Chapter 75

Khan: "If our path is right, there is only one course to follow."

"Spend some time with your family," Kamen urges as he and Gold return to the courtroom, where Belle, Emma, Bae and Henry are waiting with much of the Bell's Corners/Storybrooke community still surrounding them. "Take it easy for a few months. Reclaim your property. I'll be back in touch when you're ready to start your training."

Befuddled, Gold can only echo, "What training?"

"Oh, you know a lot, Rumplestiltskin, but you're going to learn even more."

Just for a second, the old Rumplestiltskin rears his head back and roars in indignation that not only has he been tricked—not only has his family been humiliated and brought low just for the sake of manipulating him—but now, the manipulator is giving him orders, as though Kamen is a general and Gold is a new, raw recruit in some kind of army of mages. When it comes to magic, nobody outranks Rumplestiltskin, nobody, not even Merlin himself, Gold is ready to shout, but then, that Time reversal stunt gives Gold pause.

"This, how much of this," Gold waves his hand around to indicate the courtroom, "was your doing?"

"Well, that's hard to say." Kamen lowers his voice as Belle, Bae and Emma spot them and rush over. "We work a lot like you do. As you would say, 'When two people have what the other one wants, a deal can always be struck.' We could provide what Spencer wanted; he could provide what we wanted: namely, you, humbled. So we planted some ideas in Spencer's and Sid's and Scrooge's heads while they slept. Ole Lukoje is on our team." He leans toward Gold to whisper as Belle runs up, "Just a little something to think about: how was it a family law attorney had a tax attorney's business card in his Rolodex? We'd never met before." He smiles and holds out his hand to Belle. "Belle, I know you're worried. Don't be."

Before Belle can ask, Kamen climbs up on a bench and calls for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, if we could have your kind indulgence, my client has an announcement."

As people look up, some clambering to their feet, Gold raises his voice. "It's over. We won. You, your persistence, won." Briefly he explains.

There's applause, there are handshakes and back slaps and hugs and cheek kisses, and lots of noise for several minutes, along with vows to see this job through to the end, because it's not finished until the Evil S's are convicted. Then Mayor Bell suggests that even though it's only been an hour since breakfast, a celebratory brunch is in order and she and Eb (what a world, Gold thinks, where a guy named Eb and a guy named Rumple would be fishing buddies) are buying and she knows just the place. With the promise of free food, everyone gathers round for driving directions, and then they pour from the courtroom, with Henry remembering at the last minute his friends from MAGE-TV, so he runs out to the lawn to interrupt Goldie's interview with Grayson so he can share the news of the celebration. Soon enough there's another convoy of noisy but generously tipping small-town Mainers invading a Portland eatery.

Gold and Belle, though they'd rather drag themselves home for some much needed rest, are caught in the middle of the party, and once again, Gold gives a heartfelt speech thanking everyone for their efforts and their trust. "Seems I'm doing this a lot lately," he blushes, and they laugh. "But I'm grateful that I have friends to say thanks to. There's no way I can ever repay you for all the kindness you've shown me and Belle—" He looks around at the shaking heads and realizes that's the old Rumplestiltskin emerging again, always relating to people only through deals. These aren't customers, he reminds himself: he'd gladly do anything for any one of these people without expecting anything more than a "thank you" in return. Nor is he a customer to them; there's nothing to pay back here.

Then he realizes he's not the old Rumplestiltskin any more, not to them, not to himself, and that's the way it should be. So he finishes his speech with a toast to friendship, and he swallows the lump in his throat along with his iced tea, and he's humbled, humbled by the power of community, which impresses him as much as the power of any magic he's ever seen, and his humbleness makes him feel stronger, capable of protecting and committed to serving his town.

He returns to work the next day. His bank accounts have been released—he receives a certified letter indicating so—and Belle immediately gives her two weeks' notice at the motel, but Gold will continue to work at Browning's, as he promised and as he wants. In the evening, he and Belle go shopping, restocking their refrigerator with their favorite gourmet dishes, then they sit down at the kitchen table and write out checks to pay off their debts. When they fall into bed that night, they're too tired, too emotionally spent, to talk about what they've experienced this year, and what they've learned from it. That talk will come later. As Kamen suggested, they really do need rest.

