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[i]There was a light rap at the door and Rumpelstiltskin turned his head to look at the old, warped door. It was so poorly crafted that a large gap between the door and threshold allowed in a cool gust of wind, followed by a couple snow flurries that immediately melted onto the stone floor before the roaring fireplace.

Upon habit, Rumpelstiltskin turned his head away from the door, willing whoever it was to just go away and let his soft brown eyes fall back onto the slow burning candle on top of the table in the center of the room, a poorly knitted baby blanket folded neatly next to the candle making the red stitching on the blanket illuminate the word 'Baelfire' as a haunting memory of what he had lost.

A second, louder knock came from the door and Rumpelstiltskin turned his head once more to look at it. His shoulders heaved heavily as he sighed and reached over for his walking stick and pushed himself up, taking his time as he limped heavily to the door before opening it just a crack. On his doorstep was a short, stout man wrapped up in a tattered, burlap cloak with the hood wrapped so tightly around his face, Rumpelstiltskin wasn't so sure if it was the just the cold that made the man's face blue.

"I'm sorry to bother you sir, but might you have a spot on your hearth for a lowly man down on his luck to warm up his bones for a spell?" The beggar asked.

Rumpelstiltskin was conflicted; he hadn't allowed a single soul into his home ever since Milah and Baelfire had been taken by the pirates, and those who did come to visit were those who came to rub the fact that he was a coward into his face, in which he would just promptly shut the door back on them...

But then Rumpelstiltskin remembered the Ogres War; and how his journey home in similar circumstances had abused his body even more than the self-inflicted injury so that he could return home. Another gust of wind picked up, pushing past the beggar and stung Rumpelstiltskin's tired and worn face as a reminder, and so he promptly nodded and allowed the beggar inside.

"I don't have much, but I can offer you some warm broth if you would like." Rumpelstiltskin said closing the door behind the beggar as the stout man hurried towards the hearth, ripping off his rags for gloves and holding them up to the fire, clapping and wringing them together in an effort to speed up the process.

"Whatever it is you can spare will be a welcome contrast to the fate I was to have out in the cold." The beggar replied gratefully and Rumpelstiltskin busied himself with getting an old tin cup and filled it with the warm broth that had been stewing inside a small cauldron hanging above the fire pit. Rumpelstiltskin handed the cup to the man and then hobbled his way back over to the table where he blew out the candle, the moment of remembrance for what he had lost disturbed.

The beggar spent a few more moments warming up at the fire, though his eyes were now on his gracious host. The candle and baby blanket didn't go unnoticed by the older man, and felt it in his place to speak up about it.

"I'm sorry...I-I didn't realize I was intruding..." He stammered. Rumpelstiltskin just shook his head no, watching the smoke of the once burning candle dissipate into the air, indicating that the beggar was no trouble at all. Silence hung in the air as the beggar sipped at the warm broth, but again opened his mouth to speak. "My condolences."

It could have been the flickering shadow cast by the fireplace, but at the man's words Rumpelstiltskin seemed to have aged a couple more years. The creases in his face deepening and the crows feet at his squinted eyes becoming more prominent and the silver wisps in his hair shining in the darkness of the hut.

"She's not dead. She's just lost." Rumpelstiltskin corrected the man in a bitter tone that was in no way directed towards the beggar. There was a long pause, and then he added on, "She would have been eight today."

"Taken?" The beggar repeated and made his way from the fireplace and took the second chair at the table, sitting across from Rumpelstiltskin. "So go and get her back!"

Rumpelstiltskin laughed out to hide his sorrow. This beggar knew nothing of his pain, of his cowardice. Simply getting Baelfire back just wasn't so simple as the beggar might have thought. There were too many...complications.

"I wouldn't know where to look." Rumpelstiltskin then said honestly, and to his surprise the beggar smiled.

"You might not know where to look, but I know someone who does."

Rumpelstiltskin shifted in his chair, the wooden legs creaking in their old age under his weight and threatening to give way. He paid the chair no heed though, as his attention was now completely on the beggar's words.

"Who?" What did the beggar know? How could he possibly know someone with that kind of knowledge? A mix of skepticism and interest peaked in his eyes, vanishing the tiredness that had plagued them just moments before.

The beggar set down his cup of broth on the table and leaned in forward towards Rumpelstiltskin, keeping his voice down despite the fact that no one else was around that could possibly overhear them.

"The Dark One."

Rumpelstiltskin straightened up as quickly as if there were a string attached to the top of his head and some puppeteer pulled it taught. The Dark One? Was this man out of his mind? No one asked a favor of The Dark One without paying a heavy price; and though he hated to admit it Rumpelstiltskin knew what happened when he dabbled in dark magic; it cost him his wife's love and any chance that his daughter would have a hero for a father, instead replaced by cowardice. The seer was bad news, and The Dark One would only be worse.

