A/N: Hello all! It's been a while, but I've gotten some writing done. Oddly enough, reading a Karl Heisenberg/OC fic is what got my inspiration going again.
Last Episode:
Rum and Ellyn had dinner with the d'Corbin family and snuck in a quiet moment to talk. After everyone else was asleep, Ellyn wanted to look in to the three crystals left to her by her mentor Zoso in a magically sealed box. The crystal contained one of his memories that revealed how he became the Dark One, and gave some insight about how Ellyn might help the d'Corbin family into a more stable position. She fell asleep on Rum while they were talking.
Refresher on Character Names & Relations:
Elizabeth + various men = Tor (deceased), Ellyn/"Faolan", Elaine
Elaine + Arran = Phelan and Tara
Phelan + Aisling = Bethany (14), Aedan (11), Oisin (7), Daithi & Eimar (5)
Tara + Darach (deceased) = Faye (5), Fillin (2), Darragh (less than 1)
*I wish there was a way for this site to have a drop-down menu of a character appendix, to replicate the way some scifi/fantasy books have them in the front.
Part 3: How the Mighty Fall
Chapter 15: Inheritance, Part 1
When I slowly blink awake the next morning, there is a ring of young faces not more than a foot from mine, and I jerk back on reflex. Rum grunts as I push roughly off him in the process, and my grandnieces and grandnephews laugh uproariously; Rum giggles along with them, and I slap him on the chest light-heartedly.
"You're not funny." I tell him sternly.
"I thought it was pretty funny." Bethany quips; she leans against the wall next to the ladder, obviously believing herself too old to be a part of the nonsense, but enjoying it nonetheless.
"Et tu, Bethany?" I grumble groggily, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand. "What time is it?"
She shrugs. "Almost midday. Everyone's ready to go to town."
"Town?" I ask, then remember. "Right, right. Birthday gifts, house supplies. We'll get lunch, too."
I haul myself to my feet with far less grace than Rum does, stiff and groggy. I wave my hand and focus, and a second later, we all stand on the main floor of the barn. The younger kids erupt into chatter, awed and excited and wanting to see more magic. Bethany simply blinks owlishly.
"Damn. Is that normal for you two?" She asks, trying very hard not to sound impressed.
"Hey, you're not allowed to say that!" Aedan objects immediately upon hearing the curse, and is ignored.
"It's not even the weirdest thing that's normal to us. You should see what my ward has as a pet."
"Ah, dear Kraken." Rum says jovially as we begin to walk to the house. "They grow up so fast."
"Ten feet in a year." I add to Bethany, and she cocks an eyebrow.
"And my parents wouldn't even let us get a dog."
I laugh at that deadpan tone, and at nearly the same time that Arran and Phelan emerge from the house. Most of the children rush to great them, chattering excitedly about the magic they just witnessed; Aedan and Bethany, the oldest of the lot, follow more calmly.
"Good morning." Arran says cheerfully to Rum and I over the children's head. "Faolan, your mother is awake. She asked to see you."
Rum instantly glances to me, gauging my reaction; I instantly smile fondly at the mention of Elizabeth.
"Thanks, Arran. How's she feeling today?"
"Better than she has in a long time. She wants to accompany us to town, but I don't know if that is particularly wise."
"If she's feeling up to it, I'm sure there are some things I could do to make it easier." I reply thoughtfully, already searching through my arcane knowledge. I quickly find a few ideas and store them away for later, and look to Rum with a smile. "Com'on, Rum. I'll introduce you."
I expect my mother to be waiting in her room for us, but when we step inside, we find her seated in front of the hearth beside Tara and Elaine, cradling little Darragh in her skeletal arms and looking down at the baby with infinite affection. It's almost painful to see that when she looks up at me, it's with that same fondness. She quickly kisses Darragh's forehead and passes him off Tara, and slowly shifts to the edge of the bench in preparation of standing. Elaine and I protest at nearly the same instant.
"Woah, Mum-"
"I'll come to you, Mum."
Tara smiles fondly at all of us, and stands as I approach to allow me to sit next to my mother. I'm immediately pulled into a hug, and I hold my mother to my chest. She was shorter than me when I first met her, and she has only shrunk with age; I move as slowly and gently as possible, irrationally afraid of harming this tiny, frail, gentle creature. She shakes in my arms, and after a second I realize that she's sobbing, so quietly that it can scarcely be heard over the crackling fire. There is something so viscerally, unexplainably cutting about seeing one's mother cry, that I feel tears gathering in my eyes as well.
