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ilguna · 3 years

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Redamancy - Chapter Four (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, MURDER, GORE.

wc; 8.8k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Even though the Hunger Games doesn’t start until ten, you’re in the betting room at nine. You’re not the first and only mentor to come down bright and early, there’s plenty of others who are already making their way around the room. Shaking hands, exchanging compliments and holding friendly conversation.

You’re not exactly the same way, as you stand off to the side, gnawing on your thumb’s nail. You’ve watched Annie and Marsh’s odds bob up and down plenty of times already, as the gamemakers try to decide where they belong last minute. So far, Annie and Marsh are back to back in numbers, with Marsh being on top.

“You’re stressed.”

Gloss is staring up at the betting board when you look over at him. He’s got his arms crossed, serious and straight-faced. In the past, he would be some type of excited because of their undeniably fantastic tributes. This year is different, as you’ve already discovered many times. His male tribute scored lower than usual, and the girl is higher by one single point.

It’s normal for the careers to score from anywhere between eight and ten, but that doesn’t mean they want an eight. They want nines and tens, because it shows proficiency and dangerousness. Plus, it’s normally District Four who’s scoring eights and whatnot. A good example of that is when Finnick scored the number when he was fourteen.

Today’s seriousness doesn’t reflect the attitude that was being presented last night. Last night was much livelier, a laughing group of mentors on the streets of the Capitol. Of course, as Finnick requested, you all stayed inside and in private rooms for most of the time, but eventually he decided that he wanted to experience the festival the way you guys normally do.

Which is practically chaos, as Gloss and Enobaria feed into each other’s bad thoughts and drag you around the city doing whatever they want. Trying on regular Capitol wear, buying replica crowns that Snow places on the brows of victors. They try different drinks and foods, all a hundred different flavors, some sweet, others sour, sometimes spicy.

The Capitol is a playground to them, and it’s fun to watch them break rules and create their own. Playing games on the sidewalk to see who will chug the next cherry vodka, who will lose a shirt or a sock or a piece of expensive jewelry down a storm drain. The night of the interviews is the only night where you all get to be your true selves.

Even Finnick felt comfortable enough to join in on your antics. It’s always a night to remember, you’re sure that he’ll be using it to tell stories in the future. The year where you cornered Finnick to helping you, and how he saw that you weren’t always who you pretended to be. It’s easy to be professional when you don’t like someone, but it’s harder to contain yourself when you’re surrounded by people who understand what you’re going through.

Of course, it’s only one night. If your tributes die, you get sent home, so you never have the chance to congratulate and celebrate with your friends after they bring home another tribute. You can always say your peace the next year, but by then they’re over it, and they’re ready for another victor.

“So are you.” you playfully punch his bicep, “Look at you, you never cross your arms.”

He gives you a smile, “Whatever, it’s not that much of a giveaway.”

“You’re right, it was definitely your face. You never scowl.” You look at the board again to see that all the numbers seem to be locked, “Careful, you’ll end up with wrinkles. After that, people will really begin to realize that you’re older than Cashmere.”

The board is a little confusing at first to get used to, but after years of looking at it, you’ve grown accustomed to it. At the top reads ‘MORNING LINE ODDS’, and below is a row readied for how many days, hours, minutes and seconds the tributes have been inside of the arena. Which is none at the moment, so instead they have a countdown going on. Fifty-four minutes. Less than an hour.

Below it are more rows and information about the tributes. The left states their district, and then it splits into two. The Capitol doesn’t care about names anymore, just the important parts. Their heights, weights, ages, betting odds and faces are displayed for everyone to see.

For Gloss and Cashmeres tributes, they’re both doing fairly good on odds. The girl has a predicted 5-1 chance of winning, and the boy has a 7-1. In the past, the roles have been reversed, the boys always show a brute strength during their private training so it’s hard not to score like that. Enobaria and Wades tributes are better, even with the repeating numbers. The girl has a 5-1 too, but the boy holds a 3-1 because of his score.

The gamemakers are used to your tributes’ scores teetering on the edge of very good and mediocre, which normally earns them a 9-1 or lower. However, since your tributes have shown promise through personality and matching high numbers, you’re staring at a 7-1 for Marsh and a 8-1 for Annie. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than the past scores.

You think that the lowest you’ve seen for District Four is a 20-1. That was a particularly horrible year, and since then you’ve learned to stop the problem before it gets too bad to be fixed. Maybe it’s attitude, maybe it’s not caring for training, you’re there with dead eyes and mean words to put them back in their place. They like to self-sabotage, not a good thing to do when you’re going into the Hunger Games.

On one hand, you’re thankful for the morning line odds, because it gets the betters a sense of direction of which tributes they should sponsor and keep an eye on. But sometimes it seems futile when the sponsors will do whatever they want, or go for the more obvious and favorable tributes--cough cough, Districts One and Two. You can never go wrong betting on the districts that practically get a winner every year.

“Haha.” Gloss says in regards to your age comment, “Where’s Finnick?”

You shrug, “Couldn’t find him at all this morning.”

It’s true, you searched the entire apartment three times before leaving. The living room, the kitchen, the balcony, your bedroom, his bedroom, even in the hallway and stairwell. There wasn’t a single trace of Finnick anywhere, it didn’t even look like he spent the night in his room, but you definitely remember him going in there last night.

Whatever, you’re not all that upset. It’s the first day, and even if there’s a lot that happens on the first day, sponsorships aren’t one of them. The first day relies on the tributes to get used to their surroundings and figure things out for themselves. The second day is when mentors and sponsors begin to collaborate.

Doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be down here anyway. It’s nice to make friends while you can. You’ll just have to talk to Finnick later about him helping you down here. The whole reason why you’ve called on him for help this year is because of the betting room. An extra pair of eyes, ears and hands helps out, it goes a long ass way. Two people mingling is better than one. You can pull more sponsors together.

You glance at Gloss, “Where’s Cashmere and the others?”

“Wade’s here,” Gloss turns, thumb jabbing in the direction. He’s got the spot perfectly right, you’re able to see that Wade is surrounded by Capitol people, all laughing and joking around, “Cashmere and Enobaria will be down here later. They’re sleeping in, I think.”

“Well, after last night…” you trail off with a small smile, and Gloss snorts.

It’s quiet between you two as you watch the time tick down. Thirty minutes left, the tributes are close or in the catacombs at this point. Judging by the small glimpse the gamemakers gave this year, you think that the arena’s going to be sunny. They’re probably dressed in regular clothing, stuff that won’t make the tributes too hot but won’t allow them to get cold easily.

Honestly, at this point, you’re tired of the build up.

“At least your tributes’ odds are doing well this year.”

“Tell me about it. But it came at a price, since yours fucked up during training.” you run a hand through your hair, getting annoyed when it falls back in your face.

“There’s always room for redemption.”

Redemption, what a pointless thing to bank on, “Right.”

You’d tell him it’s good to have hope, but when has hope ever helped you? It’s always a letdown. And out of all tributes that are about to enter the arena, the careers aren’t the ones that need hope. It’s everyone else.

More silence, you mindlessly watch the time tick down. Thirty minutes, twenty, fifteen, ten. Everyone starts getting antsy around five, you and Gloss stand behind the rows of chairs that begin to fill with citizens. Wade comes around and joins the two of you, talking about what he discovered during conversation.

He was going after their opinions on the tributes. And while they have sung good praise of their tributes, as usual, they also couldn’t stop bringing up Marsh in particular. There were constant comments on how they had wished that he would’ve gotten more time on stage. It was new to them, and they liked the new approach.

You figure that other mentors will start telling their tributes to follow in Marsh’s footsteps, and after that the comedy skit will be ruined and you’ll have to find something else that’ll catch attention. At this point, everything possible has been found and exploited until it got old.

Twenty seconds until it hits a minute, which is when they’ll raise the tributes. The games don’t officially start until that minute is over. The clock will flip, and then it’ll start from the bottom up. You clench your teeth, spinning your ring around your finger over and over. Annie and Marsh are in the tubes, submerged in darkness, you can feel it yourself, the stomach lurching and the dread and regret. It’s too late now, they have to fall through on what they’ve built so far.

They’ve got this. They’ve got this. They’ve got this.

The clock hits a minute and five seconds, you can begin to see the tops of tributes heads. You lean forward slightly, eyes searching for Annie and Marsh, and find them easily. They’re close together, maybe two tributes between them, which is good news. They can see each other and decide what they want to do. You hope they discussed some sort of plan at some point regarding how they want to start their games off.

The cornucopia this year is silver and placed in the middle of a field of flowers. The grass is tall too, but thin enough to see where the gamemakers have placed the goodies outside of the cornucopia this year. As the camera pans around the tributes, you’re able to catch glimpses of the arena.

A field of flowers, hills that seem to stretch forever and offer little to no protection. In the distance is… a village? Others must see it too, because whispers break out, predictions on which tributes will immediately run for it. It’s an obvious place to go, Annie and Marsh won’t head there first. They’ll go for a better place.

However, it’s not inevitable, it’ll probably be the first place where the careers will go to get as many people out as possible. For a quick and scary moment, you think that this will be a fast Hunger Games. Whatever happens, just let one of your tributes last until the end.

One last shot before the sixty seconds is over, and it feels like you’ve been stabbed in the heart.

The dam that they showed--the preview--they must’ve edited it or something with how they made it look so small and not at all threatening. You thought it was holding back a small river, especially with the stream of water that was coming from it. But this--this is not for a river. This is for a fucking lake.

“Oh my fucking god.” you lace your fingers, placing your hands on the back of your head.

“Wow.” Gloss utters, “Yeah that isn’t at all what they showed us.”

From what you can tell, the tributes are supposed to be far away from the dam, a couple miles at least. But it’s still big enough to see through the trees, and tall enough to block some of the sky. Actually, it reminds you of the cliffs in your games. The cliffs were a two day walk from the cornucopia, and yet you could see them over the tops of the trees.

No one in their right mind would head towards the dam, especially with the chance that it would break. It’s just not common sense, and Annie and Marsh have shown promise when it comes to thinking logically. Which means that they would have to head the other way… towards the village.

They’re fucked. Everyone in that arena is set up for failure. You give it a couple of days, maybe a week and a half at most. No one in their right mind is going to want to stay next to the dam, but on the other hand they won’t want to get killed. And you can hide near the dam at the beginning of the games, but eventually if you want to head towards the village and clear hills, people will see you coming from a mile away.

You clench your fists, gritting your teeth more as your nails dig into the skin on your palms.

Out of all the arena’s that you’ve seen, this is by far the worst. It’s a trap, there’s no choice but to fall victim to it.

“Well, there goes literally everything.” Wade lets out a laugh.

“The others should be down here.” Gloss says.

He’s referring to Enobaria, Cashmere and Finnick, and he’s completely right. They won’t know what’s happening or the situation until later. By then, it’ll be too late. The bloodbath always costs around seven to ten lives, and if they all scatter towards the village, you think at the end of the day, half the competition will be gone.

The countdown has reached five, you watch as Annie and Marsh prepare to run into the cornucopia. It isn’t a bad choice, they’re good fighters. As long as they don’t go too far in, maybe grab the supplies that are only a few feet away from the mouth, they’ll be golden. You hope they realize this.

The gong sounds.

It’s only been a couple of seconds, and a handful of tributes are already heading towards the village. Others dare to run towards the dam, but they’re all apprehensive and continue to steal longing looks at the cornucopia and beyond that. They’re not the focus of the cameras, though.

The bloodbath is horrible as usual. Annie and Marsh are next to each other, stealing things out of the grass, shoving them into an empty backpack. Sheets of plastic, bread, firestarters, rope, water jugs. You watch with furrowed eyebrows, trying to keep track of the careers and the deaths.

On the side of the screen is a list, one at a time names and districts appear. The girl from Six, the boy from Eight, the girl from Eleven, the boy from Twelve. Two minutes in and four are already dead. Annie and Marsh head towards the cornucopia quickly, a plan already in mind.

Marsh slips inside of the cornucopia, making your heartbeat in your ears, body filling with adrenaline. Stupid move, going inside traps you there. Not even in your games did you go inside all the way. He’s gone for ten seconds, twenty. Annie doesn’t appear to be worried at first, but it changes when a career sets their eyes on her.

The boy from One.

“Oh, here we go.” you cross one arm over your chest, the other covering your mouth.

Annie ditches the backpack, throwing it against the cornucopia to keep it clear of her path. Out of nowhere, she pulls out a knife, spinning it between her fingers to make sure that the boy knows she has it. Her body curls in forward, chin dropping downwards.

