Chapter 17

"Belle, you're tired. We put in a long day. This can wait–it's a long, complicated story."

"No, it won't wait. Both of us need this." Her hand covers his and squeezes. The gesture is both a reassurance of unwavering support and a warning not to dodge or duck. She will accept only the truth and she'll know it if he strays. Emma's not the only one with that built-in lie detector. "Remember: it's forever," she whispers.

"That vow's going to have to bear an awful weight," he cautions.

"We're strong enough."

They've all but forgotten their guest, who's busied herself with her tea, allowing them a hint of privacy. Now Gold catches Emma's eye and nods, indicating his–not his willingness, because he would never tell this story on his own volition, but his acceptance of the task. In the tradition of the old ways, he starts in third person; he stays with it because it's easier to remain truthful if he doesn't have to say "I."

"Once upon a time, centuries before the founding of Avonlea, decades before the settlement of the Enchanted Forest, there was a village called Loameth in the northern Frontlands. In this village lived a man named Malcolm. He was handsome and healthy and strong, but he was also inclined to think himself more clever and cunning than he really was, and so he believed he should earn his living not as a laborer, as his father before him, nor a craftsman, as he might have become if he'd had the patience that comes with a practical dream. He saw himself acquiring quick wealth through gambling, and when that failed, he attempted unsuccessfully to take his living with con games, but he lacked the imagination and the perceptiveness to become skilled. Usually, his marks caught him and beat him. Sometimes it was he who was conned. More often than not, he was run out of town. He would wander the Frontlands, but when he was desperate he would come back to Loameth, where he had family, and they would take him in, until he got the wanderlust again.

"One day, he returned, half-starved, his arm broken from a failed con game, to find that he'd become a father. His. . . uh, sometime bedmate had delivered a son prematurely, and with no money for a midwife and a lack of proper nutrition and cleanliness, she came down with childbirth fever and died. A baby would only hold him back from his dreams, Malcolm thought, and besides, this one may not even be his, so he left again, and Malcolm's mother, widowed now, raised the baby. She called him Alexander, by which she meant to proscribe a role in life for him, for the name means 'protector of men.'

"Malcolm came in and out of their lives for years, until the woman died; and when he returned to Loameth again, he found Alexander living with a neighbor. The boy was small, still malnourished, but so were most of the villagers. His foster family didn't beat him, and so when he became old enough to think of running away, he didn't. But nor did they love him; like their other children, he was, to them, just another pair of hands to work the farm. The boy was not strong, but he had a capacity for learning that his foster family took advantage of, and as he grew, they taught him to read and write and cipher, preparing him to eventually take over the business end of the farm.

"When Alexander was seven or eight–peasants in those days never kept track of birthdays–Malcolm showed up again, sick with fever; but no one would take him in, so he slept in barns and stole chickens until the farmers chased him out. One night, still feverish, he came for Alexander, and Alexander went willingly; he thought it meant his father needed him, perhaps cared for him. Alexander used his small size and big, innocent eyes to beg on the streets while his father lay shivering and sweating in alleys, and when begging wasn't enough, the kid stole from apple carts and butcher shops. And then Malcolm taught him how to pick pockets. Years later, Alexander came to suspect that had been Malcolm's intention all along for taking him from the farm. But it was too late to run away: the foolish kid had begun to hope.

"Malcolm recovered from the fever, but not his thieving ways, and he found a new scheme: while he ran the shell game, Alexander would weave in and out of the crowd, picking pockets. That was how they survived for a year or more. Too often, Malcolm would get caught at his shell game, but Alexander was seldom caught. Malcolm began to resent his growing dependence on his son. When he drank, Malcolm would accuse Alex of stealing from him, not just money, but stealing away Malcolm's youth, his dreams.