"It's okay, Mum. I'm here."
"Oh, I'm sorry child. I don't mean to be such a blithering mess. Its just that-" She sniffles a little, pulls back to wipe the tears from her face, "I didn't think I'd see you again."
"I didn't either. I would have come sooner, Mum, if I'd known that you were sick."
"I know, dear. I know. Gods, has it really been so long…?" She reaches up a hand, gently touches the roots of my grey-streaked hair in almost exactly the same way Elaine did yesterday. "And they tell me that you have a man now, and an adopted child. A little boy?"
"Oh no, Mum, that's not- yeah, his name is Graham, but, uh, that's not really an accurate picture-" I glare past her shoulder to Elaine, who holds her hands up placatingly.
"We just told her that you had a partner and that you were taking care of a kid."
Mum looks between us, suddenly sheepish, and pats my hand. "I'm sorry, dear, I didn't mean to put an uncomfortable label on things. I'm just happy that you have some kind of family around you."
"It's okay, Mum. Elaine should have clarified-"
"I didn't-"
Rum steps forward and holds out a hand to my mother. Elizabeth takes it reflexively, squinting to see his face as he gives her hand the same gentlemanly kiss that Elaine got yesterday, talking over the both of us.
"A pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth. I am Rumplestiltskin."
"A pleasure to meet you as well, young man. Are you this partner that I've heard so little about?"
"The one and only."
She nods as though satisfied. "Good, good. A mother worries, you know."
"I expect nothing less." He replies, so smooth, so charming, but his lips twitch after he says it, tightening minisculely. It's an expression so fleeting that I wouldn't catch it without a year of familiarity; I wonder if he's thinking bitterly of Milah, or of the mother he has never once mentioned. I feel a small tingle of guilt, wondering if it's salt in a wound to be surrounded by the family I have. Doesn't that make two of us?, my mind grumbles bitterly. I don't really have them either.
"Hey, Mum," I say, pushing the thought away, "Arran said that you wanted to come with us?"
"Yes, I do." She says sternly, obviously preparing for an argument. Judging by the way Arran presented the idea, I get the feeling that she's already had at least one. "I haven't been out of this house in months. I was sick, that doesn't make me an invalid! I can walk." Past her, Elaine makes a small 'so-so' gesture with her hand, and my eyes flicker to my sister briefly in acknowledgement.
"Alright." I say mildly, and Mum's face is washed with surprise.
"Oh." She mutters, suddenly a little embarrassed of her defensiveness. "I expected-"
"For me to act like I'm your mother?"
Her small, toothless smile is unreasonably endearing. "Heh. I suppose so."
"I think that's Arran's job." Elaine suppresses a laugh next to her, and I continue, "I'm happy to have you go with us, Mum. And if you want, I can give you something to help you keep up."
She glances uneasily between Elaine and I. "Something magic?"
"Well, that is my specialty. Its perfectly safe, Mum, I promise."
"What were you thinking, little wolf?" Rum asks.
"I'm thinking we levitate her just far enough off the ground that a floor-length dress will hide it. She can just hold onto someone and go where they go."
An apprehensive look crosses Elaine's face. "What if she gets left somewhere?"
"I mean, it's possible, but I don't plan on going far from her. If you want, I can weave a keyword into it, so she can drop the spell and walk if she has to."
She doesn't look quite convinced, but with a few more assurances, my mother and sister finally consent to give it a try. We help Elizabeth to her feet and keep her steadied in place as I cast the spell; she lifts to hover an inche off the ground, and gasps a little at the sudden movement.
"Oh, that's odd." She says, brow furrowing, shifting as though to transfer her weight from one foot to the other.
"Do you want to stop?" I ask, the smallest bit worried that I've spooked her. With how magicians are viewed in this country, it's almost a miracle that she's allowed even this much.
"No, I'll be fine. Just takes some getting used to is all."
After a few seconds, I cast another spell to lengthen her dress until it brushes the floor. I offer my mother my arm, and she holds onto it as I slowly walk around the room. After a few passes around the living room, when it clicks that she doesn't need to readjust her balance like one normally would for turning or stopping, she is able to float serenely alongside of me without keeping a deathgrip on my arm.
