Chapter Thirty-Seven—"Family Ties"

"So," Bae said with an amused smile. "You're really here to give Emma magic lessons, huh?"

Rumplestiltskin couldn't help chuckling. Although at first he'd been slightly stung by his son's decision to move into Snow and Charming's castle vice staying at the Dark Castle, he now understood Baelfire's reasoning, particularly since Bae's relationship with Emma seemed to only have deepened in the meantime. The Savior wasn't exactly the woman Rumplestiltskin would have chosen for his only son, but Emma was the one Bae had chosen for himself. Bae clearly loved her…and then there was Henry.

The lad really was growing on Rumplestiltskin. When he'd arrived that morning, his grandson had greeted him with a hug, almost startling Rumplestiltskin into throwing a curse until he'd realized who it was. He wasn't accustomed to accepting such easy affection from anyone save Belle and Baelfire—and even then, his relationship with his son still sometimes bore signs of its earlier strain. They were doing better, now, standing and watching Henry during one of his horseback riding lessons with Snow's Master of Horse, but there were still moments when things between them got awkward.

Rumplestiltskin sincerely hoped this would not be one of them. Magic had been a sensitive subject since he'd taken on a curse he did not understand, and it had never occurred to him to ask Bae how he felt about Emma learning magic. It was Emma's choice, of course—and he assumed she and Bae had spoken of it—but Bae might feel very differently now that Rumplestiltskin was taking a role in it.

"Yeah," he answered. "I suppose I am. Now that I've finished tying up other lose ends."

"Loose ends?" his son echoed.

Rumplestiltskin gestured at Henry, who was whooping with delight on board the horse he'd been given. "That one's other grandfather. That Grand Alliance of Snow's is still on shaky legs, and we needed to have a little chat."

"A good chat or a bad chat?" Bae asked warily, making his father shrug.

"A chat. Nothing serious." Rumplestiltskin smiled crookedly. "I'm beyond the point of threatening people for fun, Bae. Particularly these people."

Bae flushed. "Sorry. I guess that old paranoia dies hard…and I'm kind of invested here, y'know?"

Together, their eyes travelled to Henry as the boy dismounted and bounced over to meet them. His enthusiasm was contagious, and reminded Rumplestiltskin very strongly of a young Baelfire, all smiles and optimism, certain that everything would work out in his world. "I know, son. As well you should be."

"Thanks, Papa."

Their eyes met briefly, and Rumplestiltskin felt a rush of pride in his boy. He would never forgive himself for having let his son go, for not having been there as Bae grew up, but damn it all if his boy hadn't grown into a hell of a man. In the last year alone, Bae had fought and won a war, earned a knighthood, and seemed to be working out a relationship with the woman he loved. And now that man had a son of his own, a brilliant little boy who hugged his father and then his grandfather.

"Did you see, Dad?" Henry asked excitedly. "I'm learning to jump. Did you see?"

Thirteen or not, Henry was still a boy who had born in the Land Without Magic and was reveling in the fact that he now lived in a fairytale world. He got to use swords, ride horses, and live in a castle—all things that practically every little boy dreamed of, and now they were his reality. He was glowing with pride in himself, and Rumplestiltskin was a little surprised by how easily he returned his grandson's embrace.

"We saw, bud," Bae grinned back. "You're doing pretty good. Soon enough, you'll be racing around like a pro."

"You bet I will," Henry replied, and then abruptly turned to Rumplestiltskin and changed the subject. "So, did you ask Belle yet, Grandpa?"

The unexpected question made Rumplestiltskin rock back on his heels, and before he could stop his eyes from going wide, an entirely too comical look of shock whipped across his face. Yes, he'd talked about this with Henry over two months ago, but the boy had promised—oh, so solemnly—to keep it to himself, and Rumplestiltskin hadn't expected Henry to blurt that out here, of all places. The sudden knowing grin on Bae's face was bad enough; if the Charmings got wind of this, he'd never manage to live it down. Or have a bit of privacy. Thank goodness Snow was off with Belle. If the damn too-good queen heard of this, she'd take over wedding planning in a heartbeat and Rumplestiltskin would never get a say in how things went down.

Throttling back his panic was hard, but Rumplestiltskin finally managed to conceal his attack of nerves behind a blank façade, only to have his son ask cheerfully:

"Way to go, Pop! It's about damn time you popped the question."