She would look threatening, as if she has a chance at winning this fight if it weren’t for the short blade that the boy has. He comes towards her, a smile hinting at the corners of his lips. He swings, she dodges easily and advances forward. Annie isn’t a runner, especially not when she has a plan.

This is life or death, Annie. This isn’t practice anymore. This is for real.

He swings again, she moves out of the way and comes closer, a little out of range. The boy is becoming frustrated, and his swings begin to cut close. Annie side steps, you can see the blade cut through her shirt, when the boy holds his blade up, you can see a glint of blood. Annie doesn’t even look phased.

Where the hell is Marsh? You look at the corner of the screen, reading over the new list of deaths. The boy from Eleven, the girl from Twelve, the girl from Ten. Seven dead, the bloodbath is practically over, Annie and Marsh need to get out of there now.

He swings again, cutting Annie’s upper left arm. She barely acknowledges it, when the gamemakers change camera angles, you can finally see her face. All those times you’ve watched her fight the other kids at the boarding school, she’d be able to sweep most of the kids with her eyes closed. On the days you and Anchor permitted actual harm, she became more serious about fighting.

Annie shifted in those moments. Her eyes dead, locking on the target in front of her. She always has a plan, always ready to move and bait the person in. She’ll tense in sticky situations, but always find her way out of it. She became unlikable when fighting others because of this. Always said that it was an unfair fight.

And she’s about to bring the boy from One down.

The boy swings one more time, Annie moves out of the way in time for him to miss. Not a second later, she’s launching towards him, the knife perfectly aimed for his stomach. He’s quick to try and slash at her, so she has to drop the knife in the grass and grab his wrist instead, falling on top of him.

Annie slams her knee into the boy's left wrist, and uses both of her hands to force the sword in the other hand, down towards his throat. His face turns an angry shade of red, eyebrows forced so close that there’s a deep crease between them. Annie’s face is determined, the kind and polite girl that you saw yesterday evening is nowhere to be seen.

It’s a struggle between them, Annie’s got a tight grip around his wrist, knuckles turning white. She grits her teeth, lip curling, lets up for a moment on the arm, only to go crashing back down. The boys’ locked arm breaks, and the sword slides through his throat. Red, thick blood comes out of his throat, painting his tan skin and the silver blade.

Annie lets out a sound, pulls out the sword, and slams it into his forehead. On the side of the screen, the boy from One appears. You let out a breath, watching as Annie gathers her things. It’s right on time for Marsh to come fighting out, the girl from One trying to stop him. His face is twisted like he’s in pain, but it’s just how he focuses too.

If they knock out District One, Gloss and Cashmere go home. It’s over, and all you have to worry about is the District Two tributes. For the first time in a very long time, District One won’t survive past the first day.

It doesn’t work out like that, Marsh sends a harsh kick to her leg and she crumples. He and Annie regroup, and the two of them take off running towards the dam, the backpack bouncing on Annie’s back, Marsh tightly holding onto his favorite weapon. Annie now has the short blade to use.

“Okay.” you breathe, because it could be worse.

The village is going to be a slaughter, so you don’t blame them for running towards the dam. They just need to find another place to stay soon, and hope that the careers don’t come towards them for revenge.

“Congrats.” Gloss has got a smile on his face, clapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks, I guess. One more tribute and you get sent home.” you raise your eyebrows at him.

He rolls his eyes, “They’ll have to try really hard to get that to happen.”

“Anything is possible!” you cheer.

The bloodbath lasted about twenty minutes, even if it didn’t feel like it. The main career group has three left; two girls and one boy. Annie and Marsh are still very much alive, taking camp by the dam. The total bloodbath deaths is eight. Districts Eleven and Twelve are gone; Parry, Seeder and Haymitch are going home.

They’re nowhere to be seen, which you can’t really blame them for. Haymitch is the only victor in his district, and Parry won ten years ago so he replaced Chaff when it comes to mentoring. After a long streak of losing, you’re sure that you’d find yourself holed up in the apartment too. Why bother showing up in the betting room if you know your tributes won’t make it past the first day?

Although, District Eleven typically has their tributes last a while longer. But you guess it’s different this year since both of their tributes ran into the cornucopia on the assumption that they’d make it out alive. At this point, no tributes make it out alive unless they’re very good at fighting or they can slip between fingers.

You take a look at the betting board to see that the dead tributes are greyed out since they’re impossible to bet on. Everyone else who’s still alive have had their odds increase slightly. Now that the gamemakers have seen survival and fighting skills come alive, they can determine how the rest of the games are going to go much better.

The girl from One has increased to a 4-1, the other two careers stay the same. Annie has gone from an 8-1 to a 6-1, Marsh stays the same. Killing the career boy has done her good. Your two tributes will have sponsors around the corner in no time. You think that Finnick will be excited to hear this.

On screen, the careers gather what they need and air out of the cornucopia, heading towards the village, as predicted. For a second, there’s a disagreement, as the girl from One wants to head after Annie and Marsh to take care of them before they become a serious problem, but the other two vote against her, so she’s stuck going towards the village.

Annie and Marsh aren’t the only two who went towards the dam, there’s about three to four others who are there too. Still, the majority went straight for the village, which could very well be because it’ll give them cover from any of the elements, but you can’t imagine that there’s any sort of water source. The gamemakers like to keep the sources to a minimum and in one spot to make sure that the tributes come across each other on refills.

With the bloodbath being over, you can breathe. You, Gloss and Wade take a seat on a couch nearby, with you and Gloss being pressed against the arms, and Wade being sat in the middle. You’d say that it’s crowded, Gloss and Wade aren’t the smallest guys to exist, but there’s still enough breathing room between all of you.

You tap your fingers against the arm of the chair, watching as the cameras all split into groups. Annie and Marsh being one, still running into the woods to put as much distance between them and the cornucopia as possible. The second team of tributes being District Seven, as they’re working together this year, heading towards the left, away from the stream of water that Annie and Marsh are unintentionally going to come across.

The other two tributes by the dam are the girl from Eight and the boy from Five, scattered in their own special way, but not shown individually on screen. They’re not as important, it looks like the gamemakers are focusing on alliances at the moment. Next up are the careers, taking their time with making their way down and over the grassy hills. They’re digging through their backpacks and laughing about something.

There’s no alliance in the village at all. After a few more seconds of glimpses of the alliance tributes, it’s switched to individual. From what you’re able to see, the village is pretty big. At least six tributes are scattered inside of houses or making their way as deep inside as possible. As far as the forest goes, two people are wandering around. There’s only one tribute that you can’t decide where they are because of the way she’s cleverly placed herself.

The bloodbath canons begin to go off now, there’s a series of different reactions. Eight deaths in the bloodbath isn’t even that uncommon, the most you’ve probably seen before is twelve. Hell, in your games you think that there were nine total. Typically, the tributes have enough common sense to save themselves right off the bat.

“What do you think the dam’s about?” Gloss suddenly asks.

Your eyes slowly land on him to see that he’s waiting on you and Wade. Wade shrugs his shoulders, not knowing what to say. They don’t know? How can they not know? You thought that the dam was pretty straight forward. Maybe they weren’t standing in front of the tv close enough to see the cracks.

A part of you wants to tell them what your predictions are, but you bite your tongue and shrug too. In the past, mentors have been able to send secret messages to tributes. It happened in your games, it’s happened in others, and you’ve even sent a couple when it was direly needed. So telling them could backfire in your face.

Even if you’re friends with them, sometimes you can’t trust to give others certain information. It’s so risky, knowing that the other mentor can easily pass off the information. Especially during the initial week inside of the Capitol. The tributes are at your fingertips.

It’s why you resort to being mysterious most of the time. While your mentor friends have nothing to hide because they put their plans out in the open from the start—because you all know that it’s no secret that the careers are powerhouses. You rely on the element of surprise to get you through literally everything.

The mentors can’t tell their tributes what your opinion is if you don’t give one. They can’t tell them that you’re sure your tributes are absolutely deadly and pose one of the biggest threats in the arena this year. They have to rely on past experiences to make predictions, but even then, sometimes districts manage to pull surprises out of nowhere.

The clock hits the first hour mark, by then the careers have made it to the village. Already beginning to weave their way in and out of houses. They’re not exactly quiet, so if a tribute hears them coming, they’ll easily be able to hide before the career gets to them.

Well, that’s what you think. However, every time a tribute is shown individually, you see that there’s nothing to hide behind. There’s no doors, and if there are, they’re broken or falling apart from years with no use. It’s like a terrifying game of hide and seek, but there’s hardly hiding. It’s a game of skill and luck now.

Luck that you won’t get found or your house won’t get chosen. That the career will come just close enough but turn their back at the last second when they decide that a place is clear. But it’s skill, testing the careers senses. Seeing if they properly know how to clear an area completely of tributes.

Just like how luck wasn’t on the side of these tributes when their names got chosen, it’s not on their side when it comes to hiding in plain sight, either. One by one, they’re all found.

The first one is the girl from Five, pressed tightly against the wall, holding her breath with tears slowly coming to her eyes. You can practically hear her chanting in her head, “Please don’t find me, please don’t fine me—“

The girl from One rounds the corner, without a single hesitation, she shoves the sword through the other girls’ stomach before the girl can defend herself. The sword pins the girl to the wall, blood spilling out of her stomach. Five has her mouth open in shock, eyes locked on the weapon, fingers fumbling to touch it.

One looks pleased, a smile creeping onto her face. For a moment, you can see Cashmere in her. The blonde hair, the green eyes, they all look the same in District One. All the same form of deadly, and they pull sponsors without even having to try because of their good looks. But everything comes at a price, and Cashmere was no exception.

Five doesn’t have a chance to plead, One pulls out her knife and finishes the job. A canon goes off, another teenager greyed out on the betting board. Nine dead. A sick feeling in your stomach tells you that this is going to be another bloodbath.

The boys work together, taking out the bigger houses since the girl wanted to go it alone. They’ll clear one, making sure to make it known, but stick inside of the house for a second to wait to see if they can hear movement. When they’re absolutely sure there’s none, they move on.

This plan doesn’t work initially, they get passed at least three houses before they hear a noise. Had the boy just waited a couple of seconds more, they wouldn’t have been able to hear his footsteps as he creeped down the loud stairs, giving away his position.

With the Ten boy dead, the District Ten mentors are going home. Which you’re sure is a bummer for them, knowing that they’ve been doing pretty good lately when it comes to victors. They’ve had two in the past ten years, which is a good improvement from the gap that they had before.

In the next house that the boys come across is a girl, the gamemakers give no indication on district. And you’re not sure that it matters because she’s dead within the first minute they search the house. The hiding spot wasn’t that bad, but when there’s two searching, more spots are bound to be discovered.

District Three girl gets greyed out on the board. There’s three people still hiding inside of the village, the boys from Nine, Three and Six. All in different places, and the only one that seems to be the furthest is Six, and you can take a pretty big guess as to why.

His district is power. They’re the main producer for it for everyone, and it wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for the gigantic dam that they have. It’s hydroelectricity, the water passes through the dam, turns some gears and it fuels the Capitol and a portion of the other districts. It makes sense that he would be the one that would try and get away as far as possible.

It means that he knows something that the rest of them don’t. However, you have that much figured out. The dam is the danger here, but he must know the mechanics behind it. Why it’s going to fall apart, what event can set it off, how far it’s going to reach when it does. He’s so far away from the dam at this point, miles away from the cornucopia, and he still keeps moving.

It just means that the blast radius of the dam is going to wipe out a large berth of things. Trees, potentially the cornucopia, definitely the houses in the village. And that’s to name a few. There’s no telling what can be uprooted with the force of the water. You’re just curious how anyone will survive it.

Another tribute gets found, it’s the boy from Nine. The careers have regrouped now, all in different forms of bloody. You grit your teeth and try not to gag, remembering the smell of blood, and the feeling of the thickness on your skin. It’s not a pretty feeling, and you can’t shake it, not even all these years later.

The careers agree to stop looking for tributes and start for water instead. Which is a good sign for the two tributes left in the village--potentially three. But as for everyone else in the trees, it’s not as good. You’re sure that Annie and Marsh are far away enough from the stream of water that’s coming out of the dam at the moment, but there’s no way to tell.

Actually, it probably doesn’t even matter that they’re far away from the stream of water, considering that no one knows that it actually exists, except for the mentors. Unless someone went and opened their mouth and gave it away, which you wouldn’t be surprised about. You’re all a bunch of cheats and liars, at this point. There’s no use denying it.

