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The hooves of the horses were thundering on the road, making Rumpelstiltskin's whole house shake. It was an old house and the noise alone was enough to make dust fall from the ceiling. If it got any louder, the roof might very well collapse on top of them. In the morning, there would probably be something to fix, there always was.
He shouldn't complain. Milah and him had been smart enough in their youth to spend the little money they had saved on a cottage made of stone. It was always freezing in the winter and it was the farthest house from the well, but other than that, the house would probably outlive him and provide his son with a home for many years to come. Not to mention that he wouldn't have to worry about being kicked out by a spiteful landlord who didn't appreciate him bailing out on the rent – or his cowardice.
The horses outside neighed and pranced. Something in the ceiling creaked and Rumpelstiltskin was sure he'd have to spend the better part of next morning fixing an unexpected leak. As if he needed more work. There was going to be a fair in two days and he was far from done with the spinning; if he didn't get the wool and yarn ready by then, there would be no food. Feeding two mouths wasn't any easier than feeding three, especially if the third wasn't there anymore to help with the house work.
Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his eyes. As selfish as it might be, he had thought that, with no one to gamble away the money or spend it at the pub, it would be easier to get by, but he was wrong. They had made an exception for his wife, maybe out of pity, but no one wanted to trade with the village coward. Some people went as far as going to other towns to buy from other spinners, and those who still bought from him did so with contempt on their faces and offering as little as they could.
Life, as it turned out, was as far from easy as ever, and it didn't seem it would get better anytime soon.
“Papa!”
A strange movement beneath his covers startled him and soon a tiny little head popped out on his side. Baelfire, with eyes full of tears.
“Hey,” he said, quietly, blinking exhaustion away. “What are you doing out of bed, son?”
“Papa, I'm afraid,” he whined in his little voice.
Rumpelstiltskin knew that it would be best to send him back to his own bed. He was almost eight years old now, old enough to learn to face his own fears. He didn't want his son to end up like him, did he?
But instead, he said, “Don't worry, son. Everything will be alright.”
And Bae smiled at him. A tiny, tearful smile, but it warmed his heart. He believed him. His son trusted him completely, and if Papa told him everything was going to be alright, it was because it would be.
Before he could say anything else, Bae snuggled against his chest, getting comfortable. Rumple didn't have the heart to send him back to bed. Besides, the beating of his tiny little heart calming down was such a comforting feeling.
The next morning would be hell, there was no doubt about it. But right now, he felt like he could face anything. He had his son with him and that was all that mattered.
*
Lady Belle had stayed with him for what felt like hours. However, he finally became aware of her hand on his hair and his tears falling on the seem of her dress. Embarrassment started nagging underneath his grief, very faintly, very easy to ignore if he wanted to; but Rumpelstiltskin was never very good at disregarding his own shame.
With labored movements, he turned on his side and scooted away from her on the cot. Her hand followed, but eventually disentangled itself from his hair. Her eyes were still watching the back of his neck, listening to him sob like a child into those strange hands that didn't look like his own, but she got up eventually, saying, “I am so very sorry.”
She sounded distressed. Why was she distressed? Who was he to her in this new land?
Outside, there was a conversation going on, but he couldn't make out the words that were being said. After a moment, Lady Belle came back to announce, “If you need anything, there will be someone outside. For food. Or if you want to talk.”
He didn't want to talk. All he wanted was to sleep and wake up the next day in his village, discovering it had all been nothing but a nightmare and his boy was calling for him.
Despite the exhaustion caused by grief, he couldn't force himself to fall asleep. When the crying subsided, he focused on the shadows on the wall, watching them change and fade into night. Then, night turn into day. Once or twice the other woman, the one who was a knight, asked, “Is there anything you need?”
Rumpelstiltskin never answered. The only thing he needed was gone.
*
When the light that came through the dusty window started fading again, the man came back. Had it been any other day, Rumpelstiltskin would have shot to his feet as soon as he walked into the room. But as it was, there was nothing he could do to him that would be worse than what he was already going through, so he stayed on the bed.
“Hey, good evening,” the man greeted quietly. “My name is David. How are you feeling?”
Rumpelstiltskin didn't answer.
“Right. I'm sorry. Dumb question. I need you to come with me. We have a lot more to talk about.”
Still, he didn't say a word.
David lowered himself on the bed. Despite the kind tone in his voice, Rumpelstiltskin expected to be grabbed by the shoulders and pulled to his feet, but he lacked the energy to obey, or even flinch.
“I know this is a very hard time for you,” David said, still very soft. “I know how that feels.”
Rumpelstiltskin considered that. He asked, “Have you ever lost a child?”
