#we were fighting some bandits earlier and he got staggered and i immediately used my squishy spellsword as a meat shield for him

[konahrics]

I love Gore SO much. If anything happens to him i will kill everyone in this room and then myself. How is he so cool and adorable at the same time.

[vegalocity]

The Story (red groom AU)

I wasn't gonna make you guys suffer too long with the Bad End Alternate end lol, here have a more comedic part of the Princess Bride AU, picks up directly after the last part

--

“Grandpaaaaa you said you'd skip over the kissing stuff!”

“Sheesh! Complain complain! You know one day you're gonna WANT to start kissin' people and parts like this 'll be WAY more interesting to you!”

“Gross!”

“Fine fine! To tell the truth, the big romantic gesture of the Prince reuniting with his love Qi Xiaotian was rather short lived, you'll remember Prince Red Son had quite the temper and though his true rage had been quelled by the realization that Xiaotian had been alive this whole time, the prince had plenty more to be angry with him over-”

–

“WHY! DID! YOU! NEVER! SEND! WORD!” every word was punctuated by a smack to Xiaotian's shoulder as the two of them began to venture through the forest, in attempts to shake Red Son's likely murderous fiance while at the same time make their way to safety. “I! THOUGHT! YOU! DEAD! I! MOURNED! YOU! FOR! TWO! WHOLE! YEARS!”

Xiaotian was taking the assault with good humor, Red Son's anger was second to none, but his body was still weak from his attempt attack him earlier and with little strength in his limbs from burn wounds abound Xiaotian was carrying him through the forest, so his blows were barely inspiring feeling let alone pain.

“And I'll be apologizing for that in everything I do for another ten.” He agreed as Red Son paused for breath, turning his head to nudge Red Son's cheek with his nose. “and for every tear you've shed over it I swear to make you laugh ten times more.”

The Prince turned as red as his hair at such a declaration before stiffly reaching upward to pull a thin branch out of the way of hitting either of them as they continued on their path.

“...Why are you taking the Monkey King's title? Was the whole story they told back home a lie?”

“...Well it wasn't entirely a lie- oh thank you.”

“I did meet the Monkey King, he was just as great as the stories say.” the sun glistened in Xiaotian's eyes as he began the story.

“But I'd kindaaaa been kidnapped by some bandits at the time and was next on the menu when they'd ran into Sun Wukong's caravan. Eating ME was set aside at the opportunity to eat Tang Sanzang instead, but like, what, was I gonna let a bunch of jerks EAT the Golden Cicada? So I helped him escape just as Sun Wukong broke down the doors to their stronghold to rescue his master.

“This is the part that was truthful, since Sun Wukong thought I was another bandit and was gearing up to take care of me too, I pleaded my case, said 'please' to him and got his curiosity. I don't think he belived me, but his master took then to speak up and insist I was honest, as I'd helped free him.

“He still didn't trust me, but since I had nowhere else to go I ended up traveling with them for a small bit of time. With his true sight Sun Wukong knew I was human, but that didn't mean he knew if I was a threat or not, which... you know... fair... But I helped them a couple more times for when their master was stolen by other demon lords looking to make a meal out of him- and hoo boy aren't we lucky that your dad is smarter than to pick a fight with the Monkey King because seeing him fight up close is... wow...”

“Don't underestimate my father Noodle Boy.” Red Son responded reflexively.

“Haha, sorry. But anyway, one day Sun Wukong pulls me aside, still in view of his brothers and master so I don't think he's gonna kill me or anything, but... like... yeah I'm expecting him to tell me I'd overstayed my welcome with their traveling party and it was time for me to get lost.” He set Red Son down on the side of a massive tree trunk to hop the short distance to the ground and lifting him back up. “So imagine my surprise when the first thing out of his mouth is 'How would you like to be the Great Sage Equaling Heaven?'”