"Bae, I—"

"You haven't yet, have you?" Henry's question wasn't an accusation; he just looked a little disappointed, an expression that made Rumplestiltskin's heart twist unexpectedly.

"We've been busy," he explained lamely. "Things keep coming up."

"That's a load of crap," Bae snorted, though at least his tone was light, despite the dirty look his father gave him. Having his curse broken might have made Rumplestiltskin a little less likely to hate himself, but even he knew that he was still fragile in odd ways, and particularly vulnerable when faced with his son's disapproval. After all, at his core he was still the same lonely spinner, even if his outer veneer had been changed by power. "It takes like five minutes. An hour if you want to do it right, tops."

But even the most brittle steel could be tempered by enough fire, and so Rumplestiltskin dredged up a droll look to throw his son's way. "Unless you want me dabbling in your love life, son, don't throw stones at mine."

"Point taken." Bae blanched, but his son snickered.

"I don't have a love live for you to dabble in, Grandpa," the boy said with a mischievous grin. "When are you going to ask her?"

"As soon as people and events stop interrupting us," Rumplestiltskin admitted with a sigh. He loved having family, but there were times when precious and bright lads could be a damned inconvenience.

"You promise you're not chickening out, then?" Bless the lad; he looked concerned. And he'd said that without any knowledge of his grandfather's previous live as the village coward, which meant Henry only had the best of intentions. Bae looked a little startled, but Rumplestiltskin waved his son's concern aside. He even managed a smile.

"I promise, Henry."

Caer Dallben wasn't a terribly big down, but it wasn't tiny, either. And that meant that there was plenty of space for Snow, Ruby, and Belle in a local inn, not to mention a good healer to bring Grumpy back from his half-dead state. They'd had some anxious moments, there—all three women were close to the dwarf for various reasons—but in the end the healer had promised that Grumpy would be all right after a few days' rest. Of course, Grumpy went and got up as soon as the healer left, skewering Snow with a glare when she tried to sweet talk him into getting back in bed.

"We don't have time for that," Grumpy ground out, his face still a little swollen but his eyes more alive than Belle had seen them since before Astrid's death. Still, Snow wasn't the only one worried about their friend, so she pointed out:

"You still need time to heal, Grumpy," Belle said as reasonably as she could. "The healer said that you could unravel all the work she did if you start running around immediately."

"Fine. Then I'll walk," the dwarf said gruffly. "But not too slowly. That bastard fae that held me has other prisoners, and I overheard him saying where they were once. I'm not gonna let him hurt anyone else. Not while I'm breathing."

"Okay, then," Ruby spoke up. "Just tell us where they are, and we'll take this little army of Snow's after them while you get better."

Grumpy twisted to glare at the werewolf. "I'm not staying behind, sister. I'm sick of being that sicko's victim, and I'm going to fight back. Starting now."

"Grumpy…" Snow tried, but the dwarf shook his head adamantly.

"No way. I'm coming with you, and we're going to rescue everyone, no matter what that son of a bitch tries to do to stop us."

A sad smile tugged at Belle's face as she listened to her old friend's determination. She knew how he felt in a very real way; when she had thought she's lost Rumplestiltskin, Belle had wanted desperately to keep fighting. Maybe she had hoped that taking her grief out on an enemy would make the pain go away, or maybe she just wanted an outlet for all those negative emotions. Losing Astrid had made Grumpy reckless before, and despite his horrific treatment at the hands of the fae, he hadn't obviously deviated from that course one bit. Still, she couldn't blame him.

"What else do you know about the fae that held you?" she interjected. After all, if the fae had let information about other prisoners slip, what other useful information might he have mentioned in Grumpy's hearing?

"Other than the fact that he's a sick bastard?" Grumpy snarled before shaking himself. "He's powerful. I saw him with a few other fae a few times. Three women. They seemed to defer to him. And he expected that."

"That's not good," Ruby put in, exchanging a glance with Snow. "Tink was telling us a few weeks ago about how there aren't many male fae, but when they're powerful, they're powerful. And dangerous."

"I think that goes without saying," Belle murmured, studying Grumpy. The dwarf obviously wanted nothing to do with their pity—although he had let Snow hug him earlier—but he wasn't okay. That was obvious, and she wished she could help him.

