Sixty-Seven: Epilogue

A/N. This story has been such a big part of my life these past five months that I'm sorry to let it go, but Rumple-Gold says it's time. Here's fair warning: you may find this epilogue sad. Personally, I think it's the most optimistic ending I could offer, but you may not agree. The mood-setters for this epilogue were Leonard Cohen's "Anthem" and Sting's "Fields of Gold," so if you've heard those songs, you'll kind of know what to expect here. ("Anthem" describes, for me, a reformed Rumple.)

And for anyone who might jump off at this point, I want to extend my thank-you's to everyone who's stuck with "Spinning." Your encouragement gave me the courage of Belle to try some out-there ideas. The hardest of all was the decision to allow Rumple to be sentenced to life in prison. It was hard on my system to do that, but morally, I had to do it, and I think it's the best thing we Rumbellers can hope for: that Rumple gets an opportunity to pay his debt so he can go to Belle and Bae with an unfettered soul. So thank you, everyone, and especially, thank you, Dracomom, Cynicsquest, Grace, Aradieva, JoyLee, Rene, Meva Desa, Ygritte the Huntress, Jaselin, Travelg, Linerj, Marcie Gore, Irisrose, Anonymous Nerd Girl, Stineblicher, YoukalNemisis, SkyBlueSw, White Raven, ButterflyRogue, TheMadFiddler, MyraValhallah, Cu Chulainn 1945, Destiny001, NightowlsNest, SqueakyDolphin6 and Paulsmum2001.

Rumplestiltskin is perched on a rafter in a well-kept, though mish-mashed, cottage. It's been added onto over the years to make room for babies and the seams between the old and the new aren't perfect. The furnishings too are an odd mixture of the very old and the very new: there's a spinning wheel beside the fireplace in the living room, for instance, while on the antique roller top desk in the bedroom, there's a clutter of all sorts of electronic devices, some of them experimental, gifts from the computer scientists, engineers and inventors that Storybrooke II has produced over the years—men and women who spent a little bit of their childhoods in the company of an old spinner, a man who, through his stories, taught them to appreciate old things and old people, taught them to search for the hero within themselves, taught them to seek love in all times and places, taught them how to find the Master.

So Rumplestiltskin is sitting in the rafters, invisible to all, just like the old days, and he's wearing his leathers again, and he feels fit as a fiddle, for the first time in many years. He feels powerful, too, but then, he always has, since coming here. Or maybe powerful isn't the right word: he thinks empowered might be more accurate. He has come to understand the difference.

He wonders if he has his magic back, but the question doesn't keep his interest for long, because something's happening down there, on the ground, in the bedroom he recognizes, the bedroom that loosens a flood of emotions in him.

Crowded around a bed—he remembers it's a hospital bed; its head and feet can be raised with the touch of a button—are. . . .he stops to count them. . . nine people. Nine! Whatever they've gathered for, it must be important. He takes one face at a time. His memory's tricky, though it seems to be clarifying now. Sometimes he can recall every detail of an insignificant moment that occurred four hundred years ago, yet he couldn't tell you what he had for breakfast this morning. Or worse, who came to see him. Names give him a hard time, and he hates that: he's known for centuries that names have power. Sometimes it frustrates him to tears: he can tell you every line in a friend's face, but he can't identify the owner.

Some days he's not sure of his own name. On those days he hides in the bathroom and turns on the shower so no one can hear him cry.

But not today. Today, he remembers everyone! Everything!

Gathered around the bed are nine people. At the head of the bed, on the side nearest the wall, is his son Saer. Saer is holding an old man's hand, and the two of them are praying together. Rumplestiltskin smiles because he knows the Master is listening; He always does; and he knows the Master has a special place in His heart for these two men.

At the head of the bed on the opposite side is Baelfire. He's holding the old man's wrist, taking the pulse. Bae retired from the hospital a few years ago and now spends much of his time fishing. He used to fish with the old man, until the old man became bedridden; and now he fishes with his son or his grandchildren. Sometimes he misses his work, so he teaches CPR classes occasionally, just to keep his hand in, but when the old man became ill, he pulled his medical bag out of mothballs. He's not the old man's primary physician—that would be unethical—but he's on standby every day, just in case. And it seems today is one of those needful days.