In those last few seconds of practice, when we're across the room from Rum and Elaine, my mother leans into me and whispers, "Faolan, dear, is there something different about your friend?"
Oh, what a loaded question, I think to myself. "What do you mean, Mum?"
"Well, I can't see very well, so I can't quite tell, but... is there something different with his skin?
I blink a few times. "He's got scales, Mum."
"Really? How interesting. The kids weren't rude, were they? We don't get many visitors."
"No, no, they handled it pretty well. Mum, uh, how long has your eyesight been like that?"
"A while. It's just been getting blurrier every year. Comes with getting old, you know."
I pinch the bridge of my nose as we rejoin Rum and Elaine. "I guess I'll see what I can do about that before I leave." When did I become the bloody town doctor?
My mother's face falls immediately at the idea. "How long can you stay this time?" She asks; her tone is gentle, but pain lurks beneath it.
"I don't know, Mum." I admit. "There are things I want to look into while I'm here, things that might help keep you all a bit safer. On that subject," I glance over to Elaine, "I'll need a family meeting with all the adults tonight."
My little sister nods. "We usually send the kids out to play for an hour or two before dinner. We can all talk then."
I nod in return. "Good. How'd the floating look, Rum? Too conspicuous?"
He cocks an eyebrow. "Well, it certainly didn't look normal, but I don't think anyone will call you on it."
"Are you sure?" Elaine asks apprehensively. The Dark One shrugs.
"Bit of a stretch for someone to say, 'that woman's walking weird. She must be floating.'".
"Well, that's fair." I concede. "You good to go, Mum?"
"More than ready." We start towards the door, and then Rum stops short next to me.
"Oh, I almost forgot." He waves a hand over himself and casts a glamar, and suddenly the scales are gone, and his eyes are a cool blue. His hair is straight and nearly black, his features more square, more classically handsome. I make a face.
"Don't do that."
The Dark One blinks at me. "And why not?" He demands, almost petulantly. It is so indescribably off-putting to hear his voice come out of an unrecognizable face.
"Well, first off, if you sneak up on me like you usually do looking like that, I might end up punching you in the face."
"Hmph. You can try."
"Secondly," I say, ignoring the comment, "I'd prefer that you look like you." This time, the owlish blinking is in astonishment, and when I see Elaine crack a grin out of the corner of my eye, I realize the unintended compliment. "This is just, you know… Look, I don't know, mate, it's just bloody weird."
"If you insist." Rum replies with a small, genuine smile, and he waves his hand again. This time, he keeps his face, his unruly mane of hair, and those eyes that turn grey or amber in the right light. Only the scales are gone, and for a second he is an odd blend of his usual self, and the much younger man that I met when I was a much greener magician.
Its more palatable than the alternative, however, so I nod and add, "Thanks, Rum."
When we emerge from the house, the rest of our family has congregated around the barn. The younger children are being watched by Aedan, and as we begin to walk towards them, Phelan, Arran, and Bethany emerge from the barn, leading two horses who pull a wagon. The three immediately begin scooping children up and depositing them in the back of the cart, and it's for this reason that Arran doesn't immediately see us approaching. We're over halfway to them when my brother-in-law looks up, smiling, and the jovial expression wipes from his face comically fast.
Elaine sighs deeply. "Here we go again."
Arran has already detached from the group, trotting towards us as Phelan looks after him; my nephew has the same aggravated look for his father as his father has for us.
"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Arran demands as he reaches us. "She was seriously ill just yesterday. Even with magic, how healthy can she be?"
"About as healthy as a forty-year-old imprisoned criminal." I offer nonchalantly, and Rum giggles loudly for a minute before suppressing it. My sister and brother-in-law shoot us confused and off-put glances, the latter also looking a little annoyed by the odd, glib interruption.
After a second, Arran adds, "And what else did you do to her? Why is she walking like- like that?"
"Would you guess that she's floating?" Rum asks keenly, and I grin, knowing where this is going. Arran gapes at him with wide-eyed astonishment.
"She's floating?"
"Aha!" Rum exclaims, so loudly that Arran jumps nearly out of his skin, and I bark out a laugh before I can stop myself. "I knew it!"
"You shoulda put money on it, Rum."
"Are you even listening to me?" Arran snaps.
"Barely." I retort.
"Faolan." My mother admonishes me. To Arran, she adds, "I'm a grown woman, dear. I make my own decisions."
