor to proceed to the Great Hall. As she enters, the congregation stands as one, and birds perched along the ceiling beams begin to sing in harmony, for though the town has no pianos or guitars, there must be music for a wedding. Snow glides down the red carpet to the front of the hall, and beneath a tapestry borrowed from the Dark Castle, she turns and smiles at her people and blinks back tears.

In the bedchambers, Emma cracks the door open just a bit and peeks out. "Everybody's here. The prime minister from Gloucy's in the second row."

"Very nice of him to come all this way," Belle remarks, then presses her bridesmaid in a hug. "And you! It's a miracle that you're here."

Ruby adjusts the tea rose that's tucked behind Belle's ear. "It helps when your boyfriend works for True Love herself. You look gorgeous, by the way. That dress is to die for; the silk is as fine as butterfly's wing."

"My husband's handiwork," Belle boasts.

"He still has magic in his fingers," Emma's bridesmaid says.

"Don't say that," Belle and Emma exclaim in unison, and Regina just smirks.

A rap on the door is followed by Dove's inquiry: "Ready, ladies? It's time."

The townsfolk turn their heads as the bridal party enters: Ruby, linked arm in arm with Archie, then Regina and Henry, then Belle on Maurice's arm, and finally Emma with David. They approach the queen and Maurice and David release the brides, moving to seats on either side in the front row.

Rumplestiltskin and Bae, standing on opposite sides of Snow, grin as if they're the luckiest men in two worlds. Snow makes a gesture, the birds stop singing and the audience sits down. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this most happy occasion, our first ever wedding, and one that is so precious to me, as my husband and I give our beloved daughter's hand to a wonderful young man, and as we unite in marriage two people who have become dear to us. The laws of our land grant me the great honor of officiating at this auspicious event, but it's to an even higher law that I submit, and I entreat the queen who rules above us all to join us in our celebration of the victory of her efforts. Bless, O Love, these whom you have brought together. Let them be ever mindful that we look to them as your representatives on earth, proof where faith and hope abide, love will grow.

"Do you, Rumplestiltskin, take this woman, Belle, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until death do you part?"

Rumplestiltskin takes Belle's hands in his, and as he meets her eyes, he feels a warmth envelope him. She smiles and suddenly a white light appears behind her and all around her. A murmur in the crowd tells him he's not imagining things. The light takes him in, comforts him, strengthens him; he recognizes it as magic, but none he's ever touched before: it's pure and gentle and certain. He speaks with its strength: "I do."

"Do you, Belle, take this man, Rumplestiltskin, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until death do you part?"

Belle squeezes his hands. "I do."

"Then by exchanging rings, let your words be made life."

"With this ring, I thee wed." Rumplestiltskin slips the steel ring onto her finger. "With it I bestow upon thee all the treasures of my mind, my heart and my hands."

Belle's hands shake a little as she slides a silver ring onto his finger. "With this ring I thee wed, and with it I bestow upon thee all the treasures of my mind, my heart and my hands."

Rumplestiltskin moves to Belle's side so they can face Bae and Emma. Snow brings a hand up her mouth and stifles a sniffle as she continues, "My dear Baelfire. . . Do you, Baelfire, take this woman, Emma, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until death do you part?"

And now Rumplestiltskin can see what the guests saw earlier: the white light appears, growing brighter as it envelopes Baelfire and Emma as they clasp hands. Rumplestiltskin casts a hasty glance in the audience: in the third row sits Mr. Slightly. Rumplestiltskin mouths a silent thank you, and Slightly nods, and then the two men return their attention to Peter Pan the Ninth.

That irresistible grin of Bae's melts every heart in the Great Hall. "I do."

"My darling Emma, I'm so proud of you!" Snow bursts. She straightens her shoulders, resuming her dignity and her role. "Do you, Emma, take this man, Baelfire, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until death do you part?"

Emma grins her own irresistible grin. "I do."

With the exchange of their gold rings, Snow declares, "What True Love has joined together, let no one put asunder. Grooms, you may kiss your brides."

Third Year

"Poker game tonight?" Whale calls out as Rumplestiltskin comes in from the fields, accompanied by his wife, the princes David and Baelfire, and a dozen other weary laborers.

"Sure," David says. "Right after supper."

"Count me and Em in," Bae says.

But Rumplestiltskin shakes his head and a sly smile spreads slowly across his sunburnt cheeks as he reaches out for Belle's hand. "Maybe next week, Doc."

"That's what you said last week," Whale grumps. "When you gonna give me a chance to win back those neckties you conned off me?"

"There's a difference between 'conning' and 'bluffing,'" Rumplestiltskin points out. "When you've learned what the difference is, maybe you'll win those ties back."

"Well, let me borrow one of the back, then. We're gonna need formal wear next month."

"For a price, Doc, you can buy them all back."

"You're just no fun at all."

Belle tossed her head. "On the contrary, Victor; I find him quite entertaining."

The schoolroom door bursts open but instead of the elementary-schoolers, it's the teacher who scampers out first. Panting, she catches up to her husband. "It's Regina," she gasps, then she has to stop to catch her breath.