"His name is Norco," Grumpy volunteered after a moment, his face twisting up in a snarl. "Might be short for something, but that's what the others called him."

"Norco?" Snow echoed, just as an invisible fist of shock seemed to punch Belle in the chest.

"Oh, no," she choked out when she felt able to breathe.

"What?" Snow and Ruby turned to look at her together, but Belle glanced at Grumpy.

"Norco? You're sure?"

"It's not something I'm likely to forget."

"Right. Of course." Belle swallowed hard, and then sucked in a deep breath. "That's the name of the fae that stabbed Rumplestiltskin. The one he fought with. And unless the fae like to share names…it's even worse than you thought."

"You're not thinking enough," the former pawnbroker commented idly, making Emma groan.

"Regina says I think too much," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

"Of course she does," he snorted. "Regina's impatient. Finesse isn't her style; raw power and awe-inspiring acts of vengeance are. Why do you think I wrote the curse? Regina wouldn't have had the patience to sit down for half a hundred years and work that out."

Despite her annoyance, Emma chuckled. "No, I really couldn't see her doing that. Not unless you tied her down, anyway."

Rumplestiltskin shot her a stern look, but Emma could see amusement dancing in his eyes. "Not a mental image I needed today, dearie."

"Well, if I have to have it, you do, too," she shot back, and much to her surprise, Neal's father laughed.

"I can fix that, you know," he replied, wiggling his fingers threateningly. "Pull the thought right out of your head. Smash it to bits."

"You can do that?"

He shrugged, and then seemed to realize that Emma was asking a serious question. "Well, it's messy, but yes. Though if you start pulling too many memories or thoughts out of someone, they start to…fade. Messing around in a mind does a lot of damage, particularly if you're not careful. Potions are better for that sort of work, but it's still something you have to do with caution."

Thinking about rooting around in someone's memories actually made Emma feel rather sick. Not for the first time, she realized that she'd really had no idea what she was getting into when she'd agreed to start learning magic. At least with Regina there had been a definite focus to her lessons; Regina wasn't patient, and didn't much care for preaching magical theory. Regina just wanted to get straight to the point of breaking things or making events happen. She'd taught Emma fireballs and teleporting, how to fight and (sometimes) when not to, but even Regina had admitted that there were things she couldn't teach, mostly because she'd never been interested in learning them herself.

That, of course, was why she'd wound up with Rumple-freaking-stiltskin in her chambers at her parents' castle, leaving Emma to cope with him while Neal and Henry were off having fun. It was a beautiful day outside, too, not too hot and not too cold, and Emma really would have liked to be out with those two instead of cooped up in here with her son's less-conventional grandfather. Particularly since the castle was still stuffy despite the temperature outside.

"Haven't you people ever heard of air conditioning?" she grumbled instead of digging further into the matter of erasing memories and such.

"Of course not. No one here had ever heard of electricity, either, or at least not until we wound up in Storybrooke."

"Then how come your castle never got this stuffy?" Emma demanded.

"That's because although central air might be a bit of a stretch given our technology base, magic can manage the temperature inside the Dark Castle well enough," her new teacher replied with a smirk.

Ever practical, she asked the first question that came to mind: "Can I learn that?"

"I don't see why not. It isn't a particularly hard spell, at least not with how powerful you could be if you let yourself."

That again. Why does everyone want to tell me how powerful I could be? Emma managed not to groan, but only barely. "Then teach me."

"Oh, not so fast, dear. First, you're going to work on healing—and on doing it properly, not that slipshod job you did on your father," Rumplestiltskin told her, leaning back in his chair, leather pants creaking slightly as he did so. Why did all the men with money in this world wear leather pants? Not that Emma minded the way they looked on Neal, but it really was a bit off-putting on her father and on this man, whatever his relationship to her was. But when she shoved that thought aside and went to object to his characterization of the rushed healing job she'd done on David, Rumplestiltskin held up a hand to forestall her. "I didn't say that it didn't work, but you're supposed to be not the proverbial bull in the Land Without Magic china shop, either. You're going to be a sorceress, not a wrecking ball. You need to know when to use finesse over raw power."

"It worked," Emma protested weakly. Being a wrecking ball was so much easier! Wasn't this the man who had accused her of having her father's (lack of) tact?