Arran looks across all four of us, and, seeing no support- even from his wife- throws up his hands. "Fine! Do what you want!" He points to me, leans forward; out of the corner of my eye, I see Rum's lips curl back into a snarl, and I touch his hand. "But if something happens, this is on you."
Anger floods my chest, and I tamp it down, physically biting my tongue, the muscles in my jaw tensing. Now it's Rum's turn to touch my hand as he shifts closer, scowling at Arran.
"Arran." Elaine interjects sharply, mortified. He glances to her, momentarily remorseful, and then stomps off towards the wagon. My sister sighs again. "I'm sorry, Faolan. I swear that he isn't always this high-strung."
"Is he always this ungrateful?" Rum shoots back harshly, and Elaine winces.
"Rum." I say, more for snapping at Elaine than anything.
"No, he earned that one." My sister defends, looking none to happy about it. Now its my turn to sigh.
"Let's just get on with it."
I walk my mother to the back of the wagon and float her up into it. Between Elaine, Tara, Aislin, and all the children, the bench seats in the back are completely filled, and Bethany instantly steps in behind my mother, shooing two of the five-year-olds to floor to give Elizabeth a place to sit. Then she shoots me a look that says I've got her, and I nod and leave my mother to my grandniece's care.
Arran has climbed onto the driver's bench, ignoring the rest of us. Bloody pouting baby, I think. Elaine climbs up next to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him down so she can snarl something into his ear. He shrugs her off and scoots away, and sets the wagon into slow trundling motion with a sharp word to the horses. Rum and Phelan and I are left in its wake.
"I'm sorry to have to make you walk." My nephew begins as we set off after them. The wagon's pace is slow enough that we could keep up with it at a brisk walk, but Phelan purposely lags about twenty yards behind it. "There hasn't been enough room in the wagon since the twins were old enough to take up a seat. Usually Bethany and Mum walk with me, but you'll understand them wanting to stay close to Grandma."
"Of course."
Phelan glances at his father's back, shifting closer and lowering his voice. "Did he make an ass of himself?"
"Oh no, dearie." Rum replies before I can. "Make would imply some kind of transformation. I gather that this is just his personality."
My nephew's face darkens, but unlike his mother, Phelan doesn't try to defend Arran's character. "My apologies, Auntie, for his behavior."
"His behaviour isn't yours to apologize for, Phelan." I correct gently. "But the sentiment is appreciated."
It is about a mile to the edge of Corbin, but as we continue to walk, we are already passing mostly-crumbled walls and forks in the stone road that lead to nothing. Once this was a bustling crossroads town, but that has all melted away in the two centuries since the d'Corbins ran afoul of the Pellinores. Since Zoso ran afoul of the Pellinores, I mentally correct, By setting a rapist prince to death and having bastard children with the princess.
Oh, the joys of my family history.
Today, the town of Corbin consists of perhaps twenty spaced-out houses, three permanent businesses, a tavern, and, set a good hundred yards back from the main road, a mill and the miller's house next to a small river. The businesses are arranged around a crossroads, forming a pseudo-town square where several stalls have been erected to form a market that a few people mill around.
The road we are on continues through the town and up a gradual hill for another mile, at the top of which sits Corbin Castle. After last night's vision, my eyes keep drifting back to that imposing silhouette as we walk, mind churning through what it means- for our history, for my family- and what it may still hold.
The wagon pulls into the town square a few yards ahead of us, and Phelan steps up to help lift my mother from the back of the cart. I hover a short distance away, for a minute marveling at the sight of four generations of d'Corbins, at the way they seamlessly work together to help Mum and the children from the wagon. When everyone is down, Arran pulls off again without a word.
"Most people leave their wagons behind the tavern." Phelan explains at my questioning glance. "He'll catch up. Let's get a table."
The tavern is small, not much more than a bar and three tables, so I'm surprised to find a small alcove to the right of all the tables where a bard sits, plucking idly at a lute, a cup next to his feet for tips. It's nearly deserted save for that bard and the bartender, and both men's faces immediately sour at seeing us.
"Jon." Phelan greets cheerily. "Mind if we put the tables together?"
"Yeah, I do." The bartender replies bluntly, annoyance in his tone. I sense more than see something shift in the adults in the family, a new tension and weight entering their bodies. Next to me, Bethany scowls openly, mumbling asshole under her breath. My mother, who has been holding onto her arm, grins down at her great-granddaughter.