David seizes her arms protectively. "What did she do, Snow?" He turns to the fieldhands. "Bows and arrows, swords, pitchforks—grab whatever you've got for a weapon and—"

"No, no, nothing like that. Look," Snow gestures to her teaching assistant, Nurse Kelly, who comes forward with a red balloon trailing behind her. Kelly passes the balloon to David, who discovers a scroll dangling from the string. "She's asked us to host and I said yes. Well, it makes sense because the SpiralCastle's four days' ride from here and she's invited the entire town."

David unravels the scroll and reads the message aloud. "'Dear friends, please join us at seven o'clock on the evening of the next full moon as we—'" he squints hard at the parchment, then, stunned, passes it to Rumplestiltskin. "Here, I'm not sure I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing."

Rumplestiltskin finishes the proclamation. "'As we join our hands in matrimony'"—he pokes at the last word, going over it again letter by letter. "'M-A-T-R-I'—yeah, it says 'matrimony.' 'As we join our hands in matrimony. Come as you are. Love, Regina and Frank.'" He passes the parchment to Belle, who verifies that he's read the contents correctly.

"She brought it by personally this afternoon. She asked me to officiate," Snow says uncertainly. "She said I did such a nice job last year."

"I don't think it's a joke," David surmises. "It didn't explode when I opened it."

Fourth Year

Half-asleep, Rumple stares into the campfire, watching sticks transform to ash. This is the nature of things, the nature within things, though modern man in his linear thinking doesn't see it: nothing dies, nothing is ever lost. Rather, everything transforms. Even 300-year-old reformed monsters.

Those who practice magic believe in the power of geometry: the unifying principle of the triangle, the perfect harmony of the square, the balance of opposing forces illustrated by the square. But there is no more powerful a symbolic shape than the circle, which, if man would only see it, shows him the infinity and connectivity in everything—shows him the highest power.

In a circle around this campfire sit three generations, representing the infinity of his family: the elder, Rumplestiltskin himself of course; the young man, Baelfire; and the adolescent, Henry. Rumplestiltskin supposes he should include the fourth camper, David, through Henry and Emma part of the family, whether the two men like it or not—and these days, though not friends, they've progressed to a sort of partnership.

Just beyond the campfire ring is another ring: a makeshift rope-and-post corral in which seven horses crop grass and swat flies with swishing tails. These horses are descendants of tame ancestors who escaped stables, barns and fenced pastures when the curse ripped up the manmade structures. Horses, like all of the kingdom's livestock, have roamed free for three decades now, yet, just as their ancestors always carried a collective memory of the wild within them, the horses of today's forest carry a collective memory of domesticity. They seem to know instinctively that with capture comes care, and that men are not ogres but rather protectors and providers. That is not to say they have surrendered their freedom willingly, nor that they will not seek avenues for escape, but rather, that for the time in which they are in captivity, they bear their new lot without grudge.

Beyond the corral is yet another ring, the canyon. Water and grass are plentiful here, this time of year, and so the wildlife comes, and behind them, the men and women. Under David's careful management, the herds and the flocks are culled, just enough being taken to sustain the kingdom and keep the populations under control. In the late weeks of summer each year, David leads a few companions to this canyon to fetch back thirty horses, one for each family in Evaton. Always, Henry is one of the chosen, and often, Bae; this year, for the fourth, David chose Rumplestiltskin.

Queen Snow's consort doesn't know it, and Rumplestiltskin will never admit it, but this choice has fulfilled a long-held secret fantasy. In the morning, before the sun has fully risen, he will swing back up into the saddle once more, press the heels of his Doc Martens against the ribs of his chestnut mare, whom he calls Regina, and slapping his hand against his thigh he'll yeehaw to the half-wild horses, pushing them forward, toward their new home. In three days, covered in dust caked on with sweat, he will dismount at last in the corral he and Bae built. Belle will greet him with a kiss that brings the circulation back into his weary legs, and when he's rubbed down Regina and turned her loose in her pasture, he will throw his arm around his wife's waist, and they will walk to together into their home.

There is much to be done, for soon they—Belle and Rumplestiltskin, Bae and Emma and Henry—will be traveling to another wedding, to be held in a small town in upstate New York. They will be traveling by means of a magic more powerful than beans and curses; gifted to them by True Love herself, through her employee (soon to be retired), Mr. Slightly. Rumplestiltskin is a little wary about this mode of travel. It's not that he's concerned that having a spell cast upon him will upset his sobriety, but that Belle's been experiencing queasiness in the mornings. But Belle says nausea is a small price to pay for a chance to see Ruby and New York, and True Love has promised the journey will be gentle.

It's still a struggle, living as a middle-aged man who has no position to speak of, except that of begrudgingly respected elder in a village of the young; no power other than what he can wield with his hands and his words. It's a struggle, too, living without magic in a land of magic, though the length of time between the hard days is expanding. This is no land for old men who possess no magic, but he's here, his wife is here, his son and grandson are here, and promises link them, forge them into a family; the promises they've made to each other and the promises True Love made to them when she blessed them with each other.

If there's one thing Rumplestiltskin has learned in his long life, it's that True Love always keeps her promises.

A/N. And finally, we will meet a most remarkable child.