The careers don’t even start to head towards the dam anyway, so that eliminates most of the worry. With the interest in them gone, it’s back to the remaining tributes inside of the arena. It’s been nearly three hours and already half of the competition is gone. When you said that it wouldn’t last more than a week and a half, you weren’t thinking that it would be because of this. You thought it would be the dam.

Everyone loves a good plot twist though, right? Right?

You get up from the couch to stretch your legs, figuring that the worst of the first day is over. It’s one in the afternoon, Annie and Marsh can clearly take care of themselves when it comes to fighting off other tributes. Their main worry at the moment is probably finding water and setting up camp somewhere.

If they were to just head right, towards the stream, they should come upon that shack uphill. It’s risky, staying that close to the dam but they don’t really have much of a choice unless they want to stay the night out in the open. At least with a shack they have shelter and they’re hidden. If someone comes upon it, they’ll have the upper hand.

“Alright, I think I might go back to the Four apartment to eat lunch. Don’t know if I’ll be down here later.” you say, looking at Wade and Gloss.

“And narrowly miss your two best friends?” Gloss asks.

“I have days to see them, I’m not really that worried. Plus, last night was enough to fuel me for the next decade. You’re lucky if I don’t start pretending I don’t know your four altogether.”

“Haha.” Gloss rolls his eyes, but gets to his feet.

He gives you a one-armed hug, you pat his back slightly. Wade isn’t much for physical contact in the first place, so he holds out his hand as a supplement. You slap it, looking at Gloss, “Sorry about your tribute.”

“He was a moron anyway.”

“I’ll see you later then--” you go to turn towards the door but find that you’re face to face with a Capitol woman, dressed in bright blue with accents of black. You have to take a step back so that you’re not breathing the same air as her, giving her a polite smile, “Hello.”

“Are you Annie’s mentor?” she asks.

Three hours in, and Annie’s already going to get a sponsor. It’s probably healing cream for the cuts she endured when fighting the One boy. You have to admit, if she’s completely healed, she’ll be able to move quicker and won’t have to worry about using medical stuff. The blades on the knives and swords are so sharp, especially when they haven’t been used before. Pick your toughest material and it could move through it like cloth.

Your eyes find Annie and Marsh on screen to see that they’re taking a break, going through the stuff in their backpack. Now would be a good time to do it before they get ahead of themselves. You give the Capitol woman a bigger smile, “Yes, are you interested in sponsoring?”

The whole process only takes a few minutes. You and her discuss what exactly she’s looking for, and what the ranges of the healing cream will have. It’s so extremely dirt cheap because it’s the beginning of the games, only three hours in. The longer the games go on, the more prices will be amped up. What could buy you an entire feast on the first day will only get you a loaf of bread later on, maybe not even that.

The woman lets you know that the main reason for deciding to go through with this is because of Annie’s manners on stage. That she can’t believe that Annie is only eighteen and acts like she’s been on this earth for much longer. You have to agree, Annie has her moments where she’s wiser than the rest of you. But it’s mainly because she’s been forced to grow up quicker, thanks to the boarding school.

When it comes to the note, you type in, “Right with you.”

It’s not the best when it comes to hinting at where to go, but you send it and watch it get approved. The first sponsor gift of the Seventieth Hunger Games, and it’s going to your tributes. One last time, you thank the woman and assure her that Annie is very grateful for her compassion.

Now you can’t leave just yet, and have to wait as it slowly comes down to them. You stand by Gloss and Wade, listening to the chiming of the gift. When it comes into earshot of Annie and Marsh, they immediately perk up, searching the trees.

“Found it!” Annie calls, pointing it out while getting to her feet. The cuts don’t even seem to phase her all that much, so it’s partially a waste of money but at least they’ll be able to use it later on if the need arises.

Annie catches the silver gift in her hands, rejoining Marsh as she pops it open. You didn’t really give them any instructions on how to apply it, they’ll have common sense not to use the whole tube, you think. They read over the words to themselves in their head first, before Annie is smiling fondly.

“That’s very sweet.” Annie says, “(Y/n)’s encouraging us as always.”

No, that’s not it. You’re not worried about the misinterpretation, especially not after the knowing look they give each other. Annie folds the paper and places it in her breast pocket, not even reading it out loud for everyone to know. It’s their own choice, and it’s probably a good one at any rate.

Annie has Marsh apply the cream while she tries not to look like she’s in too much pain. You know that it’s not easy having people dig their fingers in your wounds. Fuck, you might have initially blacked out after that bear mutt attack, but you were still half awake. Every single time they went a little too deep or were a little too harsh, you were jolted awake. You’re fairly surprised that you still remember it. It was almost like a fever dream.

Annie and Marsh take a couple more minutes relaxing, but the audio cuts on their part to give the District Seven tributes a chance at the spotlight. It doesn’t mean that you’re not able to see your tributes, though. You’re able to watch them motion and flesh out a plan. It’s good to see that they get along so well, makes for a strong alliance.

Annie motions about heading towards the wall, Marsh’s face begins to harden up. Annie changes to pointing, jabs her thumb in the direction of the cornucopia. Marsh says something, you think you make out the word ‘water’. Annie then holds her arm out to the right, taps the pocket on her chest, and then it seems like they have a plan. They pack up, and head towards the right.

And with that, you go to leave because it’s finally your window. But Cashmere and Enobaria come through the door, bearing a basket and big smiles, “Good afternoon! How’s our tributes doing?”

“Is that food?” you ask, Cashmere hands over the basket, and when you look inside, there’s cold cut sandwiches and flavored bubble water. It really looks like you won’t be leaving here anytime soon.

You all pick your regular back table, that’s perfectly out of earshot of other mentors and Capitol citizens, but you’re still able to see the line odds and the screen with the tributes. They lay out the food, you nibble on your sandwich while Cashmere and Enobaria ask questions and Gloss and Wade give up information.

“Bloodbath knocked out eight tributes.” Wade says, playing with the bubbly water cap, “Which includes Eleven and Twelve.”

“Figures, they’re not very good fighters anyway.” Enobaria says, “Didn’t Eleven have the seventeen year-old girl?”

“She only scored a six so it’s not like she was anything special.” Cashmere has her eyes on Gloss, slowly squinting at him, “What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything.” Gloss makes a face and shrugs. There goes whatever cover he was trying to grasp at.

Cashmere stares at him for a second longer before turning around and looking at the line odds. It doesn’t take long to find, the boy is the first tribute on the left row. She doesn’t even have to look for it. The name is greyed out, of course, Cashmere turns back to Gloss.

“When did Colt die?” she asks.

“The bloodbath.” Gloss says, leaning his head against his hand now, “He went after Annie--(Y/n)’s tribute. He didn’t even stand a chance.”

Cashmere raises her eyebrows, and then looks at you, “Seriously? What happened?”

Conversation launches, you, Gloss and Wade do your best to tell them all the details. Starting from the bloodbath, who’s where in the arena, to the village. They’re not all that surprised to hear that their career pack got an additional four kills, the careers go hunting after the bloodbath to try and get as many as possible. But it’s a shock to know that half the tributes are gone.

After bloodbaths, careers get one--maybe two--kills. And it normally doesn’t happen immediately after the bloodbath, either. It’s sometime during the night because it’s easiest to spot the fires. Hardly ever is there a second slaughter immediately after the first. Because of this, you don’t think that they’re going to have a feast at the cornucopia this year. There won’t be enough tributes to make it worth it.

Annie and Marsh come across water, fill the jugs and put iodine to clean the water. They wander up a little further and find the shack. Just like that, they can call it a day since they’ve already got enough food to last them two days. All they have to do now is set up a plan to keep the food coming.

The careers come across basically a small clear pond. The last time you drank from a pond, you came down with Typhoid fever, really fun times. The Capitol was a bitch for making that dirty water clear to drink from, but the normally ideal water a fucking trick. You are so lucky that the Capitol had the medicine to make sure that the effects weren’t long-term. Otherwise, who knows what you’d be living with right now?

The betting room starts to clear out in the evening because it’s supper time for all of them. You stick around with the pack for a little while longer, remarking that you’re all surprised that Finnick didn’t show up at all, even with all the time he had. Once you’re sure that your tributes can survive the night, you’re bidding goodbyes.

It feels good to walk back to the apartment and to stretch your legs after going between sitting and standing. Sitting at the table already is Elysia, she looks happy to see you, “Welcome back.”

“Feels good to be back up here.” you laugh, tying your hair up, “Have you seen Finnick at all? He didn’t come by at all.”

Elysia shakes her head, “I went to get him for dinner and the rooms empty.”

“Huh,” you let out, sitting at the table.

It's odd, being here with only Elysia again. Makes your stomach churn slightly, actually. No tributes, no Finnick, only you in the betting room… Why do you have a feeling that this isn’t a coincidence?

You said that you’d give Finnick today. The first day isn’t the busiest, it’s the days that follow, when the heat starts to get turned up and the stakes rise. Then the tributes start getting hurt, requiring more to sustain whatever lifestyle they’ve built for themselves. It’s going to be impossible to go to the cornucopia to refill on goods when the entire thing is in a field. What are you going to do? Hide in the grass?

You and Elysia eat dinner, quietly chatting about what you think’s going to happen. In the end, it’s late and you should call it a night. But when you reach your room, hand on the doorknob, something tells you that you shouldn’t go to bed just yet. It’s a gut reaction, you look over towards Finnick’s room. It’s an invasion of privacy.

But there have been plenty of times before where Finnick has come into your space without permission, right? You sigh, kick off your shoes by your door, and then go into Finnick’s room. It’s dark and quiet and smells like perfumed fabric softener. You don’t bother with turning on the lights, Elysia already said that he wasn’t in here.

You make yourself at home, tossing a pillow onto the hammock and using it to support your head and not get your hair stuck in the rope. You stare and watch and wait for a while, playing today over in your head. You don’t think that there’s a single thing you would have done differently. Annie and Marsh were smart to run towards the dam, and Annie knocked out a whole career while she was at it.

However, they also proved that they were a couple to keep an eye on. The girl from One is smart enough to see it like that, to want to go ahead and go after them. On one hand, it’s a good thing that the boys didn’t listen to her. Your tributes are still alive, in a house for the night. But on the other hand, four other tributes died because of it.

But then again, it was only a matter of time. You saw all of their deaths coming, and so did every other mentor in that room. None of you could have known that on the other side of the dam would be a village. What use is it to warn your tributes if they’re just going to be fucked either way?

Oh hey, there’s going to be a cracked dam inside of the arena this year. If you can, I’d probably steer clear of it. The most it seems to provide is a steady stream of water, so at least you have that! Also, I wouldn’t worry much because the dam looked pretty damn small when I got to see it.

What use would that have done? It would have been a fucking culture shock, to think that you’d be ahead of the games for once. Like, “Okay, don’t head toward the dam, use it as a last resort. Worse comes to worse and you can maybe outrun the water.” until you’re face to face with a concrete wall that’s literally a mile taller than you, and the only place to go is a field out in the open and a village that provides the only shelter.

If there was any time to facepalm, it would be now. Hell, even your warning at agility training is going to do fucking nothing. You originally thought that it would come in hand to hop from rock to hill or tree root or something, but that’s going to be hard to do in the grassy field. Yes, let’s hop from grass blade to grass blade.

So fucking stupid, all of this.

You sit there fuming for a little while longer, shaking your head, rolling your eyes and gritting your teeth. You wonder if any of the other mentors have seens something like this before. Wait, that’s stupid. Of course there’s been an arena before this that has been the biggest April fool’s prank of all. Haymitch Abernathy had to live in a hell disguised as a paradise. Yes, you think that might be the worst arena you’ve ever seen. And he had forty-seven other tributes to worry about on top of the killer squirrels.

You snort, but it’s really not all that funny.

The room door opens, you squint just before the lights are flickered on. Finnick stands in the doorway, wearing a white button down shirt and nice black slacks. A part of you wonders where he’s been all night to need to dress as nicely as this. His… job… for the lack of a better word, doesn’t start until after dinner, usually.

And supposedly, he’s been gone all day!

Finnick doesn’t seem to see you at first. You grin to yourself like a child, “Boo.”

He jumps, a startled sound escaping him, it sounds like a yelp. He turns with wide eyes, staring at you. You laugh to yourself, “What the fuck? How long have you been here for?” he presses his hand against his chest, “Gonna give me fucking war flashbacks.”

“Been here since dinner, which was…” you trail off, looking at the time, “About four hours ago, apparently.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Like watch the arena?” Finnick slips off his shoes and socks, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

“I did that all day, I actually waited here to tell you that it’s your turn.”