"There a problem here?" I ask, stepping forward from the crowd of people in the door to look pointedly between the bartender and Phelan. The bartender- Jon- rakes a gaze over me, and seems unimpressed.
"We met?" He asks, alittle harshly. Annoyance sparks in my chest at the open rudeness.
"Faolan d'Corbin." I stroll up to the bar and all but slam two gold pieces onto the counter. It's not an insignificant amount of money around here, and I lean in a little to lowly add, "We're putting the tables together, yeah?"
Jon glances from the money to me, unnerved and suspicious at the mix of threat and bribe. He sweeps it into his hand and looks away to mumble, "Do what you want."
I straighten and nod back to Phelan, and he leads the family towards the table, the adults slowly shifting them together. Rum crosses over to stand beside and slightly behind me, one arm wrapping around my back to rest his hand on the bar next to me; I distinctly feel the warmth of his chest less than an inch from my back. It is a stance that suggests both familiarity and territoriality, and the bartender seems to shrink a little in the face of our united, disapproving front. I produce two more gold coins, keeping my hand over them.
"Whatever you've got on for lunch, we need enough for everyone. And if I think for a second that you've fucked with it, I'll-"
"Gut him like a fish?" Rum interrupts, voice high and delighted, his wide grin a little manic and purposefully unnerving. "Wear his skin as a cloak? Strangle him with his own intestines?"
Jon gapes, shocked and unnerved by how casually we discuss it. I laugh. "I'll let you pick, Rum. You've got plenty of ideas."
"Faolan!" Phelan calls, and I turn to see that the tables have been rearranged and my family is settling down around them. Beyond them, the bard is stalking away from his alcove and towards the bar, passing our table on the way, scowling deeply. I lead Rum back to the table and pull out two chairs next to my mother.
"You do something to Jon and the bard that I should know about?" I ask the table at large as I sit, Rum taking the seat next to me.
Tara makes a bemused sound from down the table. "Definitely nothing like you just did. What'd you threaten him with to get him to make that face?"
"What face?" Phelan asks quickly.
"We haven't decided." Rum replies cheerily in answer to Tara's questions.
"Auntie, you promised not to terrorize the locals." Phelan admonishes, looking between Rum and I with a mix of annoyance and weariness.
"You meant in perpetuity?" I ask innocently. "Apologies, lad. I thought we were just agreeing to not do it last night."
"And they haven't been terrorized." Rum adds. "You couldn't have missed it if he'd been terrorized."
Tara and Bethany grin at that, but Phelan sighs deeply, rubs his eyes with one hand.
"Auntie, I am begging you," Phelan says, in a tone that sounds more like he wants to strangle me. "We have to live with these people."
"These people are assholes. They're this pissy that you won't help them hunt a monster that no one's even seen in decades? They're toddlers throwing a tantrum."
"Faolan," Elaine interjects, gentle but firm, "People's livelihoods are involved. Their livestock. Their safety." Her voice lowers as she adds, "And if it is the Barking Beast, and the town doesn't slay it, the king will send men. No one wants that."
I take that in. "Well, maybe we can kill two birds with one stone." I think aloud, glancing to Rum.
"What?" My nephew asks. I wave him off.
"Later. We just have some ideas." Daylight floods the inn as Arran enters, and my mood immediately sours at the prospect of spending lunch with him. Rum and I have taken the last two seats, and I see my out. "Arran, over here. You can have my seat."
"No, it's alright-"
Rum and I are already to our feet. "There's something I want to check out while we're in town. We'll be back soon, yeah?"
I can tell that he wants to argue, but after a second, he nods. "Thank you." His tone is carefully even and neutral. I simply nod coolly and lead Rum out of the tavern.
I immediately turn to circle to the back of the tavern, trying to get away from any prying eyes on the main thoroughfare.
"Where are we off to, little wolf?" Rum asks jovially, then his nose crinkles in distaste as he adds, "Besides away from Arran."
I look out towards the distant hill. "Want to go check out the castle with me? I bet we'll find something fun in there."
"Oh, I bet we will as well." Rum replies, a keen, almost predatory look crossing his face.
"You realize that anything we find is mine, right?" I put in lightly.
He spins on his heels, walking backward to face me as we talk, smiling playfully. "Not even a finder's fee for dear Rum?"
