For the first time since coming to the mountains, Rumple wakens before his son and tiptoes from the tent to the campfire. Fendral has already refilled the cauldron with water and Tristan has fetched firewood, so there will be tea for breakfast. Most of the soldiers, along with the giants, are still abed; those who are awake are huddled in the cold, the humans in their heavy coats, the giants making the best of the blankets they were given last night. The awakened are clustered in tight groups with their own kind, the humans standing over the campfire, the giants crouching at the edges of the camp, each side watching the other warily. Little conversation is taking place; in the stillness of the morning, voices will easily carry from one end of the camp to the other, and neither side trusts the other sufficiently to allow their thoughts to be heard by the enemy.

Fendral is the exception—and he will prove himself a role model this morning. "Gonna be another half-hour yet before the water's hot," he informs Rumple as he stokes the fire.

"Aye." Rumple's voice is husky and his mind fuzzy from sleep. He opens a sack stacked on a wood pallet and inspects the contents: yesterday the sack was filled with pine needles that he, the squires and several other soldiers had gathered, but it's half-empty now, having provided tea for giants last night. Rumple glances at the horizon, searching for signs of pink, but the night is clutching the sky tightly. As soon as dawn arrives, he'll go back out into the woods to replenish supplies. Wearily, he rubs his scruffy chin and eyes the giants, who are watching him and Fendral with mild interest. He gives them a slight nod in greeting, but they don't acknowledge him. He lowers his gaze to the fire and lets the dancing flames calm him.

"Soon as dawn breaks," Fendral suggests, "I'm going fishing. Found a spot on the southwest bend that's been lucky for me. You want to come?"

Rumple brightens. The thought of coming back to camp with meat, even if it is just fish, appeals far more than gathering needles and nuts. Both tasks matter, of course, but bringing back meat will make him feel like more of a provider. That's a feeling he's missed, since coming here. "I'd like that."

They let silence sit between them as they both listen to the burning wood pop. There's an unspoken respect between them, a trust, that Rumple suspects is attributable to their mutual concern for Bae, and when Fendral speaks again, that suspicion is confirmed. "Rumplestiltskin," Fendral begins—by referring to him by name rather than rank, the Captain is signaling a wish to speak man to man, as equals. "Something I want to ask you about. I'm going to volunteer to be one of the twenty."

He needn't say which twenty. Nor need he ask his question now: Rumple can easily surmise what it will be, and truthfully, Fendral need not ask: he's Bae's superior and has the right to command the boy. But Fendral's not the type of man to take away another's choices, particularly when civilians will be affected. "I'd like to ask Baelfire to come with me."

Rumple lets the idea sink in. As it does, he's flooded with emotions—gratitude that Fendral is giving them a choice, pride that Baelfire will be given such a large responsibility, fear for Baelfire's safety in the enemy's lands (surely the giants, like the humans, will crave justice for their dead), and overriding all, loneliness. His only child, the last of his family, will be leaving Aramore (for Rumple has no doubt Bae will leap at the chance) for two years. Of course the letters between them will be frequent and newsy, as they have been ever since Bae joined the Guard, but this time, Bae will be out of reach. There will be no monthly visits home. They will be separated for two full years, and when Bae finally returns, the relationship between them will be different: it will be the relationship of adults, a relationship of equals.

"I wanted to find out how you felt about that first," Fendral continues. "I know, if it was me. . . well. . . ."

"It's his choice. He'll ask me what I think, but he's going to want to go. I won't stand in the way." Rumple tries to smile. "Parents have lessons to learn, too. Figuring out when to let go is one of them. The hardest."

Fendral nods thoughtfully. "I'll look out for him."

"Goes without saying. You always have."

"If it's too dangerous, I'll send him back."

"I know you will. Just like I know he won't want to be sent back."

Fendral stirs the fire again and steam rises from the cauldron. It won't be too long now before the water boils. "Janshai was right, what he said to Baelfire. He was born under a lucky star."

Rumple accepts the comment as a compliment. "Thanks. There is the matter of Morraine."