"So it did. But if you had been a tad less emotional, a little less likely to feel your heart break, you would never have managed to save him. Depending upon raw emotion is dangerous, Emma. Use it when you must, but if you try to base all of your magic on the emotion of the moment, you will get unpredictable results. And you'll burn yourself out."

"Yeah, I think I already noticed that," she replied, nodding and remembering a few of her own mishaps. Like how exhausted she'd been after using magic to pin an entire dragon in place while Neal killed it, or how she'd almost collapsed on top of her own mother after healing her father.

"Magic isn't a bottomless pit," he told her. "It's a balancing act. Every bit of magic you use has an associated price, whether it's one you take on personally or something else. You have to manage that, and the first way you do that is with skill and finesse. By not letting your emotions—and therefore your magic—run away from you."

Emma had never really thought of how Rumplestiltskin would be as a teacher; somehow, she had expected someone a lot more like Regina, who liked to stick her on the edge of a cliff, and then start an avalanche, just to see if Emma's magic would catch her. Instead, she found herself faced with someone who was almost—scratch almost, clearly was—an academic, who spoke of magic with well thought out logic and like it was something to be studied, not just felt. Emma had never been much for book learning, but she had learned to research her targets when she'd been a bail bondsperson, so she did understand how studying could matter. So, she put her thinking cap on and asked the question that had been bothering her.

"What happens when you can't find the price?"

"That means you've lost control of it, and the magic has chosen for you," he answered. Emma found it interesting that Rumplestiltskin didn't include a snide comment; apparently, he was capable of carrying on the bulk of a conversation without making one. "When did that happen?"

"A few times. Mainly when I froze a dragon. Not with ice—I just kept it still, somehow. With emotion, I guess."

"Ah." Rumplestiltskin grimaced. "I expect that there's a baby dragon being born somewhere, then."

"What?"

"Well, magic does tend to like congruency. The greater the magic, the greater the consequences. Stopping a dragon takes an enormous amount of power—there's a reason why sorcerers like yours truly send heroes like your father after them instead of dealing with them ourselves—"

"Says the guy wearing dragonhide," Emma interjected pointedly, and was surprised, again, when he laughed at her remark.

"That's a different story, dear, back from when I was younger and dumber," Rumplestiltskin replied with a quirky smile. "But, as I was saying, magic will choose its own price if you don't tell it what the price is going to be. Sometimes you can't do that, such as when Regina reversed the curse and had to leave Henry behind, but usually a careful sorcerer can manipulate it to his or her advantage. If you don't, and you, say, slay a dragon, odds are that the eventual price will be another dragon being born. That is where they come from, after all."

"You're not pulling my leg, are you?" she asked with a sigh, wishing that she thought he was lying.

"Not in the slightest."

"Damn."

Dark eyes that were disturbingly like Henry's studied her intently. "Indeed."

Rumplestiltskin seemed to be waiting for Emma to come to some sort of conclusion, so she racked her brain for the answer to whatever he was looking for, finally returning to his original comment about her not thinking enough. Was that why he'd gone off onto this tangent about control? "So," she asked after a moment, "how do I think enough?"

His smile returned, now a real smile that told Emma she had finally found the right question to ask. One slender finger pointed at her. "Now you're talking. You have to merge your feelings with your mind. Do it on a conscious level, and you have the chance of becoming something extraordinary. Fail and, well, you don't."

"Which one is Regina?" Emma had to ask.

"Neither and both," was the immediate response. "Regina's a creature of emotion. She feels so strongly that for her to tap into anything other than those emotions would almost make her magic less powerful. You, on the other hand, have always thought too much. Now it's time for you to learn to use that."

"That'll teach me to heal people?" She was starting to wonder if Rumplestiltskin was blowing sunshine up her skirts, or if he was just enjoying the lecture. After all, he always had an ulterior motive.

"Don't doubt so much, Emma," he said softly, and then quirked another smile. "In fact, let me show you something."

His hands came up, suddenly glowing blue and purple. They came together, with a ball of pure magic—now gleaming with hints of white and gold, too—forming between them. Light played between his fingers for several seconds, and Emma could feel the power filling the air. Then Rumplestiltskin's hands opened, and he flung the glowing ball at the ceiling. The magic separated immediately, threads and strands of all colors filling the air and dancing in front of her while Emma stared. The sight was oddly beautiful, on both a visual and a magical level, layered and complex, light and dark all at once.