"I'll give you the pleasure of my company."
We round the corner to the back of the building as he whines, "But I can get that for free."
My hand shoots out, grabbing his vest and yanking him to me before he backs straight into a wagon. He jostles into me and then catches himself with a hand on either of my arms, looking momentarily startled before he glances over his shoulder. His smile turns sheepish.
"Maybe face forward when you walk, yeah?" I give his cheek two quick pats with my free hand.
"I knew it was there." He mutters.
"'Course you did, oh mighty Dark One."
I start to pull away, but, as he did in my study not so long ago, he matches my step back, hands still on my arms. "You and that sharp tongue, little wolf." He warns playfully. Then he boops my nose, as one might a child, and adds sweetly, "Fortunate that I find your juvenile sarcasm amusing."
My mouth opens and closes once, surprisingly flustered- though at this point, I don't know why I'm surprised with any of his antics. Finally, I manage an almost petulant, "My sarcasm is perfectly age appropriate."
He lets out a high, dramatic hmmf of disbelief. "Of course it is."
"Whatever." I grumble. "You ready?"
He nods, and I grab his vest again with one hand and call my magic. Red-black smoke swirls around us, and when it dissipates, we stand in the ruin of a sizable courtyard. The cobblestone beneath our feet is almost completely overtaken by grass and weeds, and ivy crawls over the walls around us. If not for the vision granted to me by Zoso's purple crystal, it might have taken me a minute to even find the door underneath it all. I stroll forward and touch a hand to the door, and a small pulse of magic sends fire racing down the vines, turning them to ash and revealing the weathered oak beneath. I push on the door in, muscles in my back and arms flexing taut as I strain against decades of rust and wear. After a few inches it starts to move more easily, and with a final push it swings open, and I step inside.
"Ellyn." Rum calls impatiently. I turn to find him standing just outside the threshold, arms crossed, hip cocked. He's dropped his glamour, and is back to his usual scaly self. A translucent red wall of energy stretches across the doorway, barring him from entry.
For a second, I am brought back to the moment from that vision when Zoso stood across this very barrier from Gorgon, terrified that one thought would end his little brother's life, watching that same terror be reflected back at him from Alastor's face. If Ian were here right now, would he be in Alastar's place? I am so very different from Zoso, and Rum certainly isn't Gorgon, but I wonder at the ways that history might repeat itself if given the chance.
Rum cocks his head. "Deja vu?" He asks at the look on my face.
"Something like that." Remembering Zoso's words from that day, I add, "I welcome you to Corbin Castle."
The barrier dissipates, and Rum strolls through, casting a gaze around the hallway. The inside of the castle is in surprisingly good shape, though covered in a layer of dust. I start forward, glancing to the stone statues that line the hallways. Rum eyes them with distrust and walks close by my side. At first I'm just wandering, but then we come to a familiar junction, and I hesitate for a second, deciding between the library and the crypts. Something from the vision, some kind of subconscious feeling I sensed in Balthazar, tells me that the d'Corbin vault isn't something you show to just anyone, especially not other magicians and almost definitely not Dark Ones.
Sorry, Zoso. I'm more a Jones than a d'Corbin.
I lead us down the hallway, through a door, and down the stairs. When we step into the catacomb-like crypt, the torches flicker to life, and Rum looks around at the sarcophagi slotted into the walls and the statues that line the hallway.
"Cheery." He says dryly, walking over to a statue and inspecting it with a scrupulous gaze. "If you must get a statue made of yourself, try not to look so dower in it."
"They're statues of dead people. It'd be weird if they were smiling." I continue down the hallway, looking for the statue with its hand held out. I find it quickly and stop in front of it, then realize that Rum isn't next to me. A glance around shows that he's positioned himself next to the statue behind me, imitating it's pose with a comically exaggerated frown.
"You're ridiculous." I say with a wide grin.
Without breaking the pose or frown, and in a deep, slow, serious voice that he must think matches the 'dower' expression, he intones, "What about my ridiculous?"
I bark a laugh, completely caught off guard by that reply. Still chuckling, I say, "Look what you've done to me. This is my sense of humor now."
He finally grins and bounces forward. "Then my work here is done." He announces, looping an arm over my shoulder and cocking his head at the statue in front of us. "What's with him?"
"He opens the door."
