It takes three cauldrons to make enough tea for twenty-two humans and eighteen giants. Not even the mugs are big enough to hold more than two swallows for the giants; Tristan and Bae are kept busy refilling, and as the cold of night drops down, some of the soldiers offer blankets to their. . .guests. It's little more than a gesture, since the blankets are made for sleepers a third the size of these giants, but it's appreciated nonetheless. Gradually, as night wears on and after Janshai shares their story, the giants drift off into the darkness to sleep.

"There was once a mighty sorcerer," Janshai begins. "But in his opinion, not mighty enough. He wanted the magic that produced our portal beans. But rather than attempt to duplicate it, which would take much time and work, he decided to take it from us. Merdock the Mage, he was called in his younger years, but at the time he invaded our land, he was known as the Dark One. He plotted to take our magic the same way he had taken magic from his predecessor: by killing, without a second thought.

"He came in the night, as thieves usually do, as we were sleeping. First he slaughtered our guards with a single wave of his hand. Then he raided our gardens, stripping them of their beans. It wasn't enough for him to take our entire crop of beans. He demanded to take the magic that produced them too. He took one of our farmers prisoner and tortured him to try to force him to reveal the secret of the beans, but the farmer died protecting the magic. Enraged, Merdock proceeded to burn our homes, decimate our crops, and slaughter our people, but when only one of our tribes remained, he stopped. He would give us one last chance, he said, but we would not give him what he wanted. We knew that with the power of our magic, he could destroy entire realms. We chose to die as a family, our race extinct forever, rather than bow to his power lust. He summoned his magic to his hands in preparation to execute us, but his greed overtook his fury, and instead he cursed us, made us the murderous and vile beasts you called ogres. He would lift the curse if we acquiesced to his demands. And so we remained, doomed to kill and be killed, for three centuries. When we learned, a century ago, that another had killed Merdock and taken his power, we believed we were lost forever."

"Zoso," Belle whispers the name that shakes even her great courage to the core. "He ravaged our lands, unstoppable, for decades until Duke Cedric somehow managed to gain control of him, until Cedric was deposed for his questionable recruitment practices. The Duke drank away his sorrows—drank himself so silly, Zoso easily tricked him into releasing him."

"Zoso disappeared after that night," Maurice adds, "and reappeared in the Glass Mountains, from which he terrorizes the Easthaven Valley, a much richer land, these days, than Aramore."

"What, then, happened just now to break your curse?" Darain wonders.

Janshai lifts his massive shoulders. "I don't know. I believed, as all my tribe believed, that the curse was unbreakable."

Belle cocks her head and smiles at Ely, mirroring the child's favorite expression. "Legend has it that there is a magic stronger than the Dark One's, strong enough to overpower any and all magics: True Love. Maybe that magic saved us all today. Ely loves us, and we love her." Belle's voice grows firm, indicating that she will brook no argument on the matter, as she looks to Rumple and concludes, "And our love for each other surely amplified the power."

Rumple blushes and stares at the ground but nods in admission.

Janshai studies his daughter, who bubbles, "Love Belle! Love Rum!"

"Perhaps so," he says thoughtfully. "We have always believed that the purity of a child's love gives it great strength." He thinks on the matter a moment longer before deciding. "It must be so."

"We can learn from our children," Maurice suggests. "Let them lead by example. And let us behave the way loving parents should."

"We will treat for peace," Janshai agrees. "And so that our children can be proud of us, we will learn what we can about each other and try to understand. An exchange of ambassadors, Your Majesty."

"An excellent idea. Representatives from Aramore will go to live among your tribe, and your representatives will be welcomed into our court—as soon as we build a big enough castle," Maurice chuckles. Belle's eyes brighten as her lips part, but before she can speak, her father presses his fingers against her mouth. "No. Thank you for volunteering, Belle, but no. I need you at home to help me sell this idea to the gray men. You know as well as I do, it's going to be an uphill battle. So many of them are bent on revenge."

"But, Ely—"

"You can visit her. And when it's safe, when the clamor for revenge has died down, she can visit Avonlea."

There's still an argument in her eyes, but Maurice's brow draws down and her expression softens as he reminds her, "A daughter needs to be with her father—and a father needs to be with his daughter."

Surprisingly, Belle nods meekly. "Yes, father." Then she throws a sly smile in Rumple's direction. "We'll need some help with those gray men. Someone who witnessed the transformation today."

Rumple won't contradict her in front of her father, but he knows he's the wrong man for that job, entirely the wrong man. He must convince her of it later, when they're alone.

Maurice, thankfully, doesn't notice the unspoken conversation between his daughter and the spinner. The time has come at last for what he considers the most important act of his reign. He signals Tristan, who has already fetched paper and ink. "Governor Janshai, let's talk peace."