Red Son's expression dropped, surprise raising his brow. Xiaotian chuckled. “Yeah that was my reaction too. But he says that he'd been keeping an eye on me, and he could tell I was someone 'reliable' which... you know if he'd ever spoken to my father that would be a short lived assessment, but I digress. He tells me that right now he's just really focused on getting his master where he needs to go, and he's constantly getting kidnapped and making his job harder, but even harder still it gets when people recognize him and from his reputation tailor their kidnappings just to aggravate him in specific. How at this juncture, no matter how much it pleased him to know his name still brought fear into his enemies, it was doing him more harm than good.”

“So he gave me this and taught me to use it.” he nods to the staff “Honestly it's just a really well made fake, enchanted to still grow and shrink at will, but he needs his staff to protect his master, so it has to do.”

“B-But! What about the village? If The Monke- if Sun Wukong is on the pilgrimmage still then where did that story come from?”

“Oh that village was long abandoned: plague... but an excellent background for theatrics! And to test out my acting chops! Here check this out!”he placed Red Son down again, this time he had the strength (barely) to remain on his feet if leaned against a tree trunk.

Xiaotian cleared his throat “Okay, so Sun Wukong had shapeshifted into a bug, and he was hiding in Tang Sanzang's cassock, he was standing about- there...” he gestured toward Red Son before hopping up atop a felled tree trunk. “And I was here, but like, on top of a burning house because I can't summon the cloud, which is a shame because that would have been so much more visually striking. Anyway, I was in that form I was in earlier, oh uh- Change!” a puff of smoke and he looked the part of a dark furred macaque again. “and-” he cleared his throat again, puffed out his chest, and leaned into that persona that had made him so unrecognizable to Red Son hours ago.

Now he found himself a fool because he couldn't miss the excited gleam in Xiaotian's eye showing how eager he was to pretend for a time to be his hero that revealed the truth with an ease so clear it was almost staggering.

“You great bunch of fools! Did you really think I'd remain loyal upon the removal of that wretched circlet?! Did you really think that the Great Sage Equal to Heaven would ever fall into anyone's lines but his own?! Truly monk you are the greatest fool of them all! I shall spare your lives for no matter how delightful slaughtering you all would be I'd rather be rid of you fools far sooner than that would allow! But Know this Monk! Every drop of blood spilled by my hand could have been avoided if you were less of a trusting fool!” He cackled and slammed his false-staff into the ground, flipping into the air once. “-except I did that off the roof and vanished into the trees. I think I made quite the exit.”

“... So it was all a ruse?”

“Well, I've been the Monkey King ever since. The Heavenly court know what happened so nobody's been giving me any trouble upstairs so long as I don't go power crazy and go on a rampage or something which... yeah probably not...” he chuckled and returned back to Red Son's side.

“So you think 'the Great Sage Equal to Heaven' is a fancy enough title for your parents to approve of a courtship? Sun Wukong used to be allies with your family, might ease things a bit.”

Red Son couldn't fight off the smile. “My parents will likely know you're not the 'original' Monkey King. You're gonna have to explain it to them.”

“My love I'll sit through hours of cross examinations to get to ask for your hand in the proper way.” Xiaotian took Red Son's least damaged hand in one of his own and pressed a kiss to the knuckles there. Red Son pushed away from him and began to take a few shaky steps forward.

“I'm still plenty angry at you for letting me think you dead... But I suppose I understand the safety issue that would have arisen if a letter containing that information was intercepted.”

He was very pointedly NOT looking at the big grin Xiaotian was sending him, as if he did he would be overwhelmed again by joy at his love being with him again, and he would like to cling to his frustration a bit longer, as then he wouldn't be a useless giddy mess who desired nothing but to press kiss after kiss to that face and listen to every story from every single day he'd missed.

There was time for that later, when they were safe. They'd have all the time in the world for all the stories there were to tell and all the affections there were to share.

But they weren't safe yet.

As evidenced by the shaking step forward Red Son took that immediately gave way beneath him, and he fell into a sinkhole.

[splendidlyimperfect]

Let them think you are weak and do what wolves and fire do best.

Surprise them when they least expect it.

-Nikita Gill

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Witcher Rating: Mature Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier

-----

Jaskier is not useless.