It was David's turn to be quiet. When it came, his answer was cautious. “I have. But not like you. Not to death.”
“Then please, I just want to be alone.”
“And if that was an option, I'd let you stay here for as long as you needed. But it just isn't. You have to come with me.”
“Please. I just want to be alone.”
Rumpelstiltskin waited to be hurled to his feet and dragged away. Whatever land they were in, it didn't matter. He was still a tiny old man, powerless to fight for himself. The only difference now was that he didn't care anymore. The man could lock him in a dungeon and throw away the key, it made no difference.
Instead, David got up and paced the room. After a few minutes, he said, “You know how Belle said we all had a life before this? You used to be a spinner. Now you're a wealthy man.”
It seemed that Rumpelstiltskin had exhausted his words in three sentences because he went back to being quiet.
“In here I am a Deputy Sheriff,” David continued. “I, uhn, I'm like a knight.”
Another knight. Wonderful.
“But back in our land, I was a king.”
Rumpelstiltskin felt his body tensing.
“So,” David continued. “On your feet. Now. Please.”
He didn't sound like any king Rumpelstiltskin had ever heard of. His voice lacked the confidence, it was as if he was making a guess, rather than giving an order. He also didn't sound like a boasting knight; those liked to bark their demands as loud as they could. But what did he know of this land and its strange customs?
To defy a knight was one thing. You could be lashed for it, or some other equally unpleasant physical punishment. But a peasant did not defy a k ing. A monarch, if he was particularly cruel, could set a land on fire for less than that. If King David wanted, he might even call Lady Belle and have her beheaded just for her brief association with the coward that wouldn't get out of bed and do as he was told.
It took him a moment, the need to stay in bed was overwhelming, but he started moving slowly. First, he sat on the bed, keeping his head turned so he wouldn't have to look at the king. Then, he moved his feet to the floor, eyes focused on King David's shoes. Then, he took a deep breath. And fell to his knees.
“No! No! No!” David said, urgently.
He had done everything wrong. Figures.
“No, you don't have to- no, you can stand up, don't-don't kneel to me- Belle is going to kill me. Here, take your cane-”
King David took a cane from the wall. Rumpelstiltskin winced, but kept his back straight to show some respect.
“Your cane.”
He glanced to the side. A golden handle was being offered to him.
Before King David had the chance to change his mind and use the cane to beat him up for, apparently, kneeling the wrong way, Rumpelstiltskin took it and tried to get up. His balance was poor, but the king held his elbow to help him steady himself.
“There you go. Can you walk with that?”
Rumpelstiltskin looked at it. He had never used a cane before, but he had seen a few noblemen with it, though that was usually a fashion choice rather than a necessity. It felt strange in his hand and his walk probably looked even more clumsy than usual, but he could feel his balance improve significantly after a few steps.
The king opened a door and showed him inside.
“This is the bathroom. It's for you to wash yourself. This is a sink, and here you have cold water, if you just turn this like this.” He turned a funny looking lever and a small waterfall appeared, startling him. “The other one is for warm water. And this is a latrine, you, uhn, you do what you want and then you press this and-” He pushed another lever and there was a swirl of thunderous water. “Gone. And this is paper for, uhn, cleaning- you'll figure it out. I'll wait outside. You think you'll be okay?”
Rumpelstiltskin still had his eyes on the tiny waterfall. Where did the water come from? Was there a river on the other side of the wall? How were they even containing it? And how did they force it to fit into that tiny pipe?
“Indoor plumbing,” King David said. “Cool, huh?”
Rumpelstiltskin glanced up, then reached for the running water with the tip of his fingers, as if instead of water, it was fire and it would burn his skin off. “Yes, it's cold, Your Majesty.”
“No, I meant- Nevermind. And you don't have to call me Your Majesty.”
He frowned. What do you call a king if you're not supposed to call him by his rightful title?
“You know what, I'll leave you to it. Take as much time as you need.”
With that, the king was gone.
Rumpelstiltskin rested the cane against the counter and spent some time trying the water on the small waterfall, making sure it was safe before splashing it on his face a few times. He needed a bath. Did people bathe like this? If he had one of these in the Enchanted Forest, he'd have been able to bathe every week, or so. He hated being filthy all the time. No matter how much he washed, he always looked dirtier than the other peasants.
But in this land his hands were clean, with pristine fingernails. When he rubbed his palms together, they didn't feel rough or calloused, but soft, and the only bump he could feel was from that expensive looking ring around his finger. Why did he even have a ring? Was he a nobleman now?