Voices quiet and slow their pace as the night wears on, and the notetakers—two for each side—express increasing difficulty in seeing in the dim light of lanterns and as a result, click their tongues over the mistakes they make in the transcription. They've gone past the generalities and deep into the specifics, and now even Janshai and Maurice are yawning and backtracking in slight confusion over what's been discussed and what hasn't. But the most important pieces of the treaty were agreed upon wholeheartedly at the start and neither side has wavered from them:

*The war is over. If anyone on either side raises a weapon or a fist against anyone on the other side, it will be recognized as an independent act, unsupported by and unacceptable to the leadership, and the aggressor will be handed over to the authorities on his/her own side for swift trial and punishment.

*History will record that neither side is the victor in this conflict, but rather, that in mutual agreement, both laid down their weapons with the intention of never picking them up again.

*With neither side the victor, no reparations will be paid, no lands or slaves taken.

*Instead, in the interest of fostering knowledge and cultural understanding, ambassadors will be exchanged, offered dual citizenship will full rights in their adopted home, and offered a home, a role in the adopted land's government, teaching opportunities, and learning opportunities. The duration of an ambassador assignment will be two years, after which the returning ambassadors will take up a place as advisors in their home country's government. The ambassadors will not be permitted use of weapons while in their adopted country, but will be provided bodyguards if necessary. Free, frequent and private communication between ambassadors and their home county's leadership will be expected and encouraged. Among the ambassadors will be farmers, who can share agricultural information; historians, politicians and lawyers who can share information of their native land's legal and governmental systems; and teachers, artists, musicians, storytellers and parents, who can teach the ways of their nation's culture.

*Within each land, talk of revenge against the other side's army, leadership or citizenry will be considered equivalent to talk of treason and will be punished accordingly.

*Gradually, as each nation gets back on its economic feet, trade agreements between the two nations will be established.

*Someday, though perhaps not in Maurice's and Janshai's lifetimes, either nation will feel free to call upon the other for financial or military aid in the event of natural disasters or attacks.

Maurice swipes at his crusty eyelashes as he peers up from Darain's notes. "Governor," he says softly, nodding at Janshai's lap, where Krea is resting her head, her button-eyed ragdoll tucked under her arm.

Janshai nods back. "I must admit, my own head grows foggy. Shall we resume our discussions in the morning?"

Maurice finds this entirely acceptable. "It should come as a surprise to no one that a decade's long war should take more than an evening to end." He rises and stretches, and a bleary-eyed Belle follows suit. "Besides, I'm so tired that I'm not sure I could remember how to spell my own name on this treaty."

A word from Janshai and his second-in-command, Baldwick, is setting aside his own notes to lift the snoring baby giant. Krea grunts and squirms as she's taken from her father's lap, but she's a heavy sleeper, as well Rumple knows, and Baldwick has only just adjusted her in his arms before she's pressed her face against his chest and is clutching his tunic. In the process she drops her ragdoll; Rumple retrieves it and slips in under her arm again. Baldwick looks at the spinner strangely. "Thank you." At Rumple's slight bow, he carries the governor's child off to a pallet that's been formed for her, on what has been, unspokenly, established as the giants' side of the camp.

Janshai lumbers to his feet. Peering down—but not stooping, as that would seem condescending—he too studies Rumple. "You were the one who found her, I understand. And gave her water."

Rumple hangs his head. In the interest of honesty, he's tempted to add And helped make a prisoner of her. But with a fifteen-foot being hovering over him, honesty takes a backseat to self-protection.

"And talked to her," Janshai continues, "to ease her fears, and sang to her, so she could sleep, and taught her, so she could adapt. As a father would."

It's coming; Rumple feels it. The accusation that he overstepped his bounds. Or worse, that he tricked Ely in order to imprison her. He swallows hard.

"This is your son?"

With wide eyes, Rumple follows the governor's pointing finger to Bae, who's on his knees, making a few corrections to his notes. Bae glances up and grins. "He's my papa. Smartest man in our village."

"You were born under a lucky star, young man. To have such a wise and kind father."

Rumple's head snaps up. Janshai is smiling. Sincerely. Gratefully. "Lieutenant Rumplesteen, I thank you for the care you showed my daughter."

"You're wel—it was my hon—" Rumple trips over his tongue.

Janshai bows to him, then to Maurice. "Good night." As the King bids him good night, the governor follows Baldwick to the fringes of the camp.

Maurice watches him go, then winks at Belle. "I think it's time we did the same."

"And guards, Your Majesty?" Darain wonders.

"I suppose you'll assign them anyway, for the sake of grumblers." Maurice watches the soldiers fade into the darkness to their tents. "But I doubt we need them."