"His fiancée. Yes. She should have a say in this too. His Majesty will allow us all to take leave beforehand. Go home, tend to our personal affairs. Bae will get to talk to her then. If she wants to come—we'll need to get settled first, make sure it's safe, before she's allowed to come."

"Even if it is, homes will have to be built. Furniture, in human size."

"Just like His Majesty will have to do for their ambassadors. A month or two."

"It'll be spring then. Better time for her to travel."

Fendral ponders. "Do you think she'll want to come? Two years away from her home, her family and friends? Living in enemy territory?"

"They're not our enemy any more." Rumple glances out at the giants, oddly backlit now by the rising sun. "Their curse is broken. The giants of old were never violent."

"But now they have cause." Fendral clears his throat. "I'll keep him safe, to the best of my ability. Her too, if they decide she's to come with us."

"She will." A smile overtakes Rumple's face. "As long as her parents can be persuaded. She's like him in that way. Adventurous."

"Sun's almost up. Water's boiling. Want a cup, before we pick up our poles?"

When Fendral and Rumple return, two hours later, bearing fish, breakfast has already been served. The men are pleased to learn that Bae, along with two other soldiers, has gone out to gather plants, and two of the younger giants are accompanying them. It was Bae's idea to invite them, Belle reports with pride but no surprise: she's come to expect such largess from him, and she's just as proud as if she were a member of their family.

The men surrender their catch to be cleaned—inspired perhaps by Bae's act of forgiveness, the soldier who accepts the fish walks over to the edge of the camp, where several ex-ogres are still huddled, turns his knife out, handle first, and asks, "Anyone want to help? We can have fresh fish for lunch."

One of the giants starts to object, but another accepts the knife. "I will."

"But we don't eat—"

The second giant interrupts the protestor. "A good guest seeks to lessen the burden he causes his host. Perhaps some of you will gather firewood?" She rises and bows slightly for the human. "If you will please show me how you—" She waves her hand at the fish. "Prepare the fish."

"Sure."

Off near the officers' tent, Maurice, Darain, Janshai and Baldwick, along with notetakers, are seated at an odd, hastily thrown-together table. Half the table is human-sized; the other, big enough for the giants. Despite the disparity in size, the giants conduct themselves humbly; their movements are slow and careful, so as not to startle. The humans, even Maurice, are ever conscious of the danger that the difference in size poses. A sudden movement from one of the giants could injure a human.

"They started as soon as breakfast was over," Belle says. "They're ironing out the wrinkles now. By lunchtime, I think, we'll have a treaty."

"We're lucky to have a man like your father leading us," Rumple observes.

"And a man like Janshai leading them." Belle watches the negotiations with a twinkle in her eyes. "They found out during breakfast that they have a lot in common. A fascination with gadgets of all kinds, a fondness for epic poetry, an insatiable sweet tooth."

"And two very special daughters." Rumple squeezes her elbow fondly. "Where is she, by the way?"

"She went with some of the og—some of the giants, to the river, to take a bath." Belle giggles. "The giants are fanatical about grooming, it seems. They were quite dismayed to discover, this morning, that the desire for personal cleanliness was one the things the curse had robbed them of."

"I'm glad she's with her people again. I'll miss her, though."

"So will I. But it's temporary. A year or two from now, when it's safe, my father will permit me to go see her. In the meantime, I'll write her letters, and when I get home, I'll raid my closet for some of the toys and books I had when I was little. She seems especially fond of dolls." Belle strokes his forearm. "We did well with her, didn't we?"

"We did well. The hardest part of parenting—even if the parenting was just for a couple of weeks—is letting them go. It looks like I'll be losing Bae," he says abruptly. "Again. More permanently this time."

"He wants to go with the ambassadors. He was talking with my father about that. Papa said it was up to Captain Fendral. He can contribute a great deal, not just to Aramore, but all of humankind, if he goes. You raised a fine young man."

"He'll go," Rumple grumbles. "Fendral already asked." He draws in a deep breath. "I'm proud of him, but. . . I thought I had more time with him. I'm not ready to let him go."

"But you will." She peers up at him, studying the mix of loneliness, fear and pride in his eyes. "Because that's the kind of father you are. You put him first. He knows that, Rumple. I think he's always known."