The beggar smiled broadly once more, as if reading Rumpelstiltskin's mind though it wasn't too hard to guess what he was thinking since the worry on his face seemed to tell all.

"Just imagine, with The Dark One on your side, you can do anything. You can have your girl back, and rain down terror on those who took her away from you for the rest of their miserable lives."

"But I haven't anything to offer!" Rumpelstiltskin replied immediately, his voice cracking as he was once again reminded of just how helpless he really was. The beggar's smile faltered, realizing the honesty in Rumpelstiltskin's words. The beggar seemed to shy away then, as if hiding a secret, but Rumpelstiltskin was quick to catch on.

"What? What is it?" He demanded, desperation dripping from his words.

"Well...there's...a dagger..." The beggar began. "They say that if you control the dagger, you control The Dark One."

"A dagger?"

"Aye, they say the true name of The Dark One is engraved into the steel, and The Dark One becomes powerless against it's wielder, forced into doing the will of the one who controls it." The beggar paused to lick his cracked lips. "Why else do you think The Dark One would be subjected into helping the Duke gather the children for the Ogres War? Why would someone as powerful as The Dark One subject himself into working for someone as powerless as The Duke?"

This caused Rumpelstiltskin to pause, and think. The beggar had a point; he had seen this very thing first hand when The King's army came to his very village and began to pull away the twelve-year old boys from their families. One courageous father tried to interfere by fighting the King's men in an order to save his son from their death sentence, but a large wave of magic pushed the father down into the dirt and The Dark One made himself known; sitting on horseback with the King's Men covered heavily in a black cloak that concealed his identity.

"So then, The Duke has the dagger?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, wanting to make sure he had the correct information. The beggar nodded.

"He has to, there's no other explanation." The beggar then grabbed the tin cup and took a drink of the slowly cooling down broth. "Take the dagger, control The Dark One, get your life back."

The beggar made it all seem so easy, but there was still something holding Rumpelstiltskin back...his sense of honor.

"I...I couldn't control someone like that; a servant...it's...it's not me..." Perhaps it really was his sense of honor talking, or perhaps it was his cowardice looking for excuses to not put himself in such dangerous circumstances, and the beggar made another face; he knew something more.

"Then take the dagger and plunge it into The Dark Ones heart. The Dark One will die, and his powers will become yours to do with as you please." The beggar gruffed, throwing the idea out there but not actually thinking that Rumpelstiltskin would take the bait. If it was as easy as he made it out to be, then there would most certainly have been a new Dark One by now. Rumpelstiltskin paused once more, looking the beggar up and down with a face of both humility and concern.

"Why are you helping me?" He finally asked, and the beggar finished up his broth before answering,

"I know how to recognize a desperate soul."[/i]

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Mr. Gold sat on the edge of his bed, thumbing the sixteen inch steel dagger between his two hands. His dark browns never left the name etched in black into the silver blade, 'Rumpelstiltskin.' He had done as the beggar had suggested. That very night, after the beggar had left, he had gone to the Duke's Castle, and burned down the wooden rafters as a distraction so he could slip inside. Finding the dagger wasn't all too difficult, hidden behind a tapestry that seemed to be out of place compared to the rest of the decor in the room. He didn't even give the dagger a second glance as he grabbed it and ran, far away from the castle until he was so deep into the woods he wasn't sure just how he would find his way back. Only then did he pull the dagger out and examine it closely.

There was a different name on the dagger back then, Zoso. Raising the dagger to the sky, he had summoned The Dark One who appeared almost immediately and Rumpelstiltskin plunged the dagger into The Dark One's heart, the thought of using The Dark One's powers to bring back Baelfire clouding his judgement for any consequences that would be soon to follow. As The Dark One lay there dying in the dirt, the contorted, scaley green skin of The Dark One's face melted away and Rumpelstiltskin recognized him immediately as the very beggar that had gave him the idea of killing The Dark One in the first place.

Zoso eased Rumpelstiltskin's confusion by stating that being The Dark One came at a heavy price, it was a prison sentence that he was ready to be released from, even if that meant in death. Rumpelstiltskin watched as the curse took his body over and his blood began to grow hot. In Zoso's last words, he warned Rumpelstiltskin that all magic came at a price, and then he was gone, and Rumpelstiltskin screamed out in agony as all The Dark One's magical powers forced it's way into his body.

The dagger held no power over him here in Storybrooke, but things were changing. Henry was here, and he would break the curse. Mr. Gold hadn't parted with the dagger since he had acquired it over a thousand years ago, but due to the circumstances, he knew it would not be safe in his possession much longer.

Making up his mind, Mr. Gold used his cane to help him up and he walked to the end table, wrapping the dagger in a square of canvas he had pulled out previously and bound it with rubber bands. He then bent over the slow burning candle with an old, worn baby blanket folded neatly next to it. He blew out the candle and headed outside his home to hide his one and only weakness.