His eyes land on you, “To what?”

“Watch the tributes, sit in the betting room until I relieve you.”

His face twists, “Nice choice of words.”

You roll your eyes, “You owe me this much. I’ll give you a quick rundown about what happened--”

“I already know.”

You throw the pillow at him, “Perfect! You can put your shirt back on and go downstairs!”

He looks at you, “(Y/n), I’m tired.”

“I’ve been up since eight this morning.” you give him a smile, “It’s now nearly midnight. I think you can sit in the betting room for a couple of hours.”

“A couple is two.” Finnick says, “You’re asking me to sit in there for ten.”

“Which is almost half of what I did today! It’s only fair!”

He stares at you. He doesn’t look tired on the outside. In fact, it looks like he just woke up a couple of hours ago. If he were tired, he’d be more sluggish, and you’d know because you’ve been around him for years now. And the last week has shown you what it’s like to actually interact with him when he’s had tough days and nights.

Today is neither of them for him.

“Okay.” Finnick agrees.

“Okay?” you raise your eyebrows, “Sweet. I’ll be up at seven and down there at eight to switch places, then.”

Finnick starts buttoning his shirt back, you give him a cheeky smile, getting off the hammock and heading towards the door. You’re about to leave, but then you stop and turn towards him.

“If I get down there tomorrow morning and you’re nowhere to be seen, you’re not going to like what happens.” there’s no smile, the words are dead cold. Finnick stares at you, fingers frozen in place, “I can promise you that. Goodnight.”

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

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woodelf68 · 6 years

Text

A Life Worth Living

A fix-it/improving fic for OUAT 7x04, “Beauty”. Fills in some of the blank space between Gideon’s first birthday and the scene on the bridge. I thought this was going to be a short ficlet, but it just kept growing... Wordcount: 12, 830. Rated G.

“Gideon, wait!” Belle called as their son dashed ahead and clattered up and over the steep curve of the high-arched bridge. “Wait!”

He paused at the bottom, looking back, already tall for his age at ten. “I won’t go far,” he promised. “Come on, Tabby!”

Unlike her brother, it was obvious that seven year-old Tabitha, with her small, fine bones, was going to take after her parents. She took an automatic step after Gideon, then looked back at her mother. “May I?”

Belle sighed. “Oh, all right. But be careful, and stick with your brother. Stay within range of our voices!”

Tabitha beamed her current gap-toothed smile and took off after Gideon, her dark hair flying out behind her. Her brother waited to grab hold of her hand before they both disappeared into the trees at the far end of the bridge.

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. “They’re just excited. Children aren’t much for scenic views, no matter how stunning.”

“Well, I am,” said Belle, taking his hand in hers. “Did you know that some books say that this bridge is older than time itself? For thousands of years, people have made sacrifices here, making their wishes in this very river. Imagine that kind of ancientness.”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled and stroked her hair, playing with the one white lock that sprang from her temple. “I don’t have to. It’s not the only one to see the generations come and go.”

“Oh, Rumpel -- “ Belle began in exasperation, turning more fully to face him.

“Belle, I’ve been alive for many, many years, and of those years, the last ten have been the happiest I could have ever imagined.” His eyes were full of love as he looked at her.

Belle smiled and ran her hands over his arms, her fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sleeves. “And we’re just beginning.”

“I know. But there’s only one way I want to llve this life from now on -- as a mortal.”

“What are you saying?” Her heart seemed to stop for a split second, then began to beat faster, in hope and excitement.

“I have a confession. This isn’t just another stop on our adventure; I started thinking after we first read about this place. But I didn’t want to say anything until I’d seen the bridge for myself, until I’d felt whether there was magic here. And there is, Belle, I can feel the energy of all those wishes here. It’s like a quiet hum all around us. I’ve been a slave to the Dark One for too long, and now I can only hope that this river can grant me my one and only wish -- “ He reached out and caressed her shoulder. “To live a singular, natural life with you.”

“There’s nothing that I would love more.” Belle took both of his hands in hers and squeezed. “But how?”

“True Love’s Kiss can break any curse,” he quoted, smiling.

“But we kiss all the time.” Her face showed her puzzlement.

“Not with intent. Not in a place imbued with the power of belief built up over the centuries. And not when I was fully, 100% sure that I could live without the power, that I didn’t need it anymore.”

It had been years since he’d regularly used magic, ever since that time during Gideon’s first year when Belle had come upon him using his magic to make Gideon’s stuffed animals romp around him, their boy laughing with delight. She’d smiled at the sight, but later that night had turned to him with a face that showed that she been been thinking.

“All the magic that you do, it all comes with a price, yes? What if that price has been taken out of our relationship, caused us to make stupid decisions, to hide things, to lie and doubt one another? I know that we’re in a good place right now, but every time I look at Gideon I think of how we almost lost him, how lucky we are to be given this second chance. And I don’t want anything to screw it up.”

Rumpelstiltskin had blanched, his gut clenching with a sick feeling of dread. Because it was possible. Storybrooke had finally settled down after the Black Fairy’s defeat, and he had had no call for any potions or spells. But magic had become ingrained into his very nature, and some times it was easier to poof someplace rather than walking, or light a fire with a wave of his hand, or use his powers like he had this afternoon, to entertain a four-month-old baby. They were all small things, things that he barely had to think about -- but Belle was right. They added up. And they were unnecessary.

He had vowed then and there to stop using magic unless it was absolutely necessary. What if the very thing that he felt allowed him to protect Belle and Gideon had in fact been extracting its price from their happiness all along?

It had been hard, centuries of habit needing to be broken, but he had done it. By the time they had left Storybrooke on their travels, it was no longer his first instinct to do things by magic. Outside of Storybrooke, in a world that was virtually without magic -- not quite, because he had felt it, in a few places they’d visited -- it hadn’t even been an option. They’d started their travels in the United States before moving on to other countries. Whenever they’d felt the need to rest and recharge their batteries -- travelling being tiring even without a baby in tow -- they had found a place they’d liked, and settled down for a while. There had been the beach house they’d rented for a month in California, and the rustic wood cabin in the Adirondack Mountains of New York -- except it was probably too big to be called a cabin, but it had felt like one. They’d settled for an entire year in a charming village in the Austrian Alps to give Gideon some routine while he got the challenge of toilet training sorted out, and then for an extended stay in Cambridge, England, after Belle had become pregnant again and they’d wanted the reassurance of a doctor and hospital nearby. Tabitha had been born there, and Rumpelstiltskin wondered how long they might have stayed in that beautiful city, rich with culture and history and enough libraries to delight Belle down to the depths of her very soul, if they hadn’t decided on a visit to Storybrooke, to see Henry graduate from high school.

They’d kept in touch with the occasional postcard and letter and souvenir, Henry always writing back with prompt thanks when he received a present and keeping them apprised of what was going on in Storybrooke. Usually the news was less than exciting, but when he had informed them of his upcoming graduation, saying that he really didn’t expect them to come all that way but he was officially inviting them anyway, they had decided to go, the look of delighted surprise on their grandson’s face making the trip worthwhile. They had spent the summer, airing out their house, introducing Tabitha and letting Henry and Gideon build a relationship. It didn’t take long for Gideon to warm up to his nephew when Henry brought over a whole box full of his old toys for Gideon to play with, or for Gideon to make friends with Neal Nolan when they met at the ice cream shoppe. Soon Gideon was spending frequent play dates on the Nolan farm and working his way steadily through the children’s books in the Storybrooke Library. Astrid was working there now, and had made the children’s section her own personal domain, turning it into something that looked like a bright and cheerful corner of the Enchanted Forest. And Belle was happy to see the whole library thriving under the care of the young woman from the Land of Untold Stories whom she had recruited to help run it when Gideon had been returned to them as an infant. She had wanted to spend as much time with him as possible then, and had known instantly that Matilda Wormwood would make an excellent librarian. It was nice to see the place busy with patrons, and a list of upcoming programs tacked to the bulletin board next to the restrooms. Belle and Rumpelstiltskin had begun to debate staying and starting Gideon at the elementary school in the fall, when Henry had come to them, full of excitement.

Anton had never given up on the magic beans, and had quietly been experimenting with crossbreeds, creating a new, smaller bean plant from the salvaged remains of the original field, one that would need less resources to grow, and take less time to ripen. This was the first year that he had succeeded in creating a near replica of the original, with the power to open a portal between realms. Leroy had come running down Main Street, shouting the news. And Henry had wanted to see the Enchanted Forest at long last, to have his own adventure.

“And you think they’re just going to give you a bean?” Rumpelstiltskin asked doubtfully. “To go gallivanting? Two, actually, you’d need one to return.” He’d been letting Gideon have a try at spinning, having taken up the craft again during Gideon’s first year, the desire to create something for his son out of wool that he’d spun himself overcoming the memories of being forced to spin by Zelena while she’d held him captive. He’d had to buy a new wheel, one untainted by that experience, and he didn’t think he’d ever touch straw again, but it wasn’t gold that he wanted, but the softest of yarns. He’d shown Belle how to knit, and soon they’d been able to wrap Gideon in a blanket that they had created between them, with little booties and a hat soon following, imbuing the wheel with new memories.

“I have as much right to a bean as anyone,” Henry said, the look of determination settling on his face reminding Rumpel heartbreakingly of Bae. “And I want to see where my family comes from. Plus, I’m the Author; shouldn’t that count for something?”

“Henry go somewhere?” Gideon asked worriedly.

“Yeah, kid -- the Enchanted Forest. Fairy tale land! It’s where most of the people in town come from. It’s got dragons and unicorns and castles, stuff like that.”

“I’ve seen castles,” Gideon said matter-of-factly.

“See?” Henry gestured dramatically. “Even the five-year-old in this family has seen more of the world than me!”

“You could go backpacking across Europe,” suggested Belle dryly. “Less chance of ogres.”

“More chances of plane crashes and terrorist bombings,” Henry retorted. “There are dangers everywhere.”

Rumpelstiltskin inclined his head, glancing at Belle. “The boy has a point.”

“But I’ve never seen a dragon,” Gideon put in, still thinking about what Henry had said.

“And you don’t want to,” Rumpelstiltskin said firmly. “Dragons eat little boys for breakfast.”

“Do they, mama?” Gideon demanded.

“Yes, actually, they might,” Belle said honestly. “You’d make a nice little snack.”

Gideon fell silent, thinking about this.

“Maybe you could put in a good word for me with the town council?” Henry asked hopefully. “There’s going to be a meeting, about the beans.”

“Your father would kill me if I let you go off to the Enchanted Forest alone,” said Rumpelstiltskin.

“Well, you can’t come, you’ve got the kids to look after. And I don’t really want to be tagging around after my parents or grandparents anyway; I want to find my own story. No offense.”

“What about griffins?”

They looked down at Gideon.

“Would griffins eat me?”

“They could, but they probably wouldn’t. Leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone, usually,” Belle said.

“A unicorn wouldn’t eat me,” he said confidently.

“No, but they might nibble at your hair.” Rumpelstiltskin tugged on a silky strand, teasing. “Especially after you’ve been rolling around on the ground and you smell nice and grassy.”

Belle cocked her head and looked at Gideon thoughtfully. “Henry, would you mind keeping an eye on the kids for a few minutes? I want to have a word with your grandfather privately.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Henry glanced at Tabby in her playpen, but she was engrossed in the task of stacking some fat plastic rings of graduating sizes atop one another in the correct order. “C’mon, Gideon, show me what you can do with your remote-controlled car.”

Puzzled, Rumpelstiltskin followed Belle into the library when she crooked her finger at him and closed the door behind them.

“I’ve had an idea,” she said.

As expected, none of the Charmings nor Regina were enthusiastic about Henry’s wish to visit the Enchanted Forest when he petitioned for two beans at the town council that had been called to decide what to do with them.

“I’m old enough to take care of myself!” he protested. “You’ve all been there.”

“Let the lad have an adventure,” said Hook jovially.

“Not reassuring coming from a pirate,” retorted Emma.

“Ex-pirate.” Surprisingly, he had turned into not a bad deputy, Emma having appealed to his pride in running an orderly ship. Storybrooke was now his ship, she had told him, and it was his job to enforce its laws just like he had enforced the rules on his ship. He’d had Keith Nottingham locked up for the night on a drunk and disorderly charge before his first week had been up, and if he’d been a little rough, well, the only one complaining had been Nottingham.