"What is that?" she whispered.

"This is your lesson for today," Rumplestiltskin replied. "You're going to learn to think about magic, to deconstruct it and build it, and to make it work for you rather than the other way around."

"That sounds hard."

"Oh, it is. But I'll show you how."

David hated holding court on principle. He hated watching all the self-important nobles flock into his and Snow's castle, watching them tell one another how powerful they were, and listening to them tell everyone else how much their concerns should be the most important thing on the monarchs' minds. Now, he didn't mind at all the days when he and Snow opened the floor to all and sundry, to the so-called 'little people' who he hadn't forgotten being one of, and listened to their concerns instead of to those of the nobility. By and large, David found that he learned a lot more from the peasants, and they were usually much more gracious about accepting decisions that were designed to be fair for everyone, instead of just profiting a select few. Generally speaking, the nobles who came to complain weren't so open minded, and they drove him insane.

Usually, having Snow around helped ease the burden considerably. She was a born diplomat (for all they'd met with her braining him with a rock), and people just responded to her in ways that they didn't respond to him. But Snow was way off in Caer Dallben, and that left David to juggle the peasants, the nobility, and even the ambassadors from four different kingdoms on his own. Oh, and one foreign prince.

At least he knew Thomas, and if the younger man was sometimes a pain in the neck, he was still a friend. And at least Thomas didn't seem to want anything. Today.

David hid his grimace with an effort, reaching out a hand to shake Thomas' after the ambassador from King Midas' kingdom backed away, bowing. The ambassador had been there to renegotiate an old trade treaty, and David was more than happy with the results. The kingdom's respective ministers of trade would have to work out the details, but the framework was something both he and Midas could agree upon, and also something he was sure Snow would be happy with when she got home. The two of them ran their kingdoms as a team, and any questionable decisions were made together, but this was one that should pose a problem. Even though some of the other monarchs of the Grand Alliance were proving squirrely in the aftermath of the war, Midas wasn't one of them. Given that Midas' kingdom bordered the one David had (more or less) inherited from the still-exiled King George, firm alliances between them were a good thing.

Thomas took the proffered hand with a smile, but David could see something lurking behind the expression of a practiced politician. Instinct reared up, and he reached out to take Thomas by the arm and lead him a few steps away from all the curious listeners. "Something wrong?"

"Why would something be wrong?" Thomas replied uneasily, and David watched him swallow hard.

"Thomas, I've got a line of nobles who want to lie to me wrapped halfway around the castle. Please don't add yourself to the list." Only knowing how many ears were straining to overhear their conversation helped David keep his voice low, but he really was sick of this game.

Or maybe he just missed Snow. David always got crankier when she wasn't around.

"Sorry," the younger prince replied quietly. They had an odd friendship, David and Thomas, having met when they were both princes and supposedly equals. These days, David was a king, but now Thomas also knew that David had been born a shepherd, a fact that made a lot of their fellow royals less comfortable with David, despite the fact that he'd successfully led them through the war against the Wicked Witch. Thomas, however, seemed at least happy to work with David, despite the fact that he possessed a full measure of the inherited snobbery he'd inherited from his father.

"So, what's up?" David asked.

"Officially, I'm here on behalf of my father and my kingdom. Father would like to propose a marriage between our kingdoms to tie us closer together."

David started. He supposed he should have expected this, but Graham was only a few months old. "I'll discuss it with Snow when she gets back, but I think Graham's a bit young to be making promises for so far, even if Alexandra's only a couple years off his age."

"I didn't mean for Graham. Father's offering my brother Charles for Emma," Thomas replied with a crooked smile, and David twisted to stare at him.

"For Emma?" he echoed incredulously.

"She is your heir, right?" Thomas asked, sounding like he was trying to sound casual and failing. Even he looked uncomfortable with the idea, and no wonder—Charles was a year younger than Thomas, which made him almost a decade Emma's junior. So far as David knew, the two had never met, either, and next to Emma, Charles seemed like a spoiled teenager. Thomas just shrugged, however, and continued. "If she is, she's got to have legitimate child at some point, and, well, begging your pardon, but Emma's not getting any younger."