When he dared to look at himself in the mirror, it took him a moment to recognize his own face. His eyes and cheeks were red from the crying, but that wasn't what made him look so unfamiliar. There was no dirt on his skin and his hair, though messy, was clean. He was used to having a scrawny face and figure, but he could see he had put on some pounds, which gave him a healthier look. Clearly, he hadn't been starving lately.
He knew that sorrowful countenance to be his. But, at the same time... it wasn't. It was someone else entirely.
Someone he didn't know.
*
“Are you sure Killian won't show up?” Belle asked, for the third time.
Emma's reply was full of patience. “Yes. He took Henry fishing. I've instructed them to stay away for as long as they can, and Henry will phone when they dock. Either way we should keep him far away from the docks, hiding a ship is not easy.”
“Have you decided on how to introduce the pirate yet?” Regina asked, in that unhelpful tone she had decided to adopt for the situation.
“The last thing I want is for him to run into Killian on his first day.” Belle shook her head. “No. His first month. Maybe a year.”
“I'm sure we'll think of something,” Emma said, trying to look optimistic.
Regina huffed as if that was not very likely.
Belle ignored her. “I want him to meet Henry, but not right away. I'm not sure how that might effect him.”
Emma hesitated before asking the next question. “And you are sure you want to take him home?”
Belle sighed. “It's not about what I want, it's about keeping him safe. He's going to need help.” She paused. “He has to agree, though. I can't force him.”
“You're the one who knows what's best for him,” Regina said, sounding as if Belle's hesitations and morality were nothing but a nuisance. “You saw him. He has no skills to live here whatsoever. And either way, what are our options, really?”
Belle opened her mouth to argue with Regina – sometimes, it felt like she did nothing else. Regina's mood had been swinging between anger to amusement to downright cruelty ever since Rumpelstiltskin first started showing signs of change. More often than not, she settled on practicality, which was a good thing. As tactless as Regina could be, most days Belle needed someone to force her to see the bigger picture. Besides, yelling at Regina was a good outlet for all the emotions boiling inside of her. She had Mary Margaret and David for comfort, but she had Regina to shout at and keep herself sane.
A knock on the door forced Belle to closed her mouth again. For a moment, nobody moved a muscle.
“This is it,” Mary Margaret said, looking up from the tray of cookies she was preparing.
David entered with a smile that was trying too hard. “The guest of honor arrived.”
Belle immediately wished he hadn't said that. It made Rumpelstiltskin look around quietly with his tired, wet eyes, and recoil into himself.
David gave Belle a reassuring smile on his way to his wife. To Mary Margaret, he whispered, “Is there a special place in hell for kings who pull rank on mourning peasants?”
“You did not!” she whispered back, outraged.
“He wouldn't move!”
Rumpelstiltskin eyed David, but stood alone in front of the door, grasping his cane with both hands and keeping both eyes firmly on the floor.
Belle took a step closer, but kept herself distant.
“Good evening,” Belle said.
He simply bowed his head further.
“Would you mind if I called you Rumple?”
“Why would I mind?”
“Maybe you don't like it.”
He frowned. “It is not my place to like it or not, my Lady.”
“Ha!” Regina said, delighted, making him shift to glance at her with the corner of his eyes. “Rumple said I'd hate you, but I'm actually warming up to you.”
“Regina,” Mary Margaret growled.
Belle indicated the couch. “Would you like to sit down? We still have a lot to talk about.”
Again, he frowned. He processed that question for a moment too long before Belle insisted, “You can sit, if you'd like.”
His reply was careful. “If it doesn't offend you, my Lady.”
“Belle.”
“Forgive me. If it doesn't offend you, Lady Belle.”
“No, don't-don't call me that. Just Belle is fine.”
“Yeah, and I'm just Emma, before you try anything else.”
Regina stepped in. “I am Queen Regina.”
“She is not Queen Regina,” Mary Margaret said. “You do not have to call her Your Highness or anything else.”
Regina laughed. “Oh yes, you do.”
Emma hissed, “You do not.”
“I am the Mayor!”
“Which still doesn't grant you a tittle!”
“Okay!” Belle said, bringing their fight to a halt. “I can see we're overwhelming you. Please, sit down and have some tea.”
A s he took a seat, Emma watched him. Gold had never been a tall man, but now he looked even smaller, walking with his head low and hunched shoulders. His movements were careful and hesitating. He sat at the edge of the couch and kept fidgeting with his cane, as if waiting for one or all of them to order him to his feet at any moment.
She went to help her mother in the kitchen, only to whisper, “Are all peasants like that?”
“Depends on the peasant,” she replied, quietly. “Also depends on the Monarch and how they treated their people.”