Eventually, Emma returns to the sheriff's office; Bae reopens Treadle; Jo reopens the antiques shop; Henry resumes his round of classes-baseball practice-coffee shop dates. The Swan-Golds drop in for breakfast on a daily basis again, and fishing trips and camping trips are taken up again. Blue and Gold rebuild their garden and their herbal medicine trainings. Gold does not, however, take back his magic shows at the hospital: as he predicted, that's Bernie's gig now, and he's been forgotten by all but Angelo. That's as it should be: children should be reaching for the future instead of hanging onto the past, as their parents do.

Visitors come and go to Creativity Camp, bringing business to the tailor shop as well as the restaurants, the tackle shop, the car-leasing company, the antiques shop. Sometimes the visitors build summer homes in Bell's Corners; sometimes they retire here. The town grows slowly, thoughtfully, under the guidance of the city council and the Development Committee, co-chaired by Fran Dove and Rumple Gold.

Gold almost forgets he has magic again.

Just once, because he needs to know how far his freedom extends, he crosses into Storybrooke with the now nameless Dark One's dagger. As soon as the Caddy rolls over the orange line, his name, his old name, reappears on the blade; when he backs up, the name vanishes, leaving the blade empty of etchings.

After that, he never visits Storybrooke any more, so his Dark magic never awakens to nag him; this new, gentler magic sleeps, only to awaken on odd occasions, such as when he's coaxing the garden to life or when he's tossing a football with Henry or when he writes with the Forever pen. He calls upon the magic only rarely—he has no use for it—and then just to feel that it's still there.

A year passes. The Evil S's are brought to trial, one by one; first the weak link, Sidney, who cops a plea bargain in return for testifying against the others. Surprisingly, Spencer buckles too, and Scrooge is the lone holdout. His trial lasts two days, with Gold brought in as one of many witnesses (the redhead and the blonde take the stand too) and with magical intervention from Gold or Kamen whenever Scrooge starts to reveal Storybrooke's true nature. Scrooge is found guilty. Storybrooke quickly forgets the Evil S's after they're hauled off to prison in Augusta: the town has other worries, with mounting economic troubles and declining population. The Charmings, preoccupied, leave it to the Golds to host Thanksgiving and Christmas parties. The Golds are delighted to do so, to dust off their cookbooks and work together in the kitchen again, Tschaikovsky and Bach and Beethoven and Schubert playing on the stereo. They invite Kamen; he sends a Christmas card and a bottle of wine along with his apologies.

Gold and Belle almost forget, so deep into their daily lives they are wrapped, their contentment disturbed only by birth announcements in the local newspaper. They almost forget the Evil S's, Storybrooke, the Enchanted Forest, Lady Belle and the Dark One. They forgive (with moments of backsliding, when bitterness flares) all of those people, including their past selves.

And then on the first day of spring in the second year after of the trial, Gold receives a text message on his new iPhone: It's time, Rumple. Expect me tonight at eight (unless you'd like to invite me for dinner first?). Your cousin in magic, Kevin.

Belle grabs the phone away to text back: Be here at 6:30. Be hungry. Love, Belle and Rumple.

At 6:25 she's on the porch, watching the passing traffic on Perch Street. "Do you remember what model of car he drives?" she calls back over her shoulder to her husband, who's just taking the rosemary rolls out of the oven.

"Not really," he answers. "Should I baste the chicken again?"

"No, I think we're ready to eat now," comes a deep voice behind him. He wheels about to find Kamen, dressed in a Red Sox jersey and jeans, with a bottle of wine in each hand. "White or red? I didn't know what the entrée would be, so I brought both."

"How'd you get past Belle on the porch?" Gold puzzles, then answers Kamen's question. "White. We're having lemon-and-thyme roasted chicken."

"Chardonnay it is then." One of the bottles vanishes from Kamen's hand, and that answers Gold's question: Kamen used magic to transport himself from Portland. In his now-empty hand, Kamen conjures a corkscrew and sets to work opening the Chardonnay.