As I saw Zoso do in my vision, I roll up my sleeve, draw my hunting knife, and open a small cut on the back of my forearm. Is it my imagination, or does Rum's arm tense when I grimace? Blood drips into the statue's palm, and stone grinds on stone, and now I'm sure that Rum's arm tightens around my shoulders, stopping just short of pulling us both back. Before us, the statue draws it's sword.
"By what right do you trespass here?"
"I am Faolan daughter of Elizabeth, heir of Zoso d'Corbin."
"I do not know this name." The statue rasps, eyes narrowing. Rum's eyes flicker from it to me, tense, but following my lead- at least for now.
"Daughter of Pellamos?"
"I do not know this name."
"Oh, good lord. Alright, I am Faolan, heir of Balthazar and Heir of Corbin."
"For Lord Balthazar's name, you may enter." The statue rests his sword against his shoulder with one hand and reaches back with the other, and a section of the wall begins to slide away. He steps aside, and I wipe the blood on my knife off against my shirt sleeve and sheath the blade.
"Now for the fun part." I say to Rum, and start down the stairs. Torches blaze to light along the walls the minute my feet touch the floor of the Vault, and we emerge into the familiar dome-shaped room. I pause to take it all in, soaking in the sheer amount of precious metals and gems and craftsmanship that sits before me.
"Hmm." Rum hums next to me, looking around with an appraising eye. "Impressive." Then, with a half-smile and a waggle of his eyebrows, he adds, "But not as big as mine."
"Well, you have to compensate somehow." I shoot back. I cast another glance around the room. "The little house on the coast he puts in the will, but this he keeps to himself." I shake my head. "Whatever. Let's see what we've got."
Rum is already wandering away by the time I'm done talking, and I make a bee-line for the weapons along the wall. Like the rings in the case from my vision, each has a plague hanging over it with a name and description. I meander down the wall, stopping at one sword about halfway down the line. The hilt is a bright, shiny white, made out of what I would guess is polished bone in the handle and pommel, and steel-lined bone in the crossguard. I pluck it off the wall, intending to test the weight. It promptly bursts into flames, and I yelp and drop it.
Rumplestiltskin is at my side in an instant, turning my hand over in his, expecting for damage. Now that I'm a second removed from the surprise of it, I realize that I don't actually feel any pain.
"I'm okay, Rum. I don't think it burned me."
Despite how gently he's holding my hand, annoyance sparks across his face. "Are you a child?" He snaps. "Why do you walk around touching things?" He flaps his free hand towards the plaque on the wall, adding, "Did you even read the sign before you picked it up?"
I glance at the sign, reading the name Dyrnwyn and skimming over the small description below that. The words "flaming sword" very quickly stick out to me.
"My bad." I grumble tensely, fighting the urge to argue about this.
"My bad?" He scoffs, dropping my hand and stooping to pick up Dyrnwyn, which remains unlit this time. Then he pauses, looking down at the blade in his hand. "Heh. It's trying to burn me."
"What?" I say, caught off guard by how casually he says it. "Then drop it!"
He rolls his eyes. "It can't hurt me. You should know that by now."
"Just put it back!" I snap. If he rolled his eyes any harder, they'd pop out of his head. He hangs the sword back on the wall under the plaque, and I let out a breath. "Bloody masochist."
"Bloody toddler." He shoots back, in a mocking mimicry of my slight coastal accent.
I fight down a reply and take a few steps down the line of weapons, pointedly ignoring him. He hovers for a few seconds, looking cross, but wanders away when I go a minute without trying to touch anything else.
I'm halfway around the circular, domed room when I catch a glimpse of someone in my peripheral vision. "I haven't touched a bloody thing, so stop hovering." I snap to who I assume to be Rumple.
"I don't think we've met." The person replies, and I whirl and step back, summoning Durendal from its sheath to my hand on instinct. Then I get a good look at his face.
"Alastar." I say dumbly, momentarily shocked to find him alive. A split-second later, I realize he's not. His form is silvery and nearly translucent, seeming to shift and distort in odd ways in the shadows thrown by the torches. Like Maeve, I think, recalling the name of the ghost from my vision.
It's Alastar's turn to look surprised. "How do you know me?" His eyes dart over my face, then to the sword in my hand, probably realizing that I never physically drew it from its scabbard. "Are you Ellyn Davina?"
"Yeah? How do you know who I am?"
"Balthazar tells me of you when he visits. Keepers should know the Heirs they serve. Do you prefer Ellyn or Davey?"