“Do you know anything about the Frontlands? Were they ruled by a tyrannical bastard or something?”
“Just what's in the history books, and they were mostly about the first Ogre War. The Duke of the Frontlands was not particularly memorable. But judging by what you told me, the way he reacted to you...” she trailed off, thinking.
“What?” Emma pushed.
“I don't think he's used to being treated decently.”
“By royalty?”
“By anyone.”
When Mary Margaret placed a tray with tea and cookies in front of him, Rumpelstiltskin almost got up, looking very disturbed by that gesture. “You really shouldn't-”
“You're my guest, please.”
He sat down, but didn't move.
Mary Margaret took a step back and went to hold David's hand. Emma and Regina came closer, but made sure to stay as far from the actual living room as possible, thinking he might feel threatened by their presence after their last encounter. Belle sat on an arm chair by his side, which made him squirm as if he wanted to scoop away from her, but he didn't.
“I understand you probably have questions,” Belle said.
He eyed the tea tray so he wouldn't have to look into her eyes.
David said, “Maybe we should let you two talk by yourselves.”
“No, he needs to learn,” Regina said, harsh.
“Yes, how about baby steps?” Emma said.
“He had baby steps yesterday. The town is already talking, especially after the stunt he pulled, and we won't be able to protect him unless he starts acting like himself again.”
“Was he happy?”
Their fight stopped and they looked at him. Rumpelstiltskin had not raised his eyes, or his voice for that matter.
“I'm sorry?” Emma asked.
“Was my son happy?”
Emma exchanged looks with Mary Margaret. Belle, however, didn't falter. “He had a difficult life. But yes, he was happy. He was a good father. And he died a hero.”
“You make it sound like a complicated story.”
“It is.”
“Could I hear it?”
“Yes. I will tell you all of it. And more about your own story.” She moved her hand as if ready to touch his knee, but caught herself in time to pull back without startling him.
“And what about my grandson?” he asked.
“We sent him away today because we need to go over some things first. But we can arrange a meeting for the two of you as soon as we get this out of the way.”
His eyes were still on the tray.
Mary Margaret said, “You can eat if you want.”
He glanced up. Then took a chocolate cookie and nibbled at it. He labored each bite as if it were gravel and if he enjoyed the taste he did not let it show.
When he was finished, Belle tried to smile and said, “Food is much better in this land, isn't it?”
“Whatever you say, my Lady.”
“Belle.”
He looked at her, then back down again. “I am sorry for my discomposure, Lady Belle.”
“What do you mean?”
“Crying on your dress- well your-” he eyed her skirt and blouse and found no words to describe them, just a light blush of his cheeks. He tried to cover it by clearing his throat. “It wasn't proper.”
“You were sad. I do not mind.”
“Belle,” Regina said, realizing that his eyes were starting to water again. As unhelpful as it was, at least she was kind enough to lower her voice to a suggestion, rather than chastisement. “You need to move this along.”
Belle nodded, “Yes.” But then limited herself to look into her husband's face. Rumpelstiltskin, in return, did anything he could to avoid her eyes. He didn't trust her. He didn't know her. Belle felt her throat close, locking whatever words she might have inside.
Finally, Regina decided to take matters into her own hands and stepped closer. “We need to address your new condition. It creates all sorts of complications.”
“My condition?” he repeated, fumbling with his cane, sometimes stealing a glance at Belle, who was starting to lean a bit too close for him to be comfortable.
“You have no memories of your past self,” Regina clarified. “And you also have no magic left.”
“Was I really the Dark One?”
“Yes.”
Finally, he asked the question that was really bothering him. “Was I as bad as the one before me?”
Belle was the one to try to answer, “I...” But searching her mind for an answer that wouldn't aggravate him wasn't easy, so she settled for, “I couldn't say. I never met the last one.”
Regina opened her mouth, probably to volunteer her own opinions on the matter, but Emma nudged her with her elbow, shutting her up.
Taking the opportunity, Belle said, “The thing is, you have two centuries of memories lost.”
Rumpelstiltskin breathed out that number, as if it was too high to grasp.
“You have made enemies and, if anyone finds out you're powerless, they might turn on you.”
Rumple didn't move a muscle. When it came, his answer was quiet. “Maybe it's what I deserve.”
Belle shook her head. “You don't know what you're saying.”
“Men don't have enemies for no reason.”
Belle leaned even closer. He seemed ready to get up and change seats, going as far as to grab the edge of the couch, ready to push himself up. Not to offend her, or maybe out of fear, he decided against it and stayed put.