"She's got to…what?" It took a moment for David's brain to catch up to the words he had heard. "Henry is…"

Damn. He'd never even thought about his grandson in dynastic terms; for David, the fact that Henry was Emma's son had always been good enough for him. His adoption by Regina didn't count for much here in the Enchanted Forest—and if it did, it only made him Snow's younger stepbrother, with no claim on her throne—but being Emma's son put him in line for two thrones. Or would…if he had been born in wedlock.

They could fix that, of course. He and Snow could issue a joint proclamation and legitimize Henry by royal decree, but that wouldn't change how other kingdoms viewed him. As such things were considered here in the Enchanted Forest, Henry was a bastard, even if he was the son of a princess. The Land Without Magic hadn't really seen things like that, but now they were home again. And if any of these stuck up royals even think about calling Henry a bastard to his face, I'll strangle the lot of them! Of course, Henry couldbe considered a prince due to his adoption by Regina, but considering him that would deny his place as Emma's son. It was a complicated mess, made worse by the fact that Emma now seemed to have gotten back together with Neal/Baelfire, and if the two of them did wind up marrying, retroactively legitimizing Henry based on that would be fairly easy. But it was still a mess, one that he'd somehow failed to anticipate.

Great. It was just what he needed right now, another problem. Still, David had never shied away from unpleasant conversations, so he squared his shoulders and swallowed his shock.

"Emma's…not a good option for a political match. She's old enough to make her own choices," he said as diplomatically as he could. "And besides, if she never has any other children, Henry's good enough for us."

"You mean you're going to keep letting her…be with that commoner?" Thomas asked in shock, and David leveled a glare at him.

"Sir Baelfire has our blessing to court Emma," he said pointedly, shooting Thomas another glare, one that told him that David didn't care to listen to any arguments right now. "Was there anything else?"

Thomas swallowed back what had obviously been some sort of retort, and then nodded very slowly. His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "There is something else. Something…my father is doing. Or thinking of, anyway. I'm not sure."

"Like what?"

"We had a visitor right before I left," the young prince replied, looking around nervously. "The Black Fairy."

"What?"

David felt his eyes going wide, but he couldn't help the reaction. Aside from her appearance at Graham's christening and the battle with Regina when she'd tried to take Henry, no one had seen the Black Fairy since her reappearance in the world. She remained a figure of as much mystery as danger, one who everyone knew was out there but no one really knew. Rumors flew constantly about what the fae were up to and what the Black Fairy wanted, but it wasn't like anyone had had the guts to ask her. Or the opportunity.

Thomas nodded shakily. "She spoke to my father about an alliance between our kingdom and the fae," he whispered. "She talked a lot about how she could protect us…and how she offers freedom from the Blue Fairy's 'moral superiority'. She said that Eric's father's already allied with her…but that's probably because the fae kidnapped Ariel."

David blinked hard at that news. Poor Ariel. She just can't catch a break, can she? "Damn," he said quietly, and then realized something. "Your father doesn't know you're telling me, does he?"

"No. He's thinking about taking her up on the offer. He's worried that she might try the same trick with us…and Ella's pregnant again. We can't risk her."

Or the possibility of an heir, which is what is undoubtedly on Francis' mind, David thought to himself but did not say. He knew the wily old man well enough to know that he wouldn't cry any tears for a lost daughter-in-law, no matter how much his son loved her, but he would risk a great deal for any grandson that Ella might be carrying.

"Thank you for the warning," David replied after a heavy moment. "I guess…we'll keep an eye out."

There was nothing else he could do at the moment, nothing else except wait and see what would happen. Despite all their hard work, the Grand Alliance was failing, and David could only hope that the world would survive whatever came next.

A/N: Sorry that this chapter is a day late – I spent last night and much of this morning at the emergency vet with one of my dogs, which put a serious cramp in, well, everything. Thankfully, my pup is going to be okay, which freed me up to post this. Questions from this chapter: 1) Do you think Rumplestiltskin is "chickening out" on proposing to Belle and 2) Why do you think the Black Fairy wants human allies?

Thank you again for reading, and stick around for Chapter 38: "Full Circle", where Regina and Robin meet with Will Scarlet (and Anastasia), the fae crash David's court, and Rumplestiltskin picks a very inappropriate moment to continue Emma's magic lessons.