“Would it help,” broke in Belle, “If we went along with him? I think Gideon would enjoy seeing the Enchanted Forest, and there are still many places that I always wanted to visit and never got a chance to do so. We could go through together, and then split up. Henry could go off on his own, but if he runs into any trouble that he can’t handle, all he would have to do is call for Rumpel and he could go help Henry in a flash. Plus, if we each had a bean, Henry could just create another portal and return to Storybrooke whenever he wanted, or if he needed to.”

“But what about you guys?” asked Emma. “What if you want to come home before him?”

“We could check up on him before we return, and if I didn’t feel confident that he could continue to take care of himself, we’d either stay longer or convince him to come home with us.”

“I think I’d be okay with that,” David allowed.

Snow looked from him to Henry, and then nodded. “Sounds fair. Yes, all right.”

“it would make me feel better to know that Rumpel’s within reach if Henry needs any help,” Regina agreed. “But do you really want to go off traipsing around the Enchanted Realms with a two year-old toddler in tow?”

“We’ll get a wagon,” Belle said. “A covered one, like the tinkers use.”

“You’ll be washing out dirty diapers in cold streams,” Regina warned her. “No Pampers.”

“We’ll manage,” said Rumpelstiltskin drily. “Just like everybody else who lives there.”

Regina thought of Henry’s early days, and shuddered. “Well, on your own head be it.” She looked at Henry and sighed. “This is important to you, isn’t it?” He nodded. “All right, just promise you won’t try to take on any dragons.”

“Not unless it’s absolutely necessary,” he promised. All eyes then turned to Emma.

“Okay, let’s talk about how you’re going to handle the basics,” she said practically. “Food, shelter, warmth. You don’t know how to catch food and prepare it for cooking. And you’re going to need new clothes if you want to blend in, and I don’t want you stealing them.”

“Well, I thought that Mom -- “ he turned to Regina. “ -- could change some of my money so that it looks like the kind of coins they use in the Enchanted Forest. So I could buy anything I need.”

“I could do that,” Regina agreed. “I’ll make sure you have enough for food and lodging for a while, if you don’t let yourself get taken in by some unscrupulous innkeeper. I’ll change some of your clothing into something suitable as well.”

“That’s great.” Henry grinned. He turned back to Emma. “Well, Mom?”

“How do you plan to get around?’ asked Emma. “On foot?”

“Um, how likely is it that I’d get burned as a witch if I took my motorcycle?” he asked, afraid that he already knew the answer. It had been his graduation present, although he was pretty sure that Regina had been under the impression that it would come in handy zipping around some college town, not the Enchanted Forest. He had been thinking of college, and looking at different places, but... He couldn’t pass up this chance. He hated the thought of leaving the motorcycle, though.

“Absolutely not,” declared Emma. “You want to blend in, not stick out like a sore thumb. Besides, there’s the little matter of a lack of gas stations in the Enchanted Forest?”

“I was hoping one of you could maybe enchant the engine to run on something else,” admitted Henry sheepishly.

“What part of “all magic comes with a price” have you forgotten?” Rumpelstiltskin asked wryly. “Making one coin look like another coin, that’s easy, doesn’t take much magic. Same with changing the cut of some clothes. Enchanting a gas engine to run without gas for an indefinite period of time? No, that’s a different story. I have to agree with your mother here. Walk or buy a horse.”

Henry glanced at Regina, but she shook her head. “It’ll be a good chance to improve your riding skills,” she said encouragingly.

Henry sighed. “All right, no motorcycle. So, do we get the beans?”

Emma threw up her hands in defeat. “Fine. But I don’t have to like it. Is there any way we could work out a way to send messages, though, or get in contact?”

“I might be able to do something with mirrors,” Regina said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure if it’ll work, but Henry can take along a hand mirror, and I’ll try to enchant it to connect with one in your house. We’ll set up a time for you to tune in on your end, and Henry can try to contact you.”

“That would be fantastic,” said Emma gratefully. “And if not...I expect you to come home at some point, Henry.”

“I promise, Mom.” Henry threw his arms around her in a hug. “Thanks. And all you guys too.” He nodded at everyone.

They went through the portal -- which had appeared as a ring of fire instead of the usual nebulous green swirl -- two weeks later, Henry having gotten drilled in swordfighting and archery and how to start a fire without a match (although he still planned on taking plenty) and Rumpelstiltskin and Belle utilising the time to use up all the perishable foods in their house and try to prepare Gideon for the fact that they were going somewhere without such things as refrigerators and electricity and indoor plumbing. They savoured their last evenings catching fireflies in the yard, and days spent berry-picking, and eating burgers at Granny’s. They took picture after picture of Tabby sleeping peacefully in Gideon’s old nursery and of Gideon in his new bedroom that they’d let him help decorate.It had been a good visit, one they had enjoyed, making new memories and fondly remembering the old ones of Gideon’s first year growing up in their house. But without Henry around, and the chance for their children to build a relationship with their only other living relative, the idea of staying had lost its appeal for the moment. There were also calls and emails sent to Cambridge, to secure their house and things on that end. An unexpected opportunity had come up, they said, and they didn’t know when they’d be back. Maybe a few months, maybe a year at the most, they guessed. That was what they said and what they thought as they went through the portal with Henry, Belle clutching Tabitha tight and Rumple with Gideon’s hand held firmly in one of his own, the other holding onto the handle of a large leather trunk, which might have held a lot more than the average person would have thought, and which might have been floating almost imperceptibly above the ground, to make for easy towing.

“Cloth diapers and safety pins,” Belle had said, when they’d begun making out a list of things to take. “The children’s clothes, and ours.”

“They can each take their favourite stuffed animal, and some toys that won’t seem out of place,” Rumpelstiltskin had added. “Maybe some foods that they’re used to. Their blankets.”

“Books,” Belle had said. “Sewing supplies. Toiletries.”

“First aid supplies. Plenty of gold. Maybe a few things from my lab.”

“Pens, pencils, paper. If Gideon’s going to start school a year late, we’ll have to make sure that he’s up to speed with his peers.” Clean, white paper was a precious thing in the Enchanted Forest, not to be wasted by a child practising his letters.

Fortunately they were used to travelling light, but they also were used to knowing that they would be able to easily purchase needed everyday items at local stores. They had to think about what would not be available in the Enchanted Forest, or hard to obtain at best. But at last they had shoved the lid of the trunk down, and latched the trunk shut.

“Wow,” said Henry as he turned and watched the ring of fire close behind them. “That was cool.” He looked his grandfather over. “You don’t look any different.”

Rumpelstiltskin had been prepared to find himself back to looking like a monster with scaly, greenish-grey skin, and had prepared the children for the possible change. But he was pleasantly surprised to see his hand still looking perfectly human, and ran it over his face, feeling nothing but his normal human skin.

“I don’t know why ,” Rumpelstiltskin confessed. “But I’m glad of it.”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve done any dark magic,” pointed out Belle. “Barely any magic at all, really. Maybe that’s why?”

“It’s as good a reason as any.” He shrugged.

Henry looked around, breathing deeply of the fresh air and noticing the quiet, the birds around them having fallen silent. “So, which way?” He hefted his sturdy canvas backpack higher onto his shoulders.

They’d stuck together until they’d reached a nearby town, where Rumpelstiltskin came to the conclusion that they were not in their Enchanted Forest, but another version of it. One that had not been decimated by a Dark Curse.

Henry had grinned broadly at the news. “That’s what I wanted. I wanted to see other versions of the characters I know.”

“Does that mean there’s another version of me here?” wondered Belle. “Another Rumpel?”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” said Rumpelstiltskin.

They had bought a sensible cream-coloured mare called Lark for Henry -- Belle putting her through her paces before letting Henry try her out -- and two heavier-built horses to pull, in turns, the brightly-painted caravan they’d found -- a bright chestnut mare with flaxen mane and tail called Penny and a bay gelding with splashy white stockings reaching up to his belly called Taliesin. The contents of Henry’s backpack shifted into a pair of saddlebags and a magic bean tucked safely away in an inside pocket of his jerkin, he hugged each one of them in turn and mounted up. “Well, I guess that’s it then.”

“Have fun and stay safe.” Belle smiled up at him, encouraging Tabitha to wave goodbye.

“Remember to call if you need anything,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “And let us know when you’re ready to go back to Storybrooke.”

“I will,” Henry promised. “Bye!” He’d touched his heels to Lark’s sides and lifted the reins, clucking to the mare, and they’d trotted off, leaving the rest of them to begin their own journeys.

It had been the perfect time of the year, with the late summer’s warmth easing into a gentle autumn. The harvest had been bountiful, and market stalls everywhere were full of fresh produce and newly-baked breads and jars of fruit preserves and honey, with which they filled the cabinet next to their little stove. It wasn’t long before the interior of the caravan had become a cozy, welcoming space, a mix of things from the old world and the new. Belle had wanted to visit the Frontlands, where they’d discovered that this world’s version of Belle had married a prince whom she had freed from a terrible curse and now lived at his castle. No one had recognise Rumpelstiltskin, though, or his name.

“Which means that I’m not your prince in this world -- but maybe I’m not the Dark One either? Maybe I lived and died in my own timeline?”

“We could ask if anyone’s heard of the Dark One,” Belle suggested, although something about the idea made her uncomfortable. “Or just go see if the Dark Castle’s there, and who lives in it.”

“I don’t know. It might be courting trouble.” He wasn’t sure what bothered him most. The idea of another Dark One running around, or not knowing what had happened to him in this world. Except it was more about what had happened to Bae. Had he had a son? And if he had, had he been conscripted to fight in the ogre war? If so, had he survived that? Had he died young or had he grown up to have a life and family of his own?

Since it turned out that her -- Belle’s -- father in this realm had been an inventor instead of a knight, there was no childhood home for her to stay at, or at least none that held any meaning for her, but the surrounding countryside had looked more or less the same, and she had happily shown Gideon and Tabitha around the places that were so similar to where she had grown up. There were a few awkward meetings with people who “recognised” her, but she soon had her explanation down pat, and she made an effort to avoid her counterpart in this world. The highlight of the trip was the day they had seen a griffin as they’d hiked through the forest. There had been a rustling in the trees above them, and Gideon had been the first to look up, his eyes growing wide as he’d realised what he was seeing.

“Griffin,” he’d hissed, pointing.

“Wha -- ?”

“Shhh.” Gideon clapped his hand over Tabby’s mouth. “Griffin,” he’d repeated, whispering. “Half lion, half eagle.”

“Just be quiet and don’t move,” Belle said softly, crouching down behind them both, putting an arm around each. “They have very good sight and hearing, but movement is what catches their attention most of all.”

Tabby had nodded her understanding and Gideon had released her, glad of his father’s reassuring presence at his side. After a moment the creature swooped down to the ground, all tawny gold flanks and twitching tail and cream-coloured feathers, and wickedly sharp talons and beak. They had all watched, silent and still, as it had curled up in a sunny spot in the glade they had just been about to enter and began to groom itself. They hadn’t moved until finally it had put its head down and closed its eyes, apparently falling asleep, when they had backed away and left, circling around the glade before they had felt safe to resume talking again at their normal volume.

The days turned shorter, and cooler, the trees turning vibrant shades of red and gold. When frost began to appear on the grass in the mornings, they discussed what to do for the winter. Belle was ready to move on, should they find somewhere snug to hole up until the spring? Travel south, to warmer lands? She came up with the idea of visiting Arendelle instead, where she bumped into Anna and called her by name before remembering this wasn’t the Anna that she knew.

“I’m sorry; do I know you?’ Anna had asked.

Belle had shook her head. “You do and you don’t -- it’s a long story.”

“Oh, I like stories!” Anna had said cheerfully “Tell me it?”

When Belle had finished her explanation, Anna had looked at them shrewdly. “So you don’t think magic is bad?”

“Not inherently, no,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “But all magic comes with a price. May I guess -- is your sister having trouble controlling her powers?”

“Yes!” Anna exclaimed with relief. “We’re working on it, but --”

“Rumpel, could you help her?” Belle interrupted.

“Yes, I probably could. I have some experience dealing with magic myself,” he explained to Anna, and her face lit up.

“Really? That would be awesome! Thank you! Can you come home with me now? We could give you dinner and everything.”

Elsa had been at first wary of accepting magic lessons from a stranger, but by the end of the night she had felt for the first time the hope that she might eventually learn to completely control her powers and had invited Rumpelstiltskin and his family to stay with them. Rumpelstiltskin had accepted, giving her daily lessons, Gideon and Tabitha falling in love with the reindeer and spending hours building snowmen and snow forts, and learning how to ice skate and sledding and going on sleigh rides. And inside there were always warm fires where one could read or listen to stories or simply snuggle up in a blanket and daydream while watching the sparks dance. They had left a much more confident, controlled, and happy Elsa in the spring and began making their way south again.