Sure, he’s not great with a sword – he knows how to wield one, to Geralt’s surprise, but it’s not something he’s trained in. He’s handy with a dagger, especially from a distance, and he’s bashed more than one monster (or bandit) with his lute while Geralt is off fighting something significantly more dangerous.

The problem right now is that the incredibly dangerous thing – a maurezhi, which apparently feeds on human flesh – has thrown Geralt across the room. He hit the wall, and Jaskier had heard a crack, and now Geralt’s not moving and Jaskier’s pressed behind an overturned table, hand over his mouth and hoping to hell that the maurezhi can’t hear him.

The room is silent for a moment, and all Jaskier can hear is the hammering of his own heartbeat, and the rain pounding down in torrents outside the abandoned building.

Then there’s a deep, inhuman growl, and the sound of something scraping across the stone floor. Jaskier shudders, trying not to picture the mangled victim they’d found earlier with its insides… well, not on the inside. A quiet clicking echoes off the stone walls – the creature’s long, poisonous claws clacking together – and Jaskier looks over at Geralt again. He’s still not moving.

Get up, Jaskier thinks desperately, gaze bouncing around the room as he tries to find a way out. Even if he could get over to Geralt, the man is heavy, and Jaskier would never be able to drag him out of the building in time. He could distract the maurezhi, but then he’d risk it finding him, and Jaskier would really prefer to keep his entrails inside his body, thank you very much.

Continue reading on AO3

The maurezhi stalks closer to Geralt, another rough growl scraping its way out of its throat. It’s nearly six feet tall, even hunched over with its claws dragging over the floor – claws that, Jaskier has been informed, will paralyze a human with a single touch. He’s not sure if this extends to Witchers, but he’s also not particularly interested in finding out.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouts, ducking out from behind the table and quickly taking cover behind another chunk of debris. The roof has fallen apart here, and rain pours in, immediately soaking Jaskier’s cloak. “Get up!”

The creature hisses, and Jaskier’s heart leaps into his throat when it turns and stalks toward him, much quicker than it had been moments ago. Shit. Fuck. Shitfuck.

“Over here, you…” Jaskier yelps as the maurezhi’s claws tear apart his hiding place, and he rolls out of the way, looking wildly around the room. There’s nowhere else for him to hide, and this thing is going to stab him and paralyze him and then he’s going to have to watch while it eats Geralt alive, and—

A glint of silver catches Jaskier’s eye. Geralt’s sword is lying near his unmoving body, half-buried in the rubble from where the wall had caved in. Before he can think, Jaskier throws himself forward, skidding across the room at an inhuman speed and grabbing the hilt of the sword with both hands.

“C’mere, you bastard,” he growls, whipping around and hefting it as high as he can. He shifts so that he’s standing in front of Geralt’s body, feet planted, adrenaline pushing away the immobilizing terror.

The maurezhi howls, baring its teeth – gods, how many are in there? – and charging at Jaskier. He shouts, pivoting on one foot and swinging the sword as hard as he can as soon as the creature is within range. It connects with a sickening squelch, and Jaskier’s teeth rattle when it hits bone. He yanks it back as hard as he can, kicking out at the claws that are swiping at him, and thrusts again, wild and desperate.

They’re not going to die here. Geralt’s saved his ass too many times to count, and the fucking White Wolf isn’t going to get ripped apart by some horrifying monster that will end up wearing his skin.

Jaskier staggers backward under a blow from the maurezhi, heart pounding at the close call, and then he’s screaming, teeth bared, and sword held high as he leaps at the beast and aims for its heart.

There’s a flash of blinding light, searing the air and scorching Jaskier’s forearms as he digs the sword into the creature. It howls again, high and gurgling, and as suddenly it appeared the light is gone, and the maurezhi is dead, and Jaskier’s gasping for breath and blinking at the smoking corpse in front of him.

“Oh,” he wheezes. The sword is suddenly much too heavy for him and he drops to his knees, sucking in a desperate breath. “Fuck, what the—shit. How the…”

Then he remembers that Geralt is unconscious and quickly turns toward him, setting the sword down and running his fingers across Geralt’s face. It’s scraped and bruised, and there’s a nasty-looking cut on his temple, but the immediate problem seems to be the enormous hole in his chest that’s currently pumping out an alarming amount of blood.