I glance quickly to Rum, fear shooting up my spine at the idea that he heard me be called Davey. The Dark One is across the room, back to us, inspecting a vial of something. "Not Davey." I say shortly. "And why are you here? Where's your Aunt Maeve?"
Alastar cocks his head. "I'm… confused. When Balthazar told you about Maeve, did he not explain the Keepers?"
"Zoso didn't explain jack shit to me." It comes out more venomous than is fair to him, and Alastar digests that for several seconds.
"Balthazar." He corrects, gentle but firm. "No one who knows him calls him Zoso."
I nearly say I obviously didn't know him that well, and shove down the words and my simmering anger. "Look, I didn't even know he was a Lord until-" I stop short. Wait, has he been using the present tense for Zoso? A sinking feeling sweeps through my chest.
"Alastar, listen-"
"Ellie?" Rum calls from across the room, looking around for me, vial forgotten in his hand. Then his gaze finds us, and he registers my drawn sword. He's across the room in a blink, appearing right inside the ghost's personal space. "And who is this?" He snarls, purple electricity sparking across his hands. Realization crawls across Alastar's face to see the new Dark One before him- realization, then horror, then absolute devastation. I quickly step up next to Rum and wrap a hand around his forearm, gently pulling him back to a less aggressive distance.
"I suspected, but..." Alastar begins, and I shoot him a sympathetic look, knowing all too well how it feels to hold on to hope that somewhere, after years or decades, our brothers are still alive. His face begins to shut down, gradually closing the pain off from us with every word. "It's odd, I feel that I just saw him yesterday. He took refuge here for a few years, waiting for his enemies to lose interest in him. He was devastated to have to leave you behind, Ellyn… I... How long?"'
"Almost thirty years since he actually died. Maybe thirty-six since the first time". At the look I get for that wording, I elaborate, "He didn't just leave me behind, he faked his death."
"I see." He says distantly, only half-listening; any grief on his face is melting into something colder, harder. His gaze, viscerally angry, settles on the Dark One. "What happened to him?" He asks me, in a tone that suggests he already knows. Rum stiffens at the question, slowly turning his head to observe him, tensed and narrow-eyed as though anticipating a fight. I fix Alastar with a hard look.
"Suicide." I tell him, in a tone that says, drop it. Alastar's gaze darts back to me, face pinching in anger.
"I did not think that possible for a Dark One." He snarls. "Is this something you know-" His eyes flicker pointedly, challengingly, to Rum as he adds, "Or something you have been told?"
"I am the heir of this castle, Alastar. You will treat my partner with more respect." I command, as equally annoyed with the implication that I would be so easily lied to as I am his hostility to Rum. Then I glance to Rum apologetically, knowing that Alastar will need to hear this, and add, "And it is something I know. I watched it happen, with my own eyes. It was suicide." Rum flinches, staring at me as though I've slapped him.
Alastar glances between us, and his form seems to flicker, grow. "Perhaps it was. But you should not have brought the instrument of his death into our home." I open my mouth to snap back a response, but he's already floating away, fading into the walls.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair, ruminating on how spectacularly poorly that went. I would have been happy to have never let Rum know the full details of that cursed day. I also would have preferred to be on good terms with Alastar, given what he knows of the castle, and the fact that he's family. In one exchange, I've destroyed both of those possibilities.
"You were there." Rum says, quiet but prompting, eyes anywhere but me. I sense what's coming and sigh again, stare at the ceiling.
"I followed you to the Duke's castle. I was going to kill you and take the Dagger."
"And why didn't you?" Now he does look at me, and he finally sounds more than a bit suspicious, more than a bit challenging. Most people who know about the Dagger are dead, and while he may have suspected that I knew about it already, he now has irrefutable proof. I look to him searchingly, admittedly a little stung by that hard, mistrusting tone, and I find an equally searching expression reflected back at me.
I hesitate, unable to put jumbled thoughts to words. I have tortured myself with that very question for years, and have no way to adequately explain that moment of illogical, impulsive compassion. There were too many factors involved. I was still young enough, still naive enough that I thought that having a line that you would not cross was something important; I didn't want to kill a good man, a man who would do anything for his son as I would for Ian; I didn't completely comprehend that Zoso would die, because everyone thinks their father-figure immortal until he isn't; Zoso wanted to die, and