Rumple shakes his head. "I'm selfish enough to want to hang onto him."

"You won't interfere. And when the time comes for him to let his child go, he'll remember your sacrifice. He'll live up to your example."

"Thank you, Belle." He coughs to release the emotion blocking his throat. Fendral has gone to the cookfire to ladle up leftovers; Rumple follows him with his eyes. "Excuse me. I'm going to get something to eat."

"There's some bread left, and one of the og—one of the giants found a beehive and brought us back some honey. I'll prepare you a cup of tea." She accompanies him to the campfire.

As she and the men speak idly, one of the smaller giants dares to approach, "I wonder if I—" he gestures to the cauldron.

"Yes, of course; let me." Belle prepares steaming mug for the giant. "A touch of honey?"

The giant nods. "I'm quite fond of honey. I kept bees. Before." He means before the curse but he seems too embarrassed to say it, as though the curse were his fault somehow.

"We have a beekeeper at the castle. I like to watch her work. She talks to them and they seem to understand. I think she understands them too."

The giant agrees. "In a rudimentary way. I miss my bees." He sips his tea. "Thank you."

Fendral asks, "Will you go back to beekeeping?"

"I hope so. We don't know what's left in Maelyss. It's been a long time."

"I'm a farmer," Fendral says. "Or was, anyway. I can help to rebuild."

The giant extends a hand and Fendral shakes it, as best he can, though his own hand is swallowed up in the giant's. "I am Barric."

"I'm Fendral. And this is Belle, and that's Rumple."

"Barric, I'm pleased to meet you. I'd love to hear all about your bees. I wonder if the bees of Maelyss have much in common with those of Aramore." As Rumple watches in admiration, his Princess instantly charms the stranger. What a Queen she will make: perhaps there will be no wars during her reign, if she can win her rivals over as easily as she does this giant.

He suddenly realizes she could have been charming the gray men all along, if only she would put her pride aside. Honey, not lemon, is what she should be offering the nobles, winning them over one at a time. As soon as they're alone he'll point this out to her; she'll resist; she'll claim it's hypocritical to charm people she can't respect; but that will just be her attempt to justify holding onto her opinions. Eventually she'll see the truth in the old adage that one can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

As he listens to the bee talk, Rumple begins to plot. Maybe he can be of use to his future Queen after all.

The earth thunders as heavy feet pound a path across the camp. "Mamabelle!" She shouts it as a single word. "Rum!" She moves fast for a baby, even faster for a giant—but she's aware enough of the difference in their sizes that just before she reaches them, she forces herself to slow down so she doesn't risk knocking them over.

"Ely!" Belle shouts back with a laugh. She pats the ground beside her in invitation and the baby giant thumps down.

"'M clean!" Ely pats her face as if to emphasize the lack of dirt on her cheeks. "Smell nice, Mamabelle! Smell me." She leans in and Belle dutifully sniffs and makes sounds of approval.

"Nice bath," Ely enthuses, then shivers. "But cold. I like hot. With bubbles. D'you have more bubbles, Mamabelle?"

"No, they're all gone, but when I go back to my home, I'll send you more. Lots more."

The giant scowls. "Go home? No, you come to my home. Stay with me and Papa. Rum too." She pats Rumple's head. "You come too. Come with us. I love you."

"I need to go back to my home. I have work to do there," Belle explains gently. "My mother misses me. I miss her. But I'll write you letters and I won't forget you, and I'll never stop loving you. Do you understand, Ely? We're friends for always."

"I come to your home. With my Papa." Ely brightens. "One family! See?"

Belle strokes her arm. "Not yet, honey. It's not safe yet. But someday, not so long from now, I'll come to see you. When it's safe. When people aren't angry any more."

Her big face screws up and tears fall, but Belle hugs her and lets her whimper. "You won't be my mama?"

"No, sweetie. I'm sorry. But I'll be your friend for always."

Reaching across Belle's back, the giant holds out her open palm to Rumple. "You come. You come to my home."

Rumple has to scoot forward to take her hand. With Belle sandwiched between them, he cautions Ely, "We mustn't squish Belle, all right, Ely?"