“You don't remember your sins, but I do,” Belle argued. “I can say that you've more than paid for whatever you might have done in your past.”
She could see he didn't fully believe her, if he believed her at all. But he also didn't argue, so she went on, “The people in this room and your grandson are the only ones who know of your new condition. We'd like for things to continue this way. If anyone finds out you have no magic, they might hurt you.”
He gave her a tiny shrug.
“And,” she added, hurriedly, “you don't want your grandson to grow up without you, do you?”
Emma jumped in, “Besides, they could hurt him. To get to you. You wouldn't want that either.”
Mary Margaret squeezed David's hand, bigger concerns in her mind. The town demanding Rumpelstiltskin's head on a plate. The people divided because of their hate for one man. Chaos. Possibly, battle.
After a moment, Rumpelstiltskin answered, “How do you suggest I pass for a wizard, Lady Belle?” his tone was mild, pleading.
Belle said, “You don't have to pass for a wizard. You just have to pass for the man you were.”
Regina scoffed. “I don't think there is much difference in his case.”
“Regina, will you just!” Belle started, but a sudden movement from Rumple made her stop.
“No, no, please, she is right.”
Belle glared at Regina, but calmed herself before turning back to Rumple. “We will teach you,” she promised.
“You'll teach me to act like a nobleman? To live in this strange land?”
His tone was skeptical, but Belle didn't falter. “Yes.”
“And either way, you were spending a lot of time inside your house. It's not like we're expecting you to interact with other people on a daily basis,” Regina said, and Emma waited for her to let slip the information that he had been condemned to house arrest after the breaking of his curse.
At the time, no one really knew what to do with him. On the one hand, Rumpelstiltskin had so much blood on his hands it couldn't simply be overlooked; on the other, he had been the victim of a curse that was slowly killing his ability to love and had seriously clouded his judgment. How to isolate the acts of the Dark One from the acts of Rumpelstiltskin? And how to punish him for some, while forgiving others? How do you explain that to the people he had hurt? Confining him to his home and keeping him away from the rest of Storybrooke was not a solution, but it'd have to be enough for now. For as long as they believed he was still the powerful Dark One, no one would knock on his door to cause trouble, and that would buy them time.
But, as it turned out, they didn't have as much time as they thought they did and a situation that was already complicated just made itself worse.
Emma kept her eyes on Regina, ready to nudge her again if she decided to volunteer any information that wasn't particularly helpful to the occasion, but would serve to amuse her. Instead, Regina allowed Belle to continue.
“We will be here for you. You won't have to do it alone.”
For the first time, he raised his eyes and looked around, first at David and Mary Margaret, then quickly at Regina and Emma. He didn't dare look at Belle, but asked her, “Are we friends?”
“Oi...” David said, dreading the family tree explanation.
Mary Margaret said, “Family. Of sorts.”
“Your grandson is her” Regina pointed at Emma “son, but I raised him. She is their daughter.” When he frowned, she added, “You'll get the age issue later.”
“Were you and Bae married?” he asked, faintly.
Emma blushed. “Uhnn...”
“No, they just had sex a few times.”
Emma didn't know if Regina had been blunt for the pleasure of making her uncomfortable, or the pleasure of watching him turn red at the mention of sex, but it had worked, on both accounts.
“Regina, you are being...” Belle searched for the word and concluded, exhausted, “insufferable.”
“And who are you?”
Nervous glances were shared around the room.
Except from Regina, who gasped with girlish delight and asked, “Can I tell?” only to hear a collective “No!” as a response.
“Are you their...” He tried to think of a plausible explanation. Decided on, “Are you their other daughter?”
Belle cleared her throat. “I'm... I'm your wife.”
Now Rumpelstiltskin was looking at her. Still careful, but with a little annoyance in his eyes.
“Please, I am taking this seriously.”
“I... am... serious.”
He sighed and shook his head. “This has been a really long day, Lady Belle. If we could not waste time with jests-”
“I am not jesting. I am your wife. Look!” She took off her wedding ring and handed it over to him. “What does it say?”
He examined the inside of the wedding ring where his long name had been engraved, filling almost the whole loop.
His eyebrows shot up. “You are my wife.”
“Yes. Now that-”
She reached to get it back, but he didn't let go of it, suddenly looking very disturbed.
“You are my wife?” he repeated.
Belle blinked at him. “Yes, that is it. Now that we're past that, could you-”
“You are my wife?” he said once again, putting so much emphasis on that last word that he practically shouted it.
“I...” Belle said, not really sure what to do next. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Apparently, he did, because he got up and marched out of the room as fast as he his leg would let him.