"Good to see you again, Kevin," Gold greets, then calls out to Belle. "Sweetheart! Kevin's here."

"Good to see you, Rumple. Which cupboard for the wine glasses?" Gold shows him as Belle, huffing, comes in.

She sets her fists on her hips. "You could have announced yourself first, Kevin. Rather rude just to pop in." But she gives him a forgiving peck on the cheek.

"Sorry, Belle. I've been practicing my magic pretty seriously, lately, to get ready for your husband. If you don't mind, I'd like to take you two somewhere after dinner."

"All right." Belle starts setting the table. They'll be supping in the kitchen tonight rather than the dining room: it's one of the ways they show Kamen they consider him family. As another of the ways, she ties an apron around his waist. "Let's put you to work tossing the salad, as soon as you've poured the wine."

As he plates the chicken, Gold asks over his shoulder, "Magic lessons?"

"Not yet," Kamen says. "I have some people I want you to meet."

"We need to be back by eleven," Belle urges. "Tomorrow's a workday."

"Did you ever think about retiring, Rumple?" Kamen finishes pouring the wine and makes the bottle disappear. "You're a billionaire and, what, five hundred years old. It's allowed, you know."

"Four hundred years old, thank you very much," Gold snipes. "It's not about money. I've promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. Or so I hope." He sets the chicken on the table and juts his chin in the direction of a cupboard. "Salad bowl's on the bottom shelf, tongs are in the drawer left of the sink."

Obediently, Kamen fetches the dishes as Belle presents him with vegetables for the salad. "A raspberry vinaigrette tonight, Kevin," Belle instructs, bringing a cruet from the refrigerator. "We're eating lighter these days. By the way, we're glad you could come. We've missed you."

He looks genuinely touched, this wizard-tax attorney in a "Grill Sergeant" apron (Christmas gift for Gold from Henry), and Belle pauses to study him. "Hey, you've never mentioned a wife. Would you like to meet—"

Kamen corrects, "Husband. In my case, it would be a husband I'd mention. But no, I'm single and I want to keep it that way. My last romance kind of took it out of me, you know?"

Belle strokes his arm as he pours vinaigrette over the salad. "Do you want to talk about it? Maybe I could help."

A sly smile dances on his lips. "Well, he was everything I looked for: tall and smart, smoldering eyes and the sexiest Romanian accent. We were deliriously happy, until I woke up one morning to him biting my neck—and it wasn't to give me a hickey. Turns out he was a vampire."

"You're kidding me." Belle frowns. "Next you're going to tell me your mother was a mummy." She glances at Gold. "He is kidding me, isn't he? There's no such thing as vampires. . . is there?"

Gold shrugs over the peas-and-pearl onions he's dishing up. "Not sure I believe in them, any more than I believe in fairies and witches and sorcerers."

She slaps his arm. "Just for that, you're washing the dishes tonight."

"Can't. Got a meeting to go to." He inspects the table as he sets the bowl of peas down. "Okay, soup's on." He withdraws a chair for Belle before seating himself, and as he passes the chicken to Kamen, he wonders, "So. . . cousin, eh? As in kinfolk?"

"More like, birds of a feather. Or in our case, crocodylians of a hide, I guess. I came from Dark magic too, initially. Had to learn the hard way, like you, which is why they assigned me to you. Took a long time for me to prepare to be your mentor: I had to go to law school and everything." At the Golds' exclamations of surprise, he says, "Yeah. We've been watching and waiting for you a long time."

Gold darkens. "How long? How much preparation did you do, Kamen?"

"No." Kamen shakes his head firmly as he cuts into his chicken breast. "I know what you're thinking, especially since we kind of pulled the strings on Spencer's scheme. We're not that low, Rumple: we didn't have anything to do with Blue giving Bae the magic bean. We've always known about you, of course, but you were out of reach until Regina cast your curse. It was then we started preparing for you." He sets a comforting hand on Belle's wrist. "Don't worry. You don't know us yet to trust us, but you know your husband's heart. He'll look us over, and if he decides to work with us, you'll know our hearts are true, too."

