Rumplestiltskin sacrificed his key bargaining chip with Regina–his true identity–over a teacup that reminded him of the woman he loved. From behind bars, he traded all of his power away for Belle, even though he believed she was dead and had no hope of ever seeing her again. The memories attached to that object were so precious, so powerful, that winning the cup back was the only thing that mattered.
The scene humbles me every time I see it. His haunted eyes, the desperation, the edges of despair beginning to creep in…and the immediate relief when he has the cup back in his possession. How cradling a fragile porcelain shell allows him to slip back behind the mask to dwell on happier, simpler times; to feel hope even though he believes his true love is gone forever. Even though he knows he was the one to drive her away and believed himself to be responsible for her death.
Don’t ever tell me Rumplestiltskin doesn’t adore Belle with his whole heart. Don’t ever tell me he’s not a man who can be wholly honest and completely vulnerable. Don’t ever tell me he’s not an utterly romantic fool.
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