"One night, Malcolm showed up at the hovel that they'd been renting; he had with him another man, less drunk than he was. The man picked Alex up and set him on a tabletop, feeling his arms, inspecting his teeth. Then he shook his head and said, 'No, he ain't worth what you owe me. Pay me in coin.' Malcolm tried to persuade the man that Alex had wonderful skills that would earn back the man's investment many times over. The man said, 'He's so puny he'll be lucky to live another year. What's his name?' Malcolm answered, and the man snorted. 'Alexander is a name for kings, not spindly door rattlers. Tell you what: you give me the money that's hidden in your shoe. I won't give a ha' penny for the kid, but just for a laugh, I want you to change his name to something more appropriate.' Malcolm had the temerity to ask what the man would give him if he did that, and the man said, 'I won't beat you. At least, not tonight.' And so Malcolm agreed, and the man gave Alex a new name: Rumplestiltskin, which means 'little pole rattler.' It's also what goblins are called in some lands.

"They continued to wander, Malcolm and Rumplestiltskin, cheating and stealing, as Malcolm waited for his fortune to change, until one morning after a long drunk, Malcolm decided to be rid of the boy who was holding him back. He'd given up on the idea of selling him, so he pawned him off as an apprentice to two elderly sisters who made their living spinning wool and mixing potions. Rumple didn't want to be left behind and he begged like a dog to go with Malcolm, but eventually he acclimated. For the first time, he had a bed to sleep in, a fireplace to warm him, food and clothes, and a bit of affection from the sisters. And he learned a new trade, one he took to naturally. He had a gift for spinning, the sisters said.

"But who understands the minds of children? Rumple wanted his father so he ran away, taking with him a magic bean the sisters had given him. He found his father being beaten, but the men left Malcolm alone when the little boy intervened. Rumple offered the portal-creating bean as a means of escape in the expectation that, in a new land, they could stay together, and perhaps his father would learn to love him.

"But Malcolm had another idea. He wanted to escape to an entirely other life, one free of responsibilities and expectations: he wanted to be a child again, and the place to turn back the clock was Neverland. He surrendered his son and his soul for never-ending youth and magic. Rumple was returned to the spinsters, who did their best to mend him. He gave up then on his father.

"As he grew to be a man, his skills with the wheel and with bargaining grew. He made a good living, and when he came of age, he decided to take a wife. With the spinsters, he'd had a taste of what a family could be, and he longed for that comfort and affection from a family of his own. With a good income to offer, he went in search of a bride.

"Milah was the youngest of six daughters, two of whom had died in infancy–not uncommon in those days. She was attractive and vivacious and full of dreams, all the things that Rumple was not, and he fell for her. To marry him was to elevate her station, so her family approved the match. Why she agreed–she did have other suitors–he wondered about, but he was too besotted to question his luck. They married after a two-month courtship. He learned a great deal from her, but she couldn't teach him to daydream as she did; he'd seen enough of that, he thought, from Malcolm. He wanted only security in his work, in his village, in her arms. For a year she put her dreams aside to give him that. She told him she was happy; he didn't look closely enough to see otherwise.

"Then came a war and a draft notice, and the foolish spinner saw a chance to overcome his past, make a new reputation for himself, for the family he expected to have, so he went off to become a war hero.

"But the Fates sometimes have plans for us that they fail to inform us of, and for the foolish spinner they had big plans, because of his gullibility. A blind Seer was sent to him in the training camp; she informed him his wife would soon bear him a son. But, she said, 'Your actions on the battlefield will leave him fatherless.' Unimaginative as he was, he took that to mean he would be killed in battle, so in desperation–but not cowardice, Belle, I swear, not cowardice but a determination that his son wouldn't grow up fatherless as he had. In desperation, he thought to desert, but he'd seen what the army did to deserters, so he. . . There was a sledgehammer nearby and he. . . He picked it up and swung it and crippled himself.

"It was a small price to pay to give his son a father, he thought, but the people of the Frontlands didn't see it that way. They reviled him when he came home. The kinder ones simply refused to do business with him or underpaid him when they bought his thread; others beat him, stole from him, shamed him before his wife and child. Rumple could barely provide for his family. His wife refused him the comfort of her arms and her bed, but again, he thought it was a price he was willing to pay to be with his son. He scarcely noticed when Milah would wander off at night.

"Eventually little things started to change: Milah would appear in a new dress, or a new bracelet, or have food on the table that Rumple knew they hadn't the money to buy, sometimes exotic foods that he knew had come off the ships arriving in the port. He didn't question it. He had his son and his spinning and that was sufficient.