They traveled as the whim took them, seeking out natural wonders and strange creatures, visiting all the places that Belle had once dreamed about, until the sun-baked days of summer began to make the caravan uncomfortably stuffy instead of cozy, and Gideon and Tabitha took it in turns riding in front of Belle on whichever horse was not currently in harness, while Rumple drove, temporarily trading the relief of the shade for some slightly fresher air moving against their faces, and everybody growing more and more crabby and short-tempered.

“It’d be cool in the Dark Castle,” Belle suggested finally, a topic which had been shut down swiftly the last time it had been brought up.

Rumpelstiltskin’s face grew shuttered. “We don’t know if it’s even there, or unoccupied. And you know that’s where she --”

“For the first, there’s only one way to find out. And for the second, I also know that’s where we fell in love,” said Belle gently. “If it’s empty -- maybe it’s time to try to exorcise that particular demon? Maybe it won’t even look that same, but if being there makes you uncomfortable and you don’t want to stay, we don’t have to, but perhaps we could at least visit? Maybe it would help to banish the bad memories, to see Gideon and Tabby running around there? We could even camp in the gardens, if inside is too painful. Or at least stay there in the mountains till the weather cools.”

So they had headed for the lands surrounding the Dark Castle, and found the same village at the foot of the mountain. It had been market day, and Belle had looked around the sellers, choosing an old woman who was chatting garrously with a customer. The counters of her booth held baskets filled with beautifully dyed skeins of wool. “The spinner,” Belle said, pointing, when the woman’s customer had left.

Rumpelstiltskin followed with the children as she led the way, knowing that they needed information before approaching the castle but not quite knowing the best way to go about it. Belle obviously had no problem with it, however, for after complimenting the woman on her goods, she got right to the point.

“Have you ever heard of someone called the Dark One?” she asked boldly.

“Ah, now that’s one of my favourite stories, always has been,” the woman said, her eyes twinkling, and that was not the reaction that either of them had been expecting.

“What do you mean?” asked Belle cautiously.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, we’re travelers, and we heard the name...”

“Well, famous local legend, I’m not surprised. And who doesn’t love a story about true love?”

Belle glanced at Rumpelstiltskin, smiling, and Gideon bounced on his toes, filled with the secret knowledge that she was talking about another version of his parents. “Tell us!”

“Well, the Dark One was a powerful wizard, but he wasn’t always like that. Once he was but a humble spinner, like myself, but he took on a curse to save his son from being drafted in the Ogre War. Terrible it was, but they were down to taking children to fight, having run out of trained soldiers. It was a death sentence, of course, and the man who became the Dark One knew it. Now the Dark One at that time was in thrall to the Duke of these lands, and was forced to do terrible, terrible things. He was tired of life, tired of being cursed, and he tricked the spinner into stealing the dagger that controlled him and killing him, thus passing on the curse to the spinner. Now the new Dark One, the spinner took his power and used it to end the war, saving not only his son but bringing all the children home.”

Rumpelstiltskin was stunned to hear that all the details of his life were not only the same so far, but were being accurately recounted. He felt Belle slip her hand into his, and he squeezed it gratefully.

“So he was good,” Gideon said with satisfaction. “Then what happened?”

“Well, all magic has a price, you know, and the power changed him, both inside and out. His fingernails grew long and sharp and black, as black as his rotted teeth, and skin turned as scaly as a lizard’s.” She curled her fingers like claws and made a menacing gesture at Gideon, who automatically leaned back slightly but then grinned. It was obvious the old woman was a storyteller in full flow, enjoying having a new audience. “And he was quick to anger, quick to strike out. Although perhaps it was simply that he finally had the power to act against those who had made his life miserable before, who had mocked him and called him coward.”

She paused, and Belle had the sense that she was waiting for a certain question, that she had told this story many times before to her own children and grandchildren. “Why did they call him coward?’ she asked softly.

“Because he’d lamed himself to get out of the army,” she said promptly. “Took a great big sledgehammer and smashed his own leg.”

Gideon winced visibly, and Rumpelstiltskin began to wonder how she knew all this, things that had been long forgotten by anyone but himself as he had outlived the villagers who had once known him as an ordinary man.

“That sounds painful,” Gideon said sympathetically, and the woman nodded.

“I’m sure it was! Very painful! He might have lost part of his leg, for all he knew! Personally, I’d rather take the chance of getting killed by an ogre in battle than the surety of living with a horrifically mangled leg, in pain, every day for the rest of my life. So why do you think he did it? ”

“Maybe,” said Gideon carefully, “He had a family at home who needed him.”

“Right you are!” The woman beamed at him. “Do you know what had happened? A seer had told him that his wife was pregnant, but he would die if he went on the battlefield the next day. And he didn’t want his child to have to grow up without a father, like he had, after his own no-good father had abandoned him as a child.” Scorn dripped from her voice, but it was obviously for Malcolm. “Can you imagine that, your daddy just up and leaving you?”

“Never,” said Gideon stoutly, and Rumpelstiltskin squeezed his son’s shoulder, filled with a rush of love. “I think what the spinner did was brave, not cowardly.” Belle looked at Rumpelstiltskin oddly, realising that this woman knew an awful lot about his story that certainly hadn’t been common knowledge in her time. He raised his shoulders helplessly. But as disquieting as it was to hear his life story recounted by a stranger, as least she seemed to understand, and be on his side -- or at least, this other Dark One.

“That’s what I think, too,” said the old woman, “But most people didn’t. He was sent home in disgrace from the army when he was healed enough to be able to walk, although a slow, painful walk it was, hobbling along with a stick for support. News had flown ahead of him, though, and he came home to a wee baby boy and a wife who hated him for what he had done.”

“She was mean!” Gideon said heatedly, defending his father. “He had done it for her, for her and the baby!”

“So he had, but she didn’t see it that way, nor care much for being a mother. But Rumpelstiltskin -- did I tell you his name was Rumpelstiltskin? Funny ol’ name, isn’t it? -- oh, how he loved being a father! He never regretted what he had done, because it meant he could be there for his son, to raise him and love him as fiercely as he knew how.”

Rumpelstiltskin felt a lump form in his throat, as his actions were validated by a perfect stranger.

“And then what happened?” prompted Belle, squeezing Rumpel’s hand.

“Well, eventually his wife leaves them, runs off with a pirate.” The woman sounded like she wanted to turn her head and spit. “And he’s left to struggle all alone, raising his boy. But he does it, until the day came when he became the Dark One. And then it wasn’t a struggle any longer, because they weren’t poor anymore, one of his powers being the ability to spin straw into gold. So he buys them a fine new house, and fine new clothes, and there’s good food, and plenty of it, on the table. But...his son wasn’t happy. He could see the darkness taking over his father, turning him into someone frightening and strange, someone who could kill without a thought. He wanted his old papa back. So he called on the Blue Fairy, and he asked her what he could do.”

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t quite keep the snarl from escaping his throat.

The old woman looked at him with surprise but continued with her story. “And what do you think she said?” she asked, looking at Gideon.

“That they needed to go to a land without magic?” he suggested.

The woman frowned. “What? No. She asked him if he still loved his father, and he said yes. And she said that True Love’s Kiss could break any curse.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at Belle, startled. Could it have been that simple? Could the Blue Fairy of this realm actually be someone who wanted to help people?

“Do you mean that B -- “ Gideon caught himself, remembering that she hadn’t mentioned the son’s name. “-- the son kissed his father, and it broke his curse?”

“He did indeed. And they lived happily ever after. And do you know how I know all this?”

“You said it was a famous local legend,” Belle reminded her.

“Yes, but who’s been telling it all these years, passing it down from one generation to another?”

Rumpelstiltskin had the first inkling of a guess. “What happened to the boy, the son?”

“He grew up, married his childhood sweetheart, and they had a flock of kids.”

“And you’re -- “

“His great great granddaughter.” She beamed at them.

Rumpelstiltskin’s head was spinning. Bae had lived, had married, had had children. Presumably had died at a ripe old age, as the old woman had said they had lived happily ever after. And this other Rumpel had been there to see it all, to be part of it. There had been no separation. He wanted to cry.

“Wow. That’s an incredible story. Thank you for sharing it,” Belle said. She glanced at Rumpelstiltskin, and saw that he had pressed his face into Tabby’s soft curls, his eyes closing briefly to hide his reaction.

“But...” Gideon’s brow was furrowed, until he remembered that in this world, his mother had married somebody else, that his father -- well, sort of -- hadn’t lived long enough to meet her. But he had been happy, and his uncle Bae had been too. So he guessed it was all right. “Did the spinner ever marry again?”

“As a matter of fact he did. He became friends with a widow woman who was struggling to raise her daughter on her own. He soon doted on the wee lass, and loved her like she was his own.They say it was a marriage of convenience at first, his son needing a mother and her daughter needing a father, but there are worse things to base a marriage on than friendship. And after a while, love grew and they had a very happy marriage by all accounts.”

“Oh.” Rumpelstiltskin was taken aback, but glad for his other self. “Well, that was nice for all of them.” Bae would have loved a little sister, he thought. “I guess the talent for spinning has stayed in the family, then,” said Rumpelstiltskin, recovering and bringing himself back to the present.

“Not gold, but worth a few coppers, eh? See anything you like?”

Rumpelstiltskin would have given her a silver coin just for her story, but he knew such largesse would raise suspicions as to his identity, and he also knew the satisfaction that came with having one’s hard work appreciated. He shifted Tabby in his arms so that she could see the yarns. “What colours do you like, sweetheart? We could use them to make you a new sweater for autumn.”

Tabby picked out some soft greens and a lovely shade of plum.

“That’ll be twelve coppers,” the woman said, and Rumpelstiltskin gave her the silver coin, worth twice that.

“For the yarn and the story,” he said. “One more question -- a flock?”

“Well, four. Which is quite enough with children, mind you.”

“What about the castle, though?” asked Gideon, remembering what they really wanted to know about.

“What castle? The one up on the mountain?”

“Yes.”

“That was where the previous Dark One lived, not my ancestor. Nobody’s lived there since, nobody would dare. And who’d want to anyway? Think of all those rooms to clean!”

Belle smirked. “You’d need a maid.”

“Several, I should think! Or magic, I guess.”

Rumpelstiltskin shared a look with Belle, and grinned. “Thank you for everything -- may I ask your name?”

“Jennet, and you’re welcome. Nice to have new ears for my old stories.”

“That’s a lovely name,” said Belle. She took Gideon’s hand. “Come on Gideon, let’s go.”

The long-abandoned castle was a mess. A window had broken, and dirt and debris lay all over the Great Hall, and piles of leaves where animals had come in and made a dens for themselves. Things had fallen over, been smashed, begun to rot. The place was both familiar and unfamiliar, but that could be fixed. When Rumpelstiltskin automatically raised his hand, intending to set the castle back to rights in an instant, Belle had grabbed it and shook her head.

“No magic. We do this by hand.”

“Could I just mend the window?” he asked meekly. “We don’t want a bear or a wolf wandering in and carrying off the children.”

“Oh, all right,” she agreed.

With a quick gesture, he mended the window, then pivoted around, his hand still raised, and all the windows in sight became sparkling clean as well.

“Rumpel!” she chided.

“We need light to work,” he explained, unrepentent, and she had sighed.

They had all pitched in, deciding what was ruined and what could be kept, Belle allowing Rumpelstiltskin to provide a little magical assistance in conveying the trash outside as she realised that there was no way they would be able to shift some very heavy furniture otherwise without breaking it into smaller pieces. When they’d cleared out as much as possible from the kitchen, Great Hall, and two bedrooms, they set to work sweeping and mopping and polishing and dusting, Gideon sturdily helping until he was too tired, and then proving invaluable in keeping Tabby entertained and out of trouble. It was so obviously not his Great Hall that the image of a cage, of being trapped in it and at Zelena’s mercy, simply didn’t impose itself upon this place, for which he was profoundly grateful. And despite the fact that they had never lived in this particular Dark Castle, between all their hard work in cleaning it and seeing Gideon and Tabby running around it, by the time it -- or at least those rooms they’d concentrated on -- was habitable, they had made it into their place. They could tackle the rest of the castle at a more leisurely pace. The hardest thing, in fact, was how difficult he found it to abstain from magic in a place where it had been his whole life. It prickled under his skin, kept his fingers constantly twitching with the urge to clean up, or summon meals, or place protection spells on the children to keep them from touching anything dangerous. There wasn’t the huge collection of magical objects on display here that he had accumulated in their own realm, if this castle had belonged to a version of Zoso, then he would have been a mere pawn who had been kept dancing attendance on the duke who held his dagger, but he didn’t know what might be hidden away, waiting to be found.They’d had a conversation with the children about the price of magic, and how it should never be used without good reason, but after that Gideon had quickly learned the tell-tale movements his father made when about to do magic, and hearing his 7 year-old son pipe up with a chiding “PAPA, NO” did more than anything to remind Rumpelstiltskin why he was avoiding using magic in the first place. Once the castle was back in order again, they made it their home base for the summer, but spent just as much time outdoors as in, in the gardens or exploring further out, the air in the mountains pleasant enough compared to the lowlands. They headed back down to more populated lands in time for the harvest festivals, joining in the singing and dancing and feasting that they offered, and Belle suggested visiting Sherwood, and seeing how Roland fared.