At Bae's elbow is his son, Bertie, and Bertie's wife Zoe. They've taken today off work. By city ordinance, all employers in Storybrooke II must grant a time off for when a loved one is seriously ill. Don't wait until it's too late, the city council urges; spend time with your loved ones before they slip away. No one abuses this right; it's too honored a law. The fact that Bertie and Zoe are here clues Rumple in that the old man is in serious trouble.

Seated beside Saer is—Rumple catches his breath. It's Belle. After all these years, she still takes his breath away. He knows every line in her face and he adores them all. They only punctuate the exclamation point in her eyes. Admiring her from the rafters, he longs to sweep her into his arms, dip her backwards and kiss her wildly. Funny, he hasn't had that much energy in years, though the thought was always there.

Standing beside Belle is Leicia. She has just arrived, compliments of the Spinning Hat Travel Agency, from Iran and is dressed in a smart business suit—she learned the power of clothes from her father. She makes the old man nervous, always has: so perceptive (Belle says she got those qualities from her father), so smart (seven languages she speaks). Leicia is Belle's child through and through, right down to that exclamation point. Those electronic gadgets are Belle's and she uses them to stay in touch with her world-traveling daughter. They talk a mile a minute, finishing each other's sentences.

Leicia has been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. Her only regret is that her father won't be able to accompany her to Norway to accept it if she wins. The old man assures her he'll be there, one way or another: the Master will see to that.

At the foot of the bed, perched on a stepladder, is Adela. Belle is the old man's heart, Saer is the old man's soul, and Bae is the blood in the old man's veins, but Adela—shy, sweet, quiet Adela—is the old man's spirit. Every single time he looks into her eyes, he sees the Adela he remembers from the prison, and hence, he sees the Master. Adela is hanging her newest painting on the wall, where the old man can see it from his bed. She's a landscape artist, and the painting depicts a cabin her parents used to own. She's never seen it, but the painting captures it perfectly. Somehow she's always been able to paint what was in her father's heart.

Standing right at the foot of the bed are Henry and Emma. Emma moved to SBII a year after it opened; she missed her son—and she missed Jefferson. A wedding soon took place, with the holy man officiating and Beretrude and Waldo assisting. Jefferson is gone now, but Henry and his wife have made sure Emma isn't lonely.

Regina too is gone; Henry and Emma were with her when Waldo came to her bedside, made a deep, elegant bow, then, linking her arm in his, escorted her to her new, final home. Waldo has gone on to another assignment, but Beretrude remains, keeping the Master's promise to James and Blue to guard the prisoner throughout his life sentence.

The window is open—it's a little chilly, but the old man insists on having the window open so he can hear the children playing in the park. Some of them are family by blood; the ones who aren't belong to the old man nonetheless, in spirit. All the children of Storybrooke II have learned at his feet.

And then there's the old man himself, the very old man. In recent years as he's felt his body running down, he's surrendered his work to his descendants. Now he watches Adela spin, listens to Saer tell the tales of old Fairytale Land, laughs at Bae's fish stories. But one job remains to the old man, and he accepts it willingly: he is teaching them how to die faithfully.

From the rafters Rumplestiltskin observes the old man. It won't be long now. Rumple is a little sad for all that old man will miss—but the old man leaves so much of himself behind that a part of him will continue for generations. And into the life that waits beyond this one, the old man will carry all the love and all the memories he's been blessed with here, but none of the pain. It's a time for celebration, the old man teaches his family: there is life and love and purpose beyond, and when they all have unlocked sleep's final gate, they will never part again. As for him, his body has worn itself out, and he's ready to part from it.

Rumplestiltskin feels a tap on his shoulder and he turns his head, and then he leaps to his feet, balancing nimbly on a sunbeam pouring in from the open window. He opens his arms and is embraced and kissed by a woman in white. "Rumplestiltskin! You straightened up and flew right! I'm proud of you."

She looks exactly as he remembers.

"Helewise!" He's so overcome with joy that he just has to do a little jig, balancing on one foot on the sunbeam and giggling in that madcap way of old. He grasps her hands and she joins him in the jig, laughing so hard she falls off the sunbeam, but he seizes her wrist and draws her back up. Then he remembers that a fall wouldn't have hurt her anyway, and that makes him giggle again, and she giggles again. One more time she throws her arms about him. "Rumplestiltskin!"

"Helewise!"