"Then he caught her one night, in a tavern, drinking and gambling with pirates. The strange thing was, she looked lovelier, more carefree than he'd ever seen her, and he wanted her, not as a wife any more, because there was no love between them; he'd finally realized that. But watching her there in the tavern, flushed with drink and her flirtations with the pirates, he wanted to bed her. He felt ashamed that that was all he wanted from her. When their son came into the tavern, asking for her, it was her turn to feel ashamed. They went home–to try again, Rumple assumed. When their son was asleep, she allowed him to take her, more roughly than he ever had before, because he was jealous and angry. Her fingernails drew his blood.

"The next day, she was gone. Taken by pirates, he was told, but he knew better. Still, Baelfire was only six and needed his mother, so Rumple went to the docks. He knew the name of the pirate who had her: she'd called it out the night before as she clawed her husband's back.

"Rumple found the ship easily; it was the biggest in the port, and its commander was unmistakable: tall, handsome, young, cocky and dressed in black leather, everything Rumple wasn't. Rumple begged for the return of his wife, but the pirate insisted on dueling for the right to possess her. The army had trained Rumple in sword fighting, but that was many years ago, and he was lame now, still undernourished, and afraid. Too afraid to fight for a woman who didn't love him, even for Bae's sake. The pirate laughed and booted him off the ship.

"The villagers had one more reason now to revile him, but his thread was too good to be completely ignored, so he eked out a living, lonely as it was. He didn't mind, except for Bae; Bae was such an outgoing, athletic kid, and he needed friends. He had them, but they would sometimes take advantage of him, turn on him because of his ridiculous father. But when it was just the two of them, eating supper by the fire, Rumple could forget the villagers, as Bae never could. Neither of them missed Milah. Rumple had told Bae that she had died, and after that, the boy never spoke of her. She had never been a big part of his life anyway.

"When Bae turned twelve–Rumple did celebrate his birthdays–ogres again attempted to conquer the Frontlands. They'd been driven back the first time by a powerful sorcerer that the Duke had gained control over, but the Duke had died and now they had returned. The new Duke didn't seem in a hurry to drive them out, as his father had been: it was rumored that his coffers were being filled by the taxes he imposed upon the duchy to pay the army. Unpaid, unfed, unequipped, the army couldn't buy recruits, so another draft was called, and when the recruiters ran out of healthy young men, they started taking women, and then old men, and finally teenagers. Bae's time was fast approaching. They tried to sneak away in the night. What else could Rumple do, Belle? You're a brave one, like Bae was, but Rumple was never brave or powerful or particularly cunning. Bae would be drafted, to die at the hands of ogres. You know what ogres do to their captives. So Rumple took Bae and ran.

"Still, the recruiters caught them. Rumple tried to beg, but the recruiters forced him to kneel before them and kiss the captain's boot. In three days' time, Hordor would return to take Bae.

"An old beggar, seeing this, came to Rumple's aid, or so Rumple thought. The beggar advised Rumple to gain control over the Dark One, told him how to do it, but Rumple was petrified at the notion, so Zoso told him how he could become the Dark One himself. There was no time left. Rumple took the advice, stole the Dark dagger from the Duke, and he killed the Dark One with it. As the magic transferred into him, Rumple felt an instant rush of strength that drove all fear from him. He could feel the magic surging though his veins and even as his skin changed color and his spinner's fingers became claws, he felt invincible. No one would ever beat him or humiliate him again, and he could now protect Bae. Do you see, Belle, how intoxicating that was? And he had plans to do such good with this magic, not just for himself and Bae but for the village. But as the magic settled into his body and slipped a noose around his mind, he was already irretrievably caught in darkness.

"Beneath the bloody dagger, the old Dark One transformed into a man, into the old beggar Zoso, and Rumple realized he'd been conned. He also realized he was now a murderer. But to protect his son, no action was unjustified. He slew the recruiters. Bae watched in horror and shame. From that moment on, their relationship was irreparably broken. Bae feared his father.'