In place of the cherubic child they remembered, they were greeted by a lean young man of striking good looks, but the dark, wavy hair was the same, as were the dimples that appeared in his cheeks when he smiled. After expressing surprise at their appearance, he had asked after Regina, and had been glad to hear that she had been doing well the last time that they had seen her. The band was a mix of old and new faces, and they’d stayed with them for several days, Gideon getting his first lessons on how to shoot a bow and how to tickle trout.

In the winter they journeyed south to Agrabah, and then spent a while on the nearest coast, all white sands and blue waters, where the children could paddle in the warm waters and Tabitha learned to swim. As spring approached, though, their occasional thoughts of Henry solidified into a worry that they couldn’t ignore any longer.

“I mean it’s good that he hasn’t had any need to call on you,” said Belle. “But I’m surprised that we haven’t heard from him yet. It’s been almost two years!”

“We should have told him about messenger doves,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “Let’s head back towards the Enchanted Forest and we can send one.”

Where are you?, they’d sent, as soon as Rumpelstiltskin was able to call a dove to him. It returned several days later, and Rumpelstiltskin held it gently while Belle untied the scroll of paper that had been attached to its leg.

“What does it say?” he asked, releasing the bird. It hopped onto a nearby branch.

Belle unrolled the paper. “Tiana’s kingdom. Married Cinderella --

“What?”

“ -- Having a baby. Come visit.” Belle glanced up with wide eyes, meeting Rumpelstiltskin’s own dumbfounded look.

“Surely he’s joking,” he hazarded, unable to wrap his head around the idea of Henry having not only gotten married but in the role of expectant father.

“There’s only one way to find out. Do you know where Tiana’s kingdom is?”

They arrived to find all was as Henry had said, and Regina already there. Gideon ran to Henry, who bent down to hug him.

“Hey, kid! I missed you. And look at you, Tabby, how big you’ve grown! Do you remember me?”

Once their reunion was over, they settled down for tea and to exchange stories.

“Henry told Emma, and Emma told me, and I decided my family was here,” Regina said, smiling at Henry and Ella, visibly pregnant.

“Where is Emma?’ asked Belle.

Regina shrugged. “Still in Storybrook. She’s a 21st century girl -- this isn’t really her scene. And besides, someone has to look after the place now that I’m gone. But the mirror link works, so she and Henry get to talk every week.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t invite us to your wedding,” Rumpelstiltskin said indignantly, looking at Henry.

“You didn’t invite me to your wedding,” Henry accused him. “And I thought the magical summoning thing was only for emergencies. I didn’t want you to think I was in danger and you had to come immediately and leave Belle and the kids alone.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked abashed. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t thinking clearly back then. It happened spur of the moment, and...” He shook his head. “Would you have come, would you have been my best man if I had asked?”

“Of course!” Henry exclaimed. “I would have been honoured. And I’m glad you came looking for me; I’m glad you’re here now.”

“So am I. I wouldn’t miss the birth of my great-granddaughter for the world.” He glared at Regina. “You could have found me, once you came. Or told Henry about messenger doves. Why didn’t you?”

“I...just didn’t think about it, I guess. I’m sorry; I should have.”

She sounded genuinely contrite and Rumpelstiltskin accepted the apology. “Well, no matter. We’re here now.”

Lucy was born three months later, and after mother and baby had had a rest, Rumpelstiltskin got a chance to hold her for the first time.”Hello, sweetheart,” he said softly, cradling her in expert arms. “I’m your great-grandpa.” He made a face at Lucy and was rewarded by her reaching out to grab at his nose with her tiny fingers. His face split into a grin, Belle smiling as she waited her turn to hold Lucy. After a few more minutes he gently handed the baby to Belle as she held her arms out.

They’d stayed for a while longer, until it was clear that the new parents could handle things on their own and that perhaps Henry and Ella might like more chances to be alone than they could get with five guests staying with them. The kids had grown restless by then, Gideon especially chafing under the need to be quiet when the baby was sleeping and missing the Henry who used to have time to play with him. With Regina staying, they didn’t feel like they were leaving Henry and his new family alone or unprotected.

“But now you know about doves,” Rumpelstiltskin said as they said their goodbyes a few days later, embracing Henry and thumping him on the back. “Stay in touch. And take care of that little daughter of yours; they grow up all too fast.”

“I will,” Henry promised.

They took to the road again, the years waxing and waning and the children growing and thriving. They began talking of the future; the caravan was becoming more cramped than cosy and Gideon old enough that he wanted some space of his own to be private in. They could buy a house near Henry, they suggested. Or maybe it was time to return to the Land Without Magic, while the children were still young enough to adapt more easily. They were still unsettled as to a decision the day that they’d passed through a town large enough to have a school for boys. They had been walking by its fenced-in yard when the door of the school had opened and boys of all ages had come streaming out, running and yelling. Some had quickly formed up into teams and had begun kicking a ball around, another group of younger boys had pulled out long strings of shiny conkers from their pockets and had begun their game of trying to hit and smash their opponent’s conker not far from where they were standing.

Gideon had pressed himself against the fence, his face coming alive with excitement. “Can I go play with them, Papa?”

Rumpelstiltskin glanced at Belle, unsure. “I don’t know; this is a school, and you’re not a student here.”

“Could I be?” Gideon’s eyes were still on the playing boys, and Rumpelstiltskin suddenly became more aware than ever that Gideon was growing up, that he was no longer a little boy who was content with his parents’ company and who might yearn for playfellows of his own age. In Austria, he had had the neighbour boy Felix to play with, and it had taken a long time after they had left before Gideon had stopped talking about his friend on a daily basis. And in Storybrooke he had quickly made friends with Neal Nolan, and had spent many a day playing on the Nolan’s farm with Neal and their dog Wilby.

“Would you like to be?” Belle asked, startled, but it touched on something that she and Rumpel had been discussing. So far, they felt that they’d been able to give Gideon a good general education, but he was reaching the age where he would really benefit from proper teachers in more specialised subjects. And if they were going to ever return to the Land Without Magic, should they be teaching them about its history, its world of science?

Gideon thought about it for a moment in his usual careful way. “I don’t know. What’s it like, going to school?”

“Well, I’ve never been and your Mama had private tutors, but you’d be learning things like what she and I teach you,” Rumpelstiltskin explained. “Reading and writing, and math and science and history, but you’d be learning them in a class with a bunch of other boys your own age. If it’s like the school that Henry went to, you’d go there in the morning, eat lunch there, and come home in the afternoon. Would you like that?”

Gideon scrunched up his face, thinking. “Yes, I think so.”

Belle’s heart gave a pang as she came to the same conclusion that Rumpelstiltskin had. Gideon needed -- no, he deserved --friends that he wouldn’t have to leave in a week or a month. And someplace to call home, some stability. “We’d have to ask some questions,” she said. “Find out if this is a good school, first of all. We could look for another, if not. And if they’re willing to accept a new pupil.” The boys looked happy and healthy enough, she thought, which seemed a good sign.

At that moment one of the smaller boys, perhaps a couple of years younger than Gideon, came wandering along the fence, eyes on the ground as he sought out any newly-fallen conkers from the huge horse chestnut tree in the corner of the yard, seizing on a couple and dropping them into a rough sack that he carried. Gideon, seeing what he was after, spotted a few of the spiky-hulled pods on their side of the fence and picked them up.

“Hey!,” he called. “You want these?” He held them out.

The boy’s eyes lit up as he came over, big blue eyes in a pleasant, freckled face framed by thick brown hair. “Don’t you want them?”

Gideon shrugged. “You can have them.”

“Thanks!” The boy accepted the gift. “Oh, great, these two are already cracked.” He dropped them on the ground and drove the heel of his sturdy boot down onto first one and then the other, stooping to pick out the glossy brown conkers from the shattered hulls. He pocketed them and looked from Gideon to his parents and back again. “Are you new here?”

Rumpelstiltskin moved closer, holding onto Tabby’s hand. She squatted down and picked up a stick to play with, swishing it back and forth through the air. From the muttering under her breath, Rumpel thought that she might be playing fairy wands. “We might be. Can you tell me, is this a good school?”

The boy’s nose wrinkled up. “I guess so. Most of the masters are pretty nice, as long as you do your work and don’t goof off in class. And we get playtime every day.”

“What about subjects?” asked Belle. “What are you taught?”

The boy shrugged. “The usual stuff, I suppose. Sums, and writing.” He brightened. “We’re doing botany right now. Do you know what that is?”

“The study of plants.” Rumpelstiltskin smiled.

”Yes. Like these --” He took one of the conkers out of his pocket. “It looks like it would be good to eat, like a regular chestnut, doesn’t it? But it’s not; it’s poisonous. Eat it and you’d die,” he said with relish.

“That’s very true,” said Belle. “And important information to know.”

“Like with mushrooms,” Gideon agreed. “Some you can eat, some you can’t, and sometimes they’re hard to tell apart.”

“Yep.” The boy nodded. “Hey, do you know the difference between poisonous and venomous?”

Gideon thought for a moment. “Well -- “

The boy didn’t wait for an answer. “If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous.”

Gideon laughed. “Like snakes.”

“That’s actually a very good definition,” Belle approved. She looked around. It was a pleasant-looking town, tidy and prosperous, the sign for a booksellers visible directly across the street from the school. She could be happy here, she thought.

“It’s up to you, Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin said, watching her.

“Well, if we talk to the headmaster and everything sounds good and he’s agreeable, then if Gideon wants to go to school here, than Gideon shall go to school here,” she said firmly.

“I don’t have to go to school, do I?” Tabby looked up, sounding faintly alarmed.

“Do you want to?” Belle asked.

“No,” she declared in a very decided fashion.

Belle laughed. “Then you can continue to stay at home and keep me company, she assured her daughter.

“All right, let’s go find the headmaster,” Rumpelstiltskin said.

“His name’s Master Jerrold,” the boy supplied. He eyed Gideon. “You’d probably be in the class ahead of me, but I could still show you around if you like. If you start coming here.”

“Well, thank you, Master -- “ Rumpelstiltskin hesitated. “May I ask your name?”

“Roderick.”

Rumpelstiltskin and Belle shared a startled look, barely hearing Gideon introducing himself in turn. Gideon, in the brief time they’d known him as an adult, hadn’t told them much about his time in the Dark Realm, but he had shared a name, a name of a boy that he felt that he had failed. Surely it couldn’t be the same boy...could it? Could the lives of all the stolen children have been reset as Gideon’s had been? Gideon, blessedly free of any memories of his time there, was oblivious, showing no reaction to the name.

“Well, Roderick, thank you for the information and the kind offer,” Belle said, and the boy took that as his leave, waving as he ran off. She looked at Rumpelstiltskin, her voice low. “It’s got to be a coincidence, right?’

“Has to be,” he replied, just as softly, but not sounding entirely certain. But...he died, he could still hear Gideon say, his voice wrecked. It wasn’t a particularly unusual name; it was just that the age was right. A couple of years younger than him, Gideon had said. He shook his head. “I don’t see how it could be otherwise.”

Belle nodded. “But it feels like a good omen, though, doesn’t it? Like we’re meant to be here.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Gideon demanded, coming over.

Tabby tapped him with her stick.“Be a frog!” she commanded.

“Ribbit,” he said automatically, but he wasn’t in the mood to play, watching his parents.

“Oh, we were just thinking that maybe it’s time to put down some roots,” Belle deflected, ruffling his hair.