She thrusts her hands on her hips. "Looking dapper, as always."

He bows in gratitude. "And you, glorious as always." As he straightens, his grin fades. "I've missed you. Where have you been? Why didn't you come back?"

She speaks gently, giving him time to think and adjust. "I passed on, Rumple. Out of the earthly realm. I couldn't come back. Only the Master is beyond the reach of death."

He catches on. "Ohhh. Then, since I'm talking to you, that means I'm 'out of the realm' too."

"Almost." They both turn to watch the scene taking place below. The old man and Saer are finishing their prayer, and listening to them, Helewise places a hand to her mouth. "Oh, Rumple." Her voice cracks and her eyes shine as she turns back to him. "I can't tell you what that means to me, to hear you and your son talking to the Master. The Master tells me you're one of His favorite conversationalists. Before you learned how to listen, there were times when you were struggling so hard, my heart broke for you. That time you climbed up to the tallest tower of the Dark Castle and threw your furniture off—"

He nods. "I remember. I was feeling low then."

"That's putting it mildly."

"Not as low as the night I lost Bae, though. That's him, by the way." Rumple points and pushes his chest out like a rooster ruling the coop. "The tall guy. A doctor. I can't any credit for that; the Master sent him to a good family and they raised him."

She touches his arm. "No, Rumple, don't think of it like that. It was you who taught him responsibility and compassion. Do you know why he became a doctor? Because you taught him to revere life."

"He forgave me," Rumplestiltskin says softly.

"A fine lad. They all are. I guess I can say 'I knew them when'—they were all highly regarded among us. That's why the Master sent them to you and Belle."

"To keep me on the straight and narrow?"

She shakes her head. "To reward them. They were the first class, Rumple. There will be many, many others."

"I don't follow. . . ."

"I'll show you, whenever you're ready to go."

"A moment more, please." She nods, and they sit down together on the sunbeam to watch the family, she holding his hand, as in the old days.

The old man's eyes are bright and clear for the first time in months. Some of his children take hope from this; Bae doesn't correct them, but he's seen this time and time again: a seeming recovery as the body pulls from all its corners the shreds of its energy, just before it releases the soul. Rumplestiltskin knows this too, and he cocks his head to listen.

A sly smile slides across the old man's lips. His voice is unwavering, as it was before he admitted he to himself that he was an old man and that it was time he conducted himself as one. He asks his wife to bring his jacket. "You know the one."

She does, and she chuckles as she squeezes past her children to the closet. She has to dig deep, but she finally finds the dragon-skin: it's cracked and worn too, though she's taken it out once a year to oil it. She brings it to him and helps him draw it on over his Hugo Boss shirt. She stands back to admire him, her Rumplestiltskin once more, one last time, and then she takes his hand and sits down on the bed beside him.

His eyes move slowly across each face; each time he blinks, a little of the light passes from them. When his gaze reaches Saer, the old man nods slightly, and his son nods back. Whatever they've just communicated in silence will remain between them.

Adela raises her face toward the sun streaming in from the window, and the breeze that follows. She sighs deeply as if she's awakening, and she murmurs something to her siblings. Quietly they depart the room, closing the door behind them, leaving the old man and his wife alone, except for the two who watch from above.

Belle presses her forehead to her husband's in a long familiar gesture. "What do you see, my darling?"

His voice is slipping away on the breeze now, but he doesn't really need it to answer her. "Helewise is here."

She draws his hand to her bosom and kisses his mouth. "Where you go, I go."

He grins at her crookedly. "It's forever—" His chest heaves as his body puts up one last fight. When he manages to steady his rebellious lungs, the fire catches in his eyes again, and they speak a lifetime of remembrances around the one word he finds breath enough to say, "Love."

In years to come, she will wonder if he meant it as a noun or a verb, and sometimes she'll decide her man of mystery probably meant it as both.

On the sunbeam Rumplestiltskin feels suddenly cold, in spite of his leathers. He rubs his arms as he watches Belle a moment more. She presses her lips to the old man's forehead, tucks his hand beneath his blanket. She tilts her head up and smiles, speaks to the air, "Thank you." And then, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she stands, straightens her skirt, raises her chin and goes out to her children.