Belle teeters on tiptoe, steadying herself with a hand against her father's chest so she can kiss his cheek. "Good night, Papa."

"Good night, my girl. I'm proud of you."

She dimples. Even an adult child still needs a parent's approval, Rumple observes; it's one of the things he feels he's done right in raising his own boy. Bae's never had to ask if his father was proud of him. "Thanks, Papa. I'm proud of you too—as my father and as my King." She carries her dimpled smile over to Rumple. "I'm going to my tent. Walk with me?"

"Of course." He reaches for his cane and Belle starts forward, but Maurice halts him, momentarily, with a hand to his sleeve.

"Lieutenant." The King pauses and searches for words. "He's right, you know. You are a good father, even when it's an ogre you're parenting. If the time should ever come. . . well, I don't think you'd do too badly, raising my grandchildren. Not too badly at all."

"I—ah—"

Belle, apparently realizing she's lost her escort, spins around. "Rumple? Are you coming?"

"I—ah—"

Maurice saves him from having to decide—or come up with an answer to the implied question of grandchildren. The King has walked away and is already speaking quietly to Darain. Rumple gathers his cane and his wits and trots to catch up to Belle.

He's stunned out of his weariness, stunned speechless, but Belle is not; she's ready to resume their conversation, as soon as they're out of earshot of anyone else. A trained debater—as a future ruler, she has been groomed in the ways of confrontation and negotiation since she was old enough to demand cake for dinner—as she's come to know him, she's come to understand that with one as perceptive and shy as Rumple, she has to sneak up on his fears before she can expose them and chase them away. She begins conversationally: "What we experienced tonight—the breaking of the curse, the end of the war—at the root of it all, I think, was simple, parental love. The love Janshai has for Ely, the love you have for Bae, the love my father has for me. The love you and I have for Ely."

"Perhaps so," he agrees, a little breathless as he struggles to keep up with her in the snow.

"But there were other forms of love at work tonight. Love that a leader feels for his people."

"Aye. There was that, certainly."

"And love that a couple feel for each other." She laces her fingers through his. "So many different kinds of love, all of them true, all of them powerful. How could a curse stand up against all that love?"

"Aye. It didn't." He casts a hasty glance at her, beginning to see where she's leading him.

"True Love is a rare thing, wouldn't you agree?"

"Too rare."

"It's a gift from the Fates, the legends say."

"So it's said."

"It would be an insult to refuse a gift, wouldn't it?"

He's sure of it now: she's challenging his reticence again. "Belle. . . ."

"Foolish, too, when that gift comes from the Fates."

He can't let her lead him into this argument. One of them—or both—will end up hurt. "Belle—"

"Are you going to try to deny it, that we have this gift? Are you going to say I'm some silly little girl who mistakes daydreams for reality?"

"No, but I—"

"Then are you going to claim you're the silly one? Because I don't see how you can possibly win this argument. As a scientist, you must admit, surely, we have the proof. That was True Love's magic; it couldn't have been anything else. I mean, you're no sorcerer, are you? And I've never cast a spell in my life. So the power that broke that curse could only have come from True Love. Deny that, if you can."

He stops and tries to express with his eyes how dangerous this conversation is, but he can't bring himself to look at her directly. Her chin is as high as he can focus his gaze. "I don't. I love you. I have no doubt in that. And you love me. If it was just us—But we have to think of Aramore. What the people need, I am not. I'm—"

"And don't think I didn't notice what you did when the ogres attacked, how you jumped in front of me to shield me from them."

"A reflex, not bravery, and ogres with clubs, not noblemen with their twisted words and their—"

"Gods!" She throws her arms in the air and rushes past him, seeking the privacy of her tent. She shouts back, careless of who might overhear, "Rumplestiltskin, sometimes you exasperate me!"

With a growl he snaps back, "Just for once, sweetheart, I wish you'd let me finish a sentence!"

He's stomping, as best he can with a cane, as he enters his tent. Bae's already there, tucked well in under piles of blankets and coats, but his eyes open and dance as Rumple tosses his cane aside, lumps down on his pallet, yanks off his boots and tosses them to wherever the cane went.

"Women, huh?"

Rumple can hear the laugh that Bae's holding back, but he could use a little support right now, and it's a nice thing, to talk man-to-man with his son. "Yeah. Women."

"Even when they're Princesses."

"Especially when they're Princesses."

Now they both chuckle.

"What are you gonna do, Papa?"

"I don't know. What do you think I should do?"

"You already know what I think."

Rumple looks over his shoulder, his tone pleading for understanding. "What she and I want doesn't matter. She has a kingdom to think about."