Master Jerrold had turned out to be pleasant and welcoming, and his curriculum having passed muster, they’d enrolled Gideon, and he’d taken to formal schooling like a duck to water, soon excelling in the classroom and making friends amongst the boys, his long legs making him a popular choice when the boys divided up into teams to play football during their afternoon break. They’d found the perfect house for them on the edge of town, made of the local warm yellow stone, with a walled garden and a fenced-in field behind the house that was perfect for Taliesin and Penny. There were separate bedrooms for Gideon and Tabitha, a water pump right in the kitchen, and even a room that had obviously been a library, its bare shelves waiting to be filled with books. In fact, it had seemed almost too perfect, but when Rumpelstiltskin had run a finger through the dust on the kitchen table and asked the property owner why the place had obviously lain vacant for some time, the man had shrugged and said that most business people lived above their shops, and newly wedded couples looking to start a home of their own usually wanted something smaller and cheaper. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and it wasn’t till the year turned and the spring days grew ever warmer that they discovered that the smell from the nearby tannery -- something that they had soon grown used to over the fall and the winter -- intensified into a pungent reek with the heat.

But since by then the house had become a home, moving seemed unimaginable, especially as Gideon had delightedly discovered on their very first day that Roderick was the tanner’s son, the boys’ friendship soon leading to Rumpelstiltskin and Belle becoming friends with the tanner and his wife. So they simply spent the worst days within the confines of the walled garden, surrounded by the fragrant scents of lilacs and roses and wisteria, and Belle had agreed that perhaps a tiny whisper of magic to keep the smell out of the house was allowable. Hopefully the price was no more than the renewed shock of the briefly-forgotten smell when they ventured outside again in the morning. Roderick became an even more frequent visitor on those hot, still days, expressing his puzzlement that the smell didn’t carry inside but glad of it. Midway in age between Gideon and Tabitha, he was a welcome playfellow, amenable to both the rough-and-tumble play that Gideon had been craving and Tabby’s more imagination-based games. Midsummer came and went, and the boys’ school closed down until September.

“Master Jerrold says we’re all too hot and sleepy to learn anything in summer,” Gideon said. “We just have to write a paper on anything that interests us over the holiday.”

It didn’t take long for Belle to suggest a trip, and Rumpelstiltskin had sought Master Jerrold’s advice on places of interest in the region that they might visit. He’d already learned that the man had an excellent library of his own, and Jerrold was kind enough to lend him a volume on the history and geography of the area. Belle had seized upon the book happily, and they had worked out an itinerary for their trip. With their caravan freshly washed and loaded, they had put Penny between its shafts, and set out with Gideon riding Taliesin bareback alongside them.

And now here they were, on the bridge that they had read of, the tales associated with it having gotten Rumpelstiltskin to thinking. Maybe it was a foolish hope to think that it would be that easy, but he could feel the energy surrounding the place. And they had to start somewhere.

“What if it doesn’t work?” asked Belle, concern large in her eyes.

He shrugged. “Then we try something else. Maybe I should just chuck the dagger in the river.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very good idea,” she said dubiously.

“Well, then you’d better put some effort into your kiss,” he teased.

Belle smirked, and threaded her fingers into the silky, feathered hair that fell past his collar. “I’ll do my best.” She gazed into his eyes, remembering that first kiss back in the Dark Castle, the absolute conviction she’d had that he loved her as much as she loved him, despite nothing having ever been said on the subject. Now she had years of memories, so many years of knowing to call upon, image after image flitting through her brain as he bent his head down to her, their lips touching. Their heads tilted in synchronization, finding the perfect angle, and Belle felt Rumpel’s arms come around her as their breaths mingled and she concentrated as hard as she could. I love you, she thought. I will always love you.

Rumpel felt the first tingle of magic, but was afraid to let go, to stop kissing Belle, lest it be too soon. Go, he thought at it. I don’t want you, I don’t need you. Just Belle. Belle and Gideon and Tabby. He tightened his arms around Belle, as a fierce pang lanced through him. And Bae. Oh, son... He felt the magic strengthen, and then it flared, strongly enough to cause him to jerk back in shock

Belle’s eyes flew open and she surveyed him anxiously. “What happened? Did it work?”

Rumpelstiltskin took a deep breath. He felt lighter, somehow. Hesitantly he probed for the voices; they’d gone mostly dormant after he’d given up using magic but he could always waken them with a thought. Now, nothing responded. Heart thudding in his chest, he reached down to pull out the dagger sheathed in his boot. Slowly he lifted it up so they could both see.

The blade was bare of any name.

“Rumpel! We did it!”

Belle flung her arms around him and he quickly moved the dagger off to his side. “Careful, you don’t want to be the next Dark One!” he chuckled, even as he hugged her back with one arm, a giddy sense of freedom sweeping through him.

“Oh! Is it still cursed? Or did we destroy it altogether?”

He hesitated. The blade felt inert to him. But he could still feel the energy surrounding the bridge, buzzing now even more strongly than before. “I think... it’s gone from the dagger. If the Dark One still exists in any shape or form, it’s no longer bound to the dagger. If anything, it went back to the Vault and is safely contained there, with no way to summon it out. But I think...I think that it’s been finally laid to rest. But better safe than sorry, I’m not about to stab someone to find out.”

He sheathed the dagger back in his boot. thinking he would bury it somewhere. Maybe beneath the foundation of a building, let it be covered by tons of brick or stone. He didn’t want to see it ever again in his lifetime, but he didn’t want to take any chances that even the smallest shard of the curse might still cling to it and be discovered by someone else. “Belle?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you feel the magic here?”

Her smile changed to a frown. “You mean at this bridge? I felt like this was someplace special, when we came here, like I could believe the stories about it? But not specifically magic, no. What do you feel?”

“It was like a low-level humming when we first got here; now it’s crackling with new energy. But if I could feel it then, when I was still the Dark One, and I can still feel it now...”

He held out his palm. The fire didn’t come to him with barely a thought, as it used to. He had to think it into being, as he had taught Regina and Cora and Zelena to think it into being. But it came, a small fireball forming in the air directly above his hand, hot but not burning.

“You can still do magic,” Belle exclaimed. “Does that mean -- “

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head, grinning, as he closed his fist over the flames and extinguished them. “No, I’m not still the Dark One. It’s different, I can feel it, there’s not that endless well of power on tap. But my mind still knows how to harness energy and emotion and transform it, and there’s a lot of it in the air here right now. Don’t worry, I’m not going to abuse it, but it’s still nice to know that I have some skill left in that area if it’s ever needed.”

“Well, I’m glad, then.” She took his hands in hers. “What about Henry, though? You won’t be able to hear him if he calls for you, will you?”

“No, that was something that came with the curse. I think he’s proven that he can take care of himself, but still, we should visit and tell him the news. He needs to know that if he runs into trouble, I won’t be able to show up at his call. It’ll be nice to see them, anyway; Lucy must be starting to walk by now.” They’d visited a couple of times, but it had been almost a year now.

“It still seems hard to believe sometimes that Henry ended up staying here,” Belle observed. “Do you think he’ll ever go back? Do you think we will?”

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. “I don’t know. There are some things I miss, but the children are happy, and so are we. Maybe we should try to convince Henry and Ella to move someplace closer to us.”

Rumpelstiltskin and Belle had reached the bottom of the bridge when the bushes ahead of them rustled and Gideon popped back out. “Aren’t you coming?” he demanded. “We found something that we want to show you!”

“Where’s Tabby?” asked Belle, when she didn’t appear behind Gideon. “We’ve got something to tell you.”

“Can it wait? They might leave. Hurry!”

“You left her behind?” Rumpelstiltskin demanded, picking up his pace. “And what do you mean by ‘they’?”

“It’s not far, and she promised not to move from the spot where I left her.” Gideon’s eyes danced with delight.. “And I’m not telling, it’s a surprise.” He turned and began weaving back through the trees, glancing back to make sure that they were following.

Rumpelstiltskin and Belle looked at one another and Belle shrugged with a smile and took Rumpel’s hand as they followed their son. If Gideon felt that it was safe to leave Tabby, she undoubtedly was. “I bet it’s some baby animals,” she guessed shrewdly, and though Gideon didn’t say anything, the look on his face as he glanced back was telling.

“Twin fawns?” suggested Rumpelstiltskin.

“Fox kits playing in front of their den?” hazarded Belle.

Gideon’s excitement seemed to warrant something more out of the ordinary, though. “Unicorns?” Rumpelstiltskin asked doubtfully. Not aggressive usually, but a mother guarding her foal might take even a little girl for a threat. Still, both children knew not to approach any wildlife, to watch from a distance only.

Gideon grinned and put his finger to his lips, cautioning silence, as he slowed his steps, taking care where he put his feet. Belle glanced ahead and saw Tabby sitting cross-legged on the ground beside a large tangle of blackberry vines, scratching a unicorn foal whose head rested in her lap contentedly. The mother was nearby, nibbling at the berries, keeping one eye on them but obviously not too concerned.

Tabby looked up at their approach, her expression one of rapture. “I didn’t go up to it, I swear! He came to me, and I just reached out and stroked him, and he liked it and plopped right down!”

Gideon eased down beside her, but didn’t attempt to touch the unicorn, afraid he’d startle it away and ruin it for Tabby.

Rumpelstiltskin glanced at Belle helplessly, unsure what to do.

“Don’t look at me, Rumpelstiltskin,” she said matter-of-factly. “That’s your daughter, not mine.”

“What do you mean?” he protested, although he knew. Gideon was more like his mother, with his bold, inquisitive nature. Tabby was the quiet one, who could be happy playing by herself, who could hold still for an impossibly long time until a squirrel came down to take the sunflower seeds she held out in her open palm. She was the one who loved to watch him spin when he had a chance to do so, and was already developing a keen eye at spotting the plants needed to produce different dyes. The one who had declared to Joan, the tanner’s wife, that she was going to be a hedgewitch when she grew up. “You’re the one who tamed the beast.”

“Are you comparing yourself to an innocent little unicorn?” she teased.

He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Well, I was certainly horny enough in those days,” he said sotto voce. “And terribly confused by my maid when she seemed to like me. I was so certain that I was reading the signs wrong; that she must just be feeling pity for me.”

“Compassion, yes. But I was also admiring the way your leather pants fit.” Smirking, she ran a hand down over his backside to emphasise her point.

“I knew it,” he said sagely. “That’s the only reason you wanted to come back to the Enchanted Forest.”

“I can hear you,” Gideon sing-songed.

Rumpelstiltskin grinned as he pulled Belle to stand in front of him, resting his chin on top of her head and putting his arms around her waist. “Sorry son. I can’t help it if your mother is an incorrigible flirt.”

“What’s that mean?” He finally dared to touch the unicorn foal, finding it liked to be scratched in the same places that the horses did.

“It means I believe in reminding my husband that I think he’s attractive,” Belle said firmly. That was one problem with traveling in the caravan, a lack of privacy.

Now that a second person was touching her baby, the mother unicorn came to investigate, lipping at Gideon’s hair. Gideon froze with a comical expression on his face, and Belle remembered her camera and quickly raised it, framing both children and the two unicorns in the shot. At the alien whirr of the camera, the mother unicorn jerked up her head and moved back, calling to her foal. He scrambled to his feet and got up to follow her.

“I’m sorry, Tabby,” Belle apologised. “I didn’t mean to frighten them away.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “My hand was getting tired anyway.” She jumped up. “Did you get the picture? Let me see!”

She and Gideon came crowding around, exclaiming as the picture came into being.

Belle suddenly giggled. “Rumpel, do you remember -- “

“Saying that a unicorn wouldn’t eat Gideon, but it might nibble on his hair?” He laughed. “Yes, I do. I didn’t realise I was seeing the future at the time.”

“When was this?” Gideon demanded.

“Back in Storybrooke, before we came to the Enchanted Realms,” Belle said. She ruffled his hair. “Do you remember Storybrooke?”

“Yes, vaguely.”

“I don’t,” Tabby said. “Was I there?”

“Yes, but you were very young. Maybe one day we’ll go back there, but there’s no guarantee that we’ll be able to come back here if we do. We have a magic bean to create a portal to go there, but we might not be able to return here if we left.” Even if there were a good supply of beans, returning to the exact same time and place might prove to be a challenge; the magic was tricky. Best not to risk it, not now.

Tabby began besieging them with questions. Could she see the magic bean? What was Storybrooke like? Their big news was forgotten for the moment, to be remembered and told later in the quiet evening over supper. But it could wait. Right now, they had a life to live. And it was wonderful.

#rumbelle fic #ficwoodelf #rumbelle #a life worth living #gideon gold #just an extra 10k words than my first draft #every time i proofread it #i added more details #ahahaha #*forces myself to stop writing and post it*#ouat au #oneshot #fix it fic #post ep fic #i'm sorry for the lack of detail in the TLK #i can't write kissing

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