This makes both females chuckle around their tears and Ely eases her grip on Belle. Then Rumple answers the invitation: "I'm sorry, Ely, but I can't go with you either. I have work to do at my home. But I have a favor to ask of you. Some work for you to do. Bae is going to go with you and live at your home for a while."

"Bae?" A grin fights for position against the frown. "Bae will?"

"Bae is my son and I love him very much, but he'll go with you, to learn. Will you help him learn about your home and your people? And will you take care of him? Make sure he gets enough to eat and gets enough sleep?"

Ely considers this with great seriousness before nodding. "I'll be Bae's mama."

"Thank you, Ely. I won't worry about him then."

"Because you took care of me."

Rumple reaches into his coat and produces a pear, which he presses into the giant's hand. "And take care of yourself too. Get enough to eat and get plenty of sleep. Because I care about you."

Bae and his companions return laughing in time for preparations for lunch. Rumple rushes over to him and draws him aside, while the other gatherers carry their provisions to the campfire. There will be fresh bread, thanks to the nuts they've gathered, with rose hips syrup, watercress and chickweed for salad, boiled rhubarb, and fried onions, to go along with the Guards' supply of peaches, pears and apples.

Bae studies his father's changing expressions as the gap between them closes. "What? Oh. You know about Maelyss."

Rumple throws his arms around his son, balancing awkwardly on one foot as he drops his cane. They're attracting stares; Rumple's probably embarrassing him, but Bae isn't the kind to give up a chance at a hug for the sake of sparing himself some stares. "Fendral asked."

"It's all right with you for me to go?"

"No," Rumple confesses. "I'm too selfish for that. But I'll agree with your decision. And I'm proud of it. What you'll learn will go a long way toward sealing the peace between humans and giants."

"Thanks, Papa. That's why I want to go. I know I have responsibilities at home, with you and Morraine—"

"It's all right. This is bigger. I'll look after her. I'm sure she'll do the same for me. And we'll wait."

"Well, I'm going to ask her to come with me. We'll have to rush the wedding, and Gretchen and Luke might not agree to it, but if they accept it, I think she'll want to go with me."

"I hope she will."

"It might be dangerous—"

"But you'll look out for each other. You and her and Fendral, and the other eighteen ambassadors." Rumple finally releases his son. "And Janshai will look out for you too. You'll be fine."

"Papa." Bae pulls back a little to read his father's eyes. "It's a long ways, but if you need anything while I'm gone, just send word and I'll come running."

"And if you need anything, you can send word to me and I'll come running."

Bae swallows hard. "Papa, it's because of you that I can do this. You showed me what courage is."

"Thank you, son. Now come on; you need to eat." He throws an arm around the lad's shoulders and leans on him a little as they start toward the campfire.

The humans partake of fish and rabbit, but the giants stick with vegetables and fruits. As Barric explains to his new friends that vegetarianism is not just a tradition but also a spiritual practice for his tribe, Fendral pushes away the plate of perch he's about to dig into. "If I'm going to live among you, I might as well start adjusting. Tell me some more about your religion."

Bae hastily swallows a mouthful of rabbit and pushes his own plate away.

"We've been talking." Barric hangs his head. "It wasn't our fault; it was part of the curse; but we feel guilty just the same. Not just for eating meat, but for—for everything we did. The destruction of your lands and homes. We're farmers, mostly. To us, growing things aren't just to sustain our bodies; they sustain our souls. To tear up farms the way we did, it goes against everything we believe in."

"I understand," Fendral says. "I'd feel the same way."

"The worst of it—we feel sick, knowing we ate human flesh. When we've returned home, if we can find a priest to lead us, we'll go through the purification ritual, but no amount of fasting and prayer can remove the stain from our souls."

"It wasn't by choice," Belle reminds him. "Magic compelled you."

"It's only that knowledge that saves us." Barric looks out across the camp to the remains of the cage, then past that to the edge of the forest, where Tristan is teaching Ely how to kick the ball. "She's our comfort now, she and the other children. We'll concentrate on them. It's through them that we can forgive ourselves and you. She is our hope."

Rumple raises his head. "'Our hope.' That's what Tristan named her: Elylrac. She's our hope too."