Jaskier yanks off his own doublet, buttons tearing under his trembling fingers, and presses it against the wound. He sucks in another shaky breath, wiping his face with the back of his hand and breathing a sigh of relief when he finds Geralt’s bag still around his waist. He digs through it quickly, peering uncertainly at the vials – why the gods doesn’t Geralt label them? – until he finds one that looks familiar and tugs off the lid. He pulls back the doublet and pours a bit of the liquid onto the wound, and it immediately starts to bubble and hiss as the potion takes effect.

Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to Geralt’s. “Idiot,” he breathes, trying to calm his pounding heart. “You can’t do this to me. My heart can’t take it.” 

~ 

Geralt doesn’t wake up for two days.

Jaskier spends the entire time alternating between pacing back and forth across the room or curled up on the bed, staring at the rise and fall of Geralt’s chest. The wound, now stitched and bandaged, is taking longer than usual to heal, and it makes Jaskier’s stomach twist every time he looks at it.

When Geralt finally opens his eyes, blinking blearily and staring up at the ceiling, Jaskier nearly starts to cry.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he says, sitting down heavily on the side of the bed and watching a confused expression make its way across Geralt’s face.

“Do…”

“Almost die,” Jaskier clarifies. He tries to rearrange his features into a scowl, but all he can manage is a weak look of relief.

“I didn’t—”

“You absolutely did, and I had to save us – which was terrifying, how you do that all the time is beyond me – and then I had to carry you back to your horse – do you even know how heavy you are? Plus it was pouring rain, so by the time we got back I couldn’t stop sneezing and Roach was soaked, and I was pretty sure you were going to die because you wouldn’t stop bleeding and—”

“You… saved us?” Geralt interrupts. His brow is creased in a frown and his gaze is still slightly unfocused – a side effect of the herbs the healer had used to help keep the pain at bay.

“Yes, which surprises me just as much as you, but that thing was going to kill you and eat you and wear your skin – or my skin – which is just—and your sword was lying there and y’know, it weighs nearly as much as you do, but I had to and—”

“Your eyes are pretty.”

“Don’t you dare interrupt me; I’m not done chastising you—” Jaskier stops as Geralt’s words catch up with the frantic racing of his brain. “What?”

Geralt’s usually stoic expression is soft and open, and he slowly reaches up and touches the bandage on Jaskier’s cheek. “You’re hurt,” he says.

“I—yes, but that…” Jaskier frowns as Geralt’s fingers brush across his chin. “That’s not… what you…”

“Your eyes,” Geralt says, tucking a stray curl behind Jaskier’s ear. “They’re pretty.”

“You’re delirious,” Jaskier mutters as heat creeps into his cheeks. “It’s those herbs the healer gave you, it’s—”

“Mn-mm,” Geralt insists, pushing himself up on one elbow and wincing. Jaskier quickly grabs his pillow from the other side of the bed and tucks it behind Geralt, helping him sit up. Geralt’s fingers touch his, sliding along his palm, and Jaskier’s heart does that stupid twisting thing that it’s done every time they’ve touched since they met.

“You need sleep,” he says quietly, torn between pulling away and enjoying the touch while he can. Soon the herbs will wear off and Geralt will be back to his usual self – the man whose vocabulary consists of “fuck” and “hm,” and definitely not “your eyes are pretty.”

Geralt ignores the statement and frowns, looking down at the bandage on his chest. “Wait.” Jaskier’s rambling from earlier seems to catch up to him and he says, “You carried me?”

Jaskier hmphs. “And you’re heavy,” he complains.

“Out of the building?”

“Yes, I already said—”

“All the way to Roach.”

“Yes.”

“And you killed the maurezhi.”

“Yes.”

“With my sword.”

“Yes, we’ve been over all of this, keep up.”

“Oh.”

Geralt is quiet for a second, then looks down at their joined hands as if just realizing that they’re still touching. Jaskier expects him to pull away, but instead Geralt slides their fingers together and gives Jaskier the most ridiculous, drug-addled smile he’s ever seen.