"Who's to say that what's good for Belle isn't good for Aramore?" At his father's lack of response, Bae presses smugly. "Are you assuming you know more about the kingdom's needs than she does? Or than the King does? I heard what he said tonight."

Under the pretext of removing his coat, Rumple turns his face away. "They're misjudging me. I'm a coward, Bae—they'd know that if they asked anyone I served with. But of course they can't because none of those men are alive. The fact that I am and they aren't is proof enough I'm not the man she thinks I am." He slaps his lame leg. "This is proof."

Bae's hand shoots out to grasp Rumple's sleeve. "Papa, that was almost twenty years ago."

"People don't change. Cowards don't change."

Bae sits up, his elbows on his knees as he reflects. "The army camp you were sent to when you were drafted. Where was that?"

"In the Andover Territory somewhere."

"So. . . two hundred miles from Ramsgate?"

"I guess so."

"And you walked all that way, on a busted ankle. Packed you off, I assume, they did, with no food and no medicine."

"Aye."

"Which took how long?"

"Twelve days."

"You walked all that way to get home to me."

Rumple shrugs; the reason is obvious to him. "You were my son. You needed me."

Bae tries again. "Papa. . . do you remember the winter after Mother left?"

"A hard winter. Set in early and spring was late in coming. Four people in the village died in the cold. Two died of starvation."

"But we didn't. You went out into the snow and fished and gathered whatever plants and nuts you could scrape up, and you traded whatever you could for wool so you could spin. I remember many a morning when I found you asleep at the wheel and half-froze. And when you caught two fish, you shared one with people who had nothing. And when influenza struck the carter's family, you went with Gretchen to take care of them. And when the winds eased up, you took your thread and walked to Avonlea to sell it. Three days going, three days back, because the snows were so deep."

"I earned half as much as usual. Far less than the thread was worth, and I was too afraid to speak up for myself."

"Do you know what I remember most about that winter? You brought back bread and cheese and a sack of dried apples so Gretchen could make me a birthday pie. For Yuletide, I had new boots."

"They weren't new. They were castoffs that Rulf had outgrown. I patched them."

"They felt like new to me. I was proud of them. I was proud of you, because you provided them for me. It took me a while to realize it, but that wasn't the only winter that you skipped meals and gave up your blankets so I could go to bed warm and full. Don't you think I know what it cost you to raise me, especially in Ramsgate, especially after Mother left, when you were depressed and lonely?"

"And when people took satisfaction in the fact that the deserter had been deserted."

"Some did," Bae admits. "But you kept going. Whatever they said, to your face or behind your back. Whatever they did—cheat you, lie to you, steal from you, hit you. You'd pick yourself up and come home to me and hug me and pretend everything was okay, for my sake. Even a few weeks ago, at my bachelor party, when that bastard barkeeper cheated you with watered down ale. You could have had your satisfaction: Rulf and Fort would've slapped that bastard silly for you. But you chose the way of peace instead."

"Because I knew that bastard would find a way to get back at me as soon as I was alone," Rumple grunts.

"No. Because it wasn't worth fighting over and you knew the difference. You set an example for me then. Every day of my life, I've learned from you: patience, persistence, generosity, self-sacrifice, dignity, honor. I'm still learning from you." With a hand on his shoulder, Bae persuades Rumple to turn around. "You say you're proud of me, for the man I've grown up to be. Well, you were the one who raised me."

Rumple allows tears to form in his eyes.

"As far as bravery goes, there's not a man in the King's entire army who could go through all you did and still manage to put on a brave face for his son's sake. They're courageous, all right, but you're courageous in a different way. Maybe they stand up against noblemen and ogres without quaking, but you've stood up against life. Still do, even when it leaves you shaking like a leaf. If you think I'm brave out there on the battleground, it's because I learned from you that I can shake like a leaf and still do my duty, whether it's to my family or my country, because you always have. Always."

"Oh, Bae. . . "

The young man slips a comforting arm around his father's shaking shoulders and holds him while he cries. The young soldier feels no shame in his father's tears, only pride in his father's strength. He's come to learn, through his fellow soldiers, that sometimes it takes more strength for a man to open his heart than it does to lift a sword.

"I'd be proud to have her as a mother, even if she is a Princess."

That quip makes Rumple chuckle.

"But not nearly as proud as I'd be to tell her what kind of man she's getting, because I know you'll take every bit as good care of her as you have for me. That is, if you decide to marry her. The bravest thing you can do now is to decide what's right for you and her, not for anybody else, because at the end of the day, it's a man and a woman, needing each other, taking care of each other. Not a Princess and her consort."

"You're a wise man, Baelfire. And you've given me much to think about."

"Good." Bae lies back, smiling in satisfaction at the canvas overhead. "Good. Because I'm pretty sure I'm still going to need for you to be wise for me sometimes."