"He has a choice, then." Belle relaxes.

"Of course. Just from a practical perspective, we wouldn't try to force anything: he's too powerful for us to make an enemy of. I hope, in short order, Belle, you'll be on our side, because we certainly have been on yours. Rumple, we don't want you as a vassal; we want you as a peer." He licks his lips. "Mmm. Love this lemon and thyme baste. Wish I could cook."

"So." Gold sets down his fork and leans back. He's hungry, but he's hungrier still for information. In the old days, he would have sent out a tendril of magic to size up the power of another mage; but right now, the light magic in his veins remains dozing. Maybe it's time he put his faith in his own judgment instead of magic's. "Who are 'we'?"

"Well." Kamen swallows and pats his mouth with a napkin. "Until the twentieth century, we didn't have a name for ourselves. We were just a group of magic practitioners, some local, most of us from distant worlds, like the ones you're familiar with and ones you've never been able to perceive. Some that don't exist any more. Originally, we met to, well, commiserate: a lot of us had faced persecution, either in our own lands or this one. And we'd swap recipes, so to speak, spells and potions and such. Some of us were more record-oriented, and they developed books to support our trainings—those scribes are kind of hoping you'll come to work with them, considering your penchant for recordkeeping. They admire the book you wrote for Henry."

"The book of Enchanted Forest tales. Once Upon a Time," he explains to Belle before turning his attention back to Kamen. "You seem to know quite a lot about me, dearie."

"We should. You're important." Kamen helps himself to another roll and slathers it with butter. "Mmm. Wish I could cook. Just for convenience sake, we finally gave ourselves a name, after the telephone was invented: the Society of Sorcerers. Well, that went over like a lead balloon when a Seer joined our group just prior to World War I, so then we became the Society of Sorcerers and Seers. When we made an acronym out of it, though. . . ."

Belle produces the sound: it's a hiss.

"Yeah. And some of us felt like 'sorcerer' had negative connotations, in this world; so we changed it to Society of Mages and Seers. And after WWII got started, we decided we needed something that would reflect our place and purpose in this world, so we became, and remain today, the Society of Embedded Mages and Seers. It was the first time we actively intervened in a war, in the trenches, hence the 'embedded.' We thought it was too important for us to sit that one out." He bites into his roll with great satisfaction. "We were the first to use 'embedded' in that way."

"Society of Embedded Mages and Seers," Belle rolls it around on her tongue. "SEMS. I like it."

"I hope you'll like us, too." Kamen smiles at her. "You think that because you're not magical, you have no power, but you're wrong. Your perceptiveness and intuition have helped to shape some very magical people." He glances at Gold. "I guess that's a rather long-winded explanation of our name, but it doesn't tell you a whole lot about us."

Gold shakes his head. "Names are important, especially those we give ourselves." He contemplates for a moment. "Do you still 'actively intervene'?"

"Very rarely. Only in emergencies. People have to choose their own fate; our purpose is to help them find the path, then find their own power so they can stay on it."

"And your mission?"

"To serve and protect. We were the first to use that phrase, too. To serve mankind and to protect the Light."

"Light magic?" Gold guesses.

"More than that. Kindness, caring, True Love, agape—to put it simply, Good."

"Who judges what's good?" Gold asks promptly.

"That's why we seldom intervene directly. We work through people, those special people who are of this land but are also of the divine. They lead. We give them the opportunity."

"People like Gandhi and King," Belle speculates, then she scowls. "You said 'protect.' Where we you on January 30, 1948, or April 4, 1968?"

Kamen lowers his gaze. "There are events not even the most powerful mages can prevent."

"Events that must happen for Destiny to be served," Gold adds, thinking of Bae's fall through the portal.

"Perhaps. Even our most powerful Seers can't See that far. We won't know until the end whether those events served Good or Evil—or nothing at all."

"I'll come with you tonight," Gold says abruptly. "I'll meet your peers, listen to what they have to say, and then I'll decide." He reaches across the table to Belle. "We'll decide."