“Thank you.”

Jaskier laughs. “You must really be out of it. Thank me again when the herbs wear off tomorrow and I might believe you.”

“I will,” Geralt insists, and his gaze is so sincere that Jaskier suddenly can’t look at him. “You’re very brave.” Jaskier’s cheeks burn and he plays with a loose thread in the blanket. “I’m glad you were with me.”

“I am too,” Jaskier mumbles. “I really prefer you not to be dead, if it can be helped.” Geralt laughs – a light, sincere sound that makes him seem so young.

“I’d also prefer to not be dead.”

“Right.” Jaskier tugs on his hand, but Geralt refuses to let go. “Well, it’s—you’re good for business, and I wouldn’t have anything interesting to write about if you died.” He hesitates. “My life would be… rather boring.”

“Mine would be empty,” Geralt says, and he brings his other hand back up to Jaskier’s face and runs his thumb across his cheek.

“Look,” Jaskier says, trying to push away the sudden urge to cry. “You can’t just say things like that. ‘s not fair.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you were sound, you’d never tell me I had pretty eyes.”

“Then I’m an idiot,” Geralt says, voice and expression both earnest.

“Well, I won’t argue with that,” Jaskier says, sighing and leaning into Geralt’s touch. A tiny thread of guilt works its way into his chest for taking advantage of the situation, but the other part of him can’t help it. The more time they spend together, the more Geralt allows Jaskier to touch him. It’s usually small things – a hand on Geralt’s back as Jaskier passes him, leaning against him when they’re sitting by the fire, feet touching under the table when they eat dinner at the inn. But Geralt has never touched him like this.

“You look tired,” Geralt says softly, tipping his head toward the other side of the bed.  

Jaskier hesitates. When they sleep outdoors, they do sleep next to each other – Jaskier feels safer being out in the open when he can hear Geralt breathing next to him. But whenever they’re at inns, they sleep apart – still in the same room, but not in the same bed.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Jaskier says, sighing when Geralt stops touching his face.

“Now who’s being stupid?” Geralt gives him an unimpressed look and shuffles over a little more to make room for Jaskier on the bed.

Jaskier sighs, wrestling with his self-restraint for just a moment before giving up and climbing carefully into the bed. He tries to leave a respectable space between them, but Geralt is having none of it and tugs Jaskier close until he’s basically leaning on Geralt’s shoulder.

“You have to promise me something,” Jaskier says as a yawn catches him by surprise.

“Hm.”

“Don’t shove me out of bed tomorrow morning when you wake up and realize you’re basically cuddling me.”

“Won’t.” Gerald shuffles down, pulling Jaskier with him until he’s using Geralt as a pillow.

“Promise?” Jaskier asks, giving in entirely and curling up on his side, one leg tucked over Geralt’s, hand in the middle of his chest.

“Promise.”

Jaskier hums, not quite believing him, but happily falling asleep to the soft, slow beat of Geralt’s heart.

[dragonbat2011]

Reaching Out ‘Til We Reach the Circle’s End - Chapter 2

A/N: My Google-Fu failed me. I couldn't find a named female bandit in any fairytale, nor an unnamed one that would be easily recognized (by which I mean someone like Cora, the "miller's daughter". It doesn't matter that the miller's daughter has no name in the traditional story; we all knew who Cora was pretty quick.) Instead, I turned to a list of female pirates and plucked out: Charlotte de Berry –supposedly born in 1636, although there were no known records of her until exactly one hundred years later, leading to many believing that she never existed and is purely fictional.

For other chapters: https://dragonbat2011.tumblr.com/post/621379453957865473/reaching-out-til-we-reach-the-circles-end-toc

    Chapter Two

As Zelena leaped into the portal, one thought was uppermost in her mind. Take me to my mother, when she first discovered that she was pregnant with me. And if circumstances had been different, then, most likely, that would have been precisely where she'd ended up. There were, however, two elements that she hadn't considered before making the jump: the man she'd ordered to accompany her had a different destination in mind… And being clipped by a bolt of light magic—particularly when one wasn't braced to expect it—was a painful experience. Painful enough, in fact, to break one's focus, right when it was crucial to maintain it. And in that fateful moment, that was precisely what Regina's bolt did.

It probably wouldn't have made much difference, had Rumple not been with her. But of course, and by her own command, Rumple had been with her. And so, while the two of them did, in fact, end up in the Enchanted Forest, it was at a time and place of Rumple's choosing.

And that, of course, made all the difference…

They landed heavily and lay half-dazed for a moment, before struggling to rise; the grasses on which they'd landed were damp and slippery. Zelena was on her feet first, and looked about curiously. The sky was overcast, but rain didn't appear imminent. She was standing in high grasses that came nearly to her hips, about a hundred yards off from a wide dirt road. Clearly, it had rained earlier, even from here, she could see long narrow puddles of brown water—wheel ruts, most likely. Evidently, the road was well-used. She turned, glowering a bit when she realized that the rain hadn't spared the ground on which she was standing; her boot made a sucking sound as it pulled free of the mud, and it squished when she set it down again. Not too far off—perhaps a quarter of a mile, or so—she could make out an expanse of trees, probably a forest. She didn't see any people or houses, but the road had to go somewhere.

She pulled out the dagger. "Get up," she snapped. "Where are we?"

Rumple staggered to his feet from his half-crouch and glanced at their surroundings. "If you'd like my best guess, I'd say we've arrived in the Enchanted Forest—" He cringed as she raised the blade and held up his hands, palms outward.

"Be more specific!" she hissed. "Where's my mother? Where's Princess Ava?"

Rumple shook his head. "I don't know!" he yelped, backing away and trying not to stumble in the mud and weeds.

"You grew up in this land!" Zelena retorted, controlling her temper with a visible effort. "Now, stop sniveling and tell me where we are!"

At once, Rumple straightened up and made an elaborate show of looking around. "We appear to be somewhere in the countryside," he said dryly. "As to which country, well, dearie, it was your spell and your portal, now. Surely you must know."

Zelena stifled a shriek. "Doesn't any part of this look familiar to you?"

Rumple smiled. "Why, yes. Of course it does. This," he gestured to the road in front of them, "is a road, and that would be the edge of a forest, and going by the position of the sun," he pointed toward the clouds and the faint light struggling to break through their cover, "and the temperature," he shrugged, "I make it as late spring, perhaps five o'clock in the afternoon, or thereabouts. That's assuming a temperate climate, of course." He shrugged. "I'm afraid I can't be more specific without a map or a route marker of some kind."

Zelena gave him a furious look and raised the dagger once more. "Get on the road," she ordered. "It obviously leads somewhere. Hopefully, to someone a sight more helpful than y—" Something grabbed her ankle and she went down heavily with a surprised yelp—a yelp that was stifled almost immediately when a hand in a worn glove of heavy leather clamped firmly over her mouth. Startled, Rumple's eyes darted about wildly, as a dozen or so rough-looking people rose from the high weeds, four of them leveling crossbows directly at him.

With no orders from Zelena, Rumple was free to act as he saw fit, and at the moment, he saw fit to conceal his magic. He had no idea where—or when—he was, and he suspected he'd get more answers if he pretended to be as helpless as they presumed him to be. Though he doubted they'd be inclined to answer his questions, he might learn something yet, if he paid attention. So he raised his hands slowly, and made no show of belligerence, as one of the four approached him cautiously and patted him down. Finding no weapons, the man thrust a hand into each of his suit pockets and uttered an oath Rumple hadn't heard in centuries when it came away empty. "He's got nowt, Charlotte," he called in disgust.

Another of the bandits—a hard-faced woman with a knife-scar that ran from the corner of her left eye to the base of her ear gave a brief nod, as she advanced toward Zelena and, almost casually, stomped on the hand that still held his dagger. She picked it up, examined it, and tucked it into her belt. Then, smiling, she reached out and tore the choker from Zelena's neck, while the witch struggled in her captor's grasp.

"Well, this one makes up for it," she said grimly. A thin smile creased her weathered face. "We'll feed for a month on what this'll bring!"