Rumplestiltskin sighs. "All right. I'm ready." He stands too, and offers Helewise a hand up. The messenger tucks her arm in his and begins to walk along the sunbeam, and the bedroom, the cottage, the town fade away. His vision goes a little fuzzy for a moment; when he blinks to clear it, he finds they are walking along a dirt road that winds gradually up a hill and down again, past sheep fields, across a wooden bridge and into a village.

"I know this place." He struggles to remember. "I've been here before."

"You're coming home," Helewise says. She leads him past a blacksmith's, a tannery, and shops, to a hut at the center of the village, and then he remembers. "Alsford."

The heavy curtain closing the hut off is pushed aside and an old man, much older than Rumplestiltskin, and nearly blind, hobbles out to grasp his free arm. "Welcome, Rumplestiltskin. This is your home now."

Rumple embraces the old man. "Saer."

The old spinner brings Rumple inside, Helewise trailing.

There is a fire burning in the fireplace, and a fragrant stew bubbling over the fire. There is a mat in one corner and a rope bed in the other. There are bags of silk against one wall and a wooden table, set with bowls and spoons and mugs, against the other. Taking pride of place in the center of the room is a spinning wheel. Rumple seats himself on the stool and runs his hands along the smooth, warm wood.

"Is this my work now?" he asks Helewise. "Am I to spin for the Master?"

"In part. You will spin our robes." she says, then she steps back and raises the curtain. One by one, seven children dressed in the homespun of peasants enter the cottage and gather round the wheel. They are chattering and giggling to each other and smiling shyly at him. "You are Rumplestiltskin?" the tallest, a girl, asks. "We've been waiting for you." There's something striking about her heart-shaped face, her bold brown eyes; he peers closely at her. She's a photocopy of Snow White.

"Messengers-in-training," Helewise informs him. "Your second class."

Saer straightens his back and suddenly he appears to be young and strong, his eyes sharp, his voice steady. The ions in the atmosphere electrify, bringing Rumple to his feet. "From the time Helewise found you, as a newborn abandoned in the woods, this has been My plan for you, Rumplestiltskin. You will help My messengers understand the human heart in all its darkness and all its light. You will help them to understand the desperation that drives men to evil, and the hope that fetches them back again. You will teach them compassion so that they can truly love those whom they were created to serve."

"Thank you, Master," Rumplestiltskin bows his gratitude.

The Master reaches over the heads of children to squeeze his shoulder. "It's through these generations that we will win the final battle. I have been waiting a long time for you, son." He turns to leave, but pauses at the entrance to the hut. "Worry not; the helpmeet I promised you will return to your side before long." His mouth twitches and His eyes twinkle. "We always honor our bargains, do we not, Spinner?"

"Aye, Master. Always."

The Master turns, but adds over His shoulder, "Remember to spin to the left. You're a holy man here, too."

Rumplestiltskin watches the Master walk away, until the smallest child slips her hand in Rumple's and points to the wheel. "Will you show me how to use that?"

He sits on the stool again and lifts her onto his knee. "What's your name, little one?"

Her hands reach out for the wheel; he takes them in his own and demonstrates the movement for her, spinning to the left. She's fascinated by the motion of the spokes, but manages to answer him. "I'm called Regina."

In the bedroom of Belle's cottage, Bae and Shannon are packing the clothes that will be taken to Storybrooke I; the current Mr. Browning will mend them, then take them to the nuns, to be sold in a rummage sale, the proceeds going to repair the convent's leaky roof. Some days, the nuns imagine that they almost miss Mr. Gold, for despite his threats of eviction and rent raises, he still kept all his buildings in perfect order. Mr. Gold, they say, always took good care of his things.

Saer and his mother are sorting through Rumplestiltskin's library, seeking out the books that Storybrooke II's holy man will need to counsel and comfort the people. They flip through the books, pausing to read aloud underlined passages and penciled in notes. In one of the books, Saer finds a faded, folded sheet of stationery in an envelope that's addressed to "Husband."

"Mom?" Saer gives her the letter. Once it's removed from the book, he can see the underlined passage it was marking: "Whither thou goest. . . ."

Belle recognizes the envelope immediately, though it's been forty years. She withdraws the letter carefully; it's fragile from much handling. She remembers exactly what's written inside, but she reads it anyway: "'Where you go, we go, now and forever, if you will have us. Love, Belle.'"

Underneath, in another hand, have been added these words: "I'll wait for you, my love. Always and forever yours, Rumple."