In Storybrooke, Mr. Gold strives to be the man Bae used to love--until Belle is kidnapped to Neverland. If he resumes his Dark One powers to save her, can he control them? In the Enchanted Forest, Emma battles ogres, zombies and her ex to get back h...
¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
Rumplestiltskin (Mr. Gold): I am nothing like my father! He tried to abandon me. I will never, ever do that to my son. That's why I did this. For him. All for the boy. To save him from the same fate I suffered – growing up without a father. (Manhattan)
When Belle cringed and clutched her own shin, Mr. Gold gnawed his lip. Why didn't I keep that story to myself? He'd indulged in a bid for pity—shameful for him, unfair to her.
Catching his eye, Belle winced. "I'm sorry. I have a ridiculously intense imagination. You're the one who suffered, not me—the one who is still suffering."
Now Belle was brimming with compassion—as usual, misspent on him. Mr. Gold waved it away. "No matter. As I said, I brought this on myself. How can I complain? I got exactly what I bargained for—the chance to raise my son."
Slowly, Belle straightened up in her chair, smoothed down her plaid skirt, and folded her hands in her lap. "I'm good. I'm listening."
Ach, she expects more. Mr. Gold steeled himself to continue. "Well, execution was mentioned, and setting my leg seemed a waste of everyone's time, so I had to do it myself. For months, I sat caged like the seer had been, until finally, Duke Angus came to hear my side. As a ruler, he couldn't condone a soldier putting family above country, but as a father, he could understand, so he released me, saying, 'Now your true punishment begins.'"
Mr. Gold felt a knot in his chest. At last we have it—the core of the affair. And here am I, putting Belle on the spot.
"What do you mean 'true punishment'?" Belle asked, though from the look in her eyes, Mr. Gold suspected she knew.
"Being labeled a coward." He lifted a shoulder. "Knowing of the seer, Duke Angus believed my reasons. Nobody else did. Not ever."
"Not even Milah?"
"Especially not Milah."
Belle's forehead stitched together. "I believe you."
Mr. Gold stared into her clear blue eyes, wishing he could see what she was seeing.
"You won't take my answer on faith, will you?" Belle stroked his hand. "Then take it on logic. After all these years, if you wanted to lie, you'd have picked the one I offered—handicapped with valor on the battlefield. Instead, you told a story begging to be doubted. Only a fool wouldn't believe you."
Mr. Gold pinched the bridge of his nose. A quarter of a millennium, and the hundred reasons to call him a liar had faded. Trust Belle to have the wisdom to point that out. Lowering his hand, he offered her a faint smile. "To remind me of my folly, they gave me the mallet handle to use as my staff. After six days and six nights, I staggered into my hut. The moment I saw Baelfire in Milah's arms, I knew I'd made the right choice."
Belle nodded.
"But I couldn't prevent the gossip. My only recourse was not to mind. If the shearers sold me their wool and the tailors bought my thread and cloth, then what did it matter how they talked about me?" Mr. Gold hunched his shoulders. "But Milah felt otherwise."