There was a ragged cheer from the others—almost as ragged as the homespun shirts they all wore under their worn leather jerkins. Rumple gritted his teeth. He abhorred thieves, but going by those clothes, and the gaunt faces of those who bore them, he imagined that it had been more than a month since any of them had eaten well.

Zelena was still struggling and, going by the muffled sounds coming from behind her captor's glove, cursing a blue streak. Another bandit lunged forward to press the flat of his blade to Zelena's throat. "No twitching, if you please, milady," he said. "I'm new to this life, still some'at nervous," he went on, "and this blade's sharp. I'd hate for it to slip."

Charlotte, who seemed to be in command, remarked, "The first kill is always the hardest, lad. Might be a good thing to get it over with now."

Zelena's eyes widened and she seemed, for the first time, to realize her danger, as she stopped fighting. The youth never took his eyes off her. "If you order it, Charlotte," he said, after the barest hesitation.

"What are we to do with them, then?" one of the others—the youth who'd patted him down, asked and Rumple tensed.

Charlotte shrugged. "Press gangs won't take women and the man's too old. We can't feed 'em, and I'll not waste good crossbow bolts on some'at we can't eat unless we have to. And since our lone swordsman's disinclined…" She shrugged and waved her hand. At her signal, the four covering Rumple lowered their weapons. The one pinioning Zelena released her with a shove and she fell forward, onto her elbows with a dismayed cry. "Let 'em go," she said.

"Should we take an eye?" one of the others asked. "Or an ear?" Zelena blanched at that, though her defiant expression didn't waver. Rumple went cold. Immortal he might be, but that didn't mean he could make a severed limb grow back! His instincts told him that this was probably just posturing on the bandits' part. Even so, Charlotte seemed to be giving the question serious consideration.

"No," she said finally. "Just drive 'em to the road and leave be, so long's they stay on it."

Rumple thought quickly. These people clearly had no idea what his dagger was; he wasn't even certain that they could read. But he couldn't let them carry it off. Sooner or later, it was bound to fall into the hands of someone who would recognize it. "Please," he whimpered, cringing a bit—partly for show and partly because he truly hated having to play this part; he'd done more than enough groveling in the past year. "Please, Missy, y-you can't mean to send us off with nothing. How will we buy food or find lodging?"

The bandit leader shrugged. "Not my problem."

"B-but what if we're set upon by others in your profession? You've taken all we have; we'll have nothing to give them and no way to defend ourselves!" He forced his dignity down even further and sank to his knees. "Please, you can keep the bauble, j-just give us a few coppers and a blade!"

Charlotte smiled. "A blade," she repeated drawing the syllables out as she pulled forth the dagger once more. "You want it?" She laughed coldly. "Well then. Come and get it!"

He'd never been so happy to receive an order in his life. He leapt for the dagger, only mildly annoyed when she tossed it to one of her people.

"Come now, dearie," he murmured. "You're like to take someone's eye out that way."

He was almost unprepared when his Curse goaded him forward. Of course. He'd been issued a clear order to take the dagger and he couldn't have disobeyed it had he wanted to. He lunged toward the woman who held it now, only to watch her toss it to another of the bandits.

"You fools!" Zelena raged. "Don't—"

"Quiet!" Charlotte snapped, cuffing her lightly. "This is between us and your companion. Who knows? He might even win." She smirked. "Though I rather doubt it." She stretched out her hand, ready to catch the dagger when her henchman whipped it back in her direction.

It never reached her. The blade vanished in midair and the bandit leader's eyes darted wildly back and forth before she saw that Rumple held it in his hand.

Rumpelstiltskin giggled. And then, with a wave of his other hand, a blast of magic knocked the bandits off their feet and onto the muddy ground. He swept them a mocking bow. "My thanks to you, good woman," he said merrily. "I'd nearly despaired of ever getting this back again."

His gaze fell on Zelena, who had suddenly grown quite pale. He giggled again and raised his hand once more. Zelena rose ten feet into the air, her hands clawing vainly at an invisible force that seemed to be wrapped about her throat. Rumple let her hang there for several agonizing seconds before he withdrew his magic and she crashed to the ground, sprawling in an undignified heap.

