Chapter Text
July 21st, 1983—The Enchanted Forest
He found her, as he always did, at the little cottage at the edge of the Dark Forest. It was not easy to reach, as simple as it seemed, for the Forest had a nasty habit of changing its twisting paths, and it was so very easy to become lost. But then, she had little desire to be found.
She was at the well to the side of the house, pulling up water by hand. Rumplestiltskin paused at the sight, remembering—half with fear, half with awe—the power that she had once wrought. Now, here she was, living like a peasant. He could have given her a palace, riches; a life she’d once had, if she’d ask it of him. But she’d found a kind of contentment here at the edge of nowhere, selling trinkets of power from the past to get by.
Sensing him, as she always seemed to, she set the bucket down and turned. She smiled, just slightly, and crossed her arms, leaning her hip against the well. Time had not changed a hair upon her head. She was still looked as gentle and beautiful as she had the night they had met. Rumplestiltskin had learned quickly that appearances meant nothing with her. She had the look of a china doll, with gold hair and large blue eyes, and gowned in a muted blue-grey dress.
She tilted her head to the side as he stood staring at her. “Hello, dearie,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Stop stealing my lines,” he retorted, but there was a trace of humor in his reply.
Neither moved. There was something almost tangible in the air between them. Something harsh, with its once sharp edges only slightly dulled by time and distance.
“It’s been a long time,” she said at last.
“Yes,” he said.
It had been almost thirty years. Thirty years since their last meeting, when she had screamed and railed at him, and demanded in the coldest of tones that he stay away from her. She had never wanted to see him again.
“…I owe you an apology,” she told him.
“You owe me nothing,” he said, “Trust me, I tend to keep track of such things.”
“Rumple.”
He had known her for more than a lifetime, but no matter how many decades passed, he never seemed to escape that admonishing tone. It stung, but he fell silent all the same.
“Please,” she said, “Let me say this.”
He jerked his head in a terse agreement.
“I was wrong,” she said flatly, “I should have trusted you. I let my grief and my anger make me blind, and I took it all out on you. That wasn’t fair and I’m sorry.”
“I take it you heard about our dear friend King George?”
“I did,” she said with a bittersweet smile, “Utterly ruined and locked away, his kingdom in the hands of a man he neither sired nor raised. It was heartening to hear.” She sighed and took a cautious step towards him. “When it reached me that you’d brokered a deal with George and his queen for a child—All I saw was red. I could only think that you had helped them slip through my curse with a technicality.”
“You were grieving,” Rumple said, “You grieve still, else you would not be hiding at the border of my territory from the world.”
“It was my territory long before it was yours, pet,” she reminded him with a sharp and sweet smile, “You’d best not begrudge me this little corner of it.”
“I suppose not,” he said after a thought.
“So tell me truthfully, Rumple,” she said, “have you come by to gloat that you were right all along?”
“Well, maybe a little,” he admitted.
She laughed and shook her head. Still smiling, she leaned down to take up the bucket of water. “You might as well come inside,” she told him.
She started for the door, but Rumplestiltskin did not move. The teasing, jester-manner of his had vanished. She looked at him, a sudden apprehension filling her.
“Rumple?”
He opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it.
“Rumple,” she said again, “why have you really come?”
“The Queen has made her threat,” Rumplestiltskin said, “The Curse is in her hand and she has every intention to use it. I’ve made arrangements—Snow White and her Charming prince are days away from ‘capturing’ me to protect the world from me. I shall be locked away—until the Curse is cast.”
“You’ve come to say goodbye.”
He turned to her, holding out a hand. “I didn’t want to leave things between us as they’ve been. I won’t have a chance after this. We’ve known each other too long, Alessa. I owe you too much to not say goodbye.”
“You owe me nothing,” Alessa said, repeating his words. She let out a breath and once more put the bucket down. “I will miss you,” she admitted, “despite all.”
“…You could still come with me,” Rumplestiltskin offered, “There’s still time to change the caveat that will leave you here when the Curse strikes.”
She read beyond his offer to the touch of question in his eyes. “Yeah, Rumple, you do recall that the last time we wandered down that particular road, we ended up trying to kill each other?”
“Well, in all fairness, I did try to kill you first.”
“And that makes it so much better?”
“I was young and impetuous?”
“I wasn’t.”
Rumple’s teasing smile faded. “There were good times too,” he said, “weren’t there?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, “but the fact remains, Rumplestiltskin, that you and I are too much alike.”
“Do you really wish to be left behind?” he asked her, “To be the only one left in this land? What will you do with yourself?”
“Rest,” Alessa said. Still seeing doubt and confusion in his face, she continued, “I’m…done, Rumple. I’m done with the long game, with the fairies, with Blue. All I want is to be left alone. That will never happen as long as the Reul Ghorm and I share the same realm.”
“You’ve never told me,” Rumple murmured, “what began it all? What set you at each other’s throats? It must have been something spectacular, considering your feud has gone on for a millennia.”
Alessa smiled, a sad and secret thing. “In all the time we’ve known one another, I have never told you. What makes you think I’d tell you now?”
“Our last conversation? You’d still keep secrets?”
“What would we be without our secrets?”
“Lessa…”
“It’s an old story,” Alessa told him, “and not worth the breath. Leave it be, Rumplestiltskin.”
“As you wish,” he said, but the words were harsh and laced with disappointment.
“…Don’t be bitter,” she said, “Be happy. You’re on your way to find your son.”
“Yes,” Rumple said, lifting his head, “All these years, all of this work. Now, it’s so close.”
“…I doubt that it will mean much after all this time…but I am proud of you, Rumple.”
“…It doesn’t mean nothing,” he replied.
“You’re the best of them,” she told him.
“Out of all?” Rumple said, his tone disbelieving, even teasing, “All the way back to the first?”
“All.”
“I will miss you too,” he said.
Alessa reached out a careful hand to touch his cheek. “Farewell then, my Dark One. May you find your Baelfire and make this right.”
Rumple gave her a last smile and turned, starting down the path away. Alessa tried to keep her own smile up as he went, but it was difficult. She took up the water and turned to the cottage door.
At the edge of the trees, Rumple stopped and looked back.
“Farewell,” he whispered as she went into the house, “Farewell, Enchantress.”