He stood over her menacingly. "Now," he said with deceptive mildness. "What was it you told me once about frustration? Ah, yes. That it can be intoxicating. On others." He smirked. "I believe I see the appeal, now."

Zelena stared furiously up at him. "If you're going to kill me, just get it over with."

Rumple giggled. "Oh, no, dearie. If I kill you now, you'll never learn just how badly you've failed. Killing you now would be a mercy you scarcely deserve."

"So, it's to be torture, then?" the witch spat back.

Rumple's smile was a terrifying thing. "I believe it will be. Oh, not at my hands; there's no need for that. You've made your own bed, dearie. I think I'll let you lie in it. Unless I'm much mistaken, you won't be meeting your mother anytime soon." His eyebrows lifted. "But, worry not. You shall meet her in the end, for all the good it will do you. For now?" His smirk vanished. "Although you didn't intend it, you've done me a favor. In return, I grant you your life. This time. But should our paths cross again, I promise you that we shall have the reckoning I'm choosing to forego now."

He turned to the bandit leader. "The pendant you plucked from her?"

Charlotte glowered and started to reach into her jerkin. Rumple shook his head. "I don't want it, dearie. Keep it with my blessing. Or sell it, as I'm sure you intend. But I wouldn't return it to its owner," he cautioned. "It's the source of her power. Without it, she's vulnerable. With it…"

Charlotte's eyes widened slightly, but she gave him a quick nod of understanding. "Do I want to know who you are?"

"Probably not," Rumple replied. "But perhaps, you could answer me three questions?"

"Which are…?"

Rumple spread his hands in a deprecating gesture. "The name of the next village, the name of its feudal overlord, and the year of his or her reign."

The bandit chief turned the questions over in her mind. "And once I answer you, once I give you what you want, you'll allow us to leave with our lives and our possessions?"

Rumple swept her a bow with a flourish. "You have my word."

She nodded. "I suppose you'll find out one way or another, and if you mean to kill us afterwards, I can't stop you." She took a breath. "You're two leagues south from Pen Marmor held by His Grace, Duke Bowden of the Frontlands. Last winter, the fief held festivities to celebrate His Grace's twentieth year as ruler of the holding."

Rumpelstiltskin broke into a laugh of sheer disbelief. Then, realizing that the bandit leader was staring at him, he quickly composed himself once more. "That may have been the best news you could have given me," he said quietly.

Charlotte looked at him quizzically, still not fully trusting him. "So, we're free to—?" She blinked. Rumpelstiltskin had vanished.

She looked wildly about. "Well?" she demanded. "Get up, you lot! Time for moving on!" She looked at Zelena. "I don't particularly care where you go, so long as it isn't with us."

"You can't just leave me here," Zelena protested, struggling to her feet. She froze at the sight of a crossbow leveled at her chest.

Charlotte smiled grimly at the bandit training the weapon before meeting Zelena's eyes once more. "Watch us."

A quarter mile away, Rumpelstiltskin fought the urge to break into a jig. He'd suspected the truth the instant he'd heard the bandit chief's name; Charlotte Long-scar had garnered something of a reputation in the Frontlands at the height of the Second Ogre War, when food had been scarce and money scarcer. Still, it was better to have confirmation.

While Zelena had meant for the portal to carry them back some sixty or seventy years (or thirty or forty, depending on whether time frozen during the Dark Curse had been of an objective or a subjective nature), they had, in fact, arrived over two centuries earlier that that. And now, Rumple realized, he had the opportunity to fix what had gone wrong so many years ago. Because he was now less than six miles away from his old village, and he remembered full well those festivities that Charlotte had mentioned. And if his guess had been right about the time of year…

…Then there were roughly three months to go until Bae's fourteenth birthday and four beyond that until Bae would procure the bean that would take him away.

Seven months.

With seven months, Rumple smiled, surely he could prevent everything that had gone awry the first time. He could save his son. He could save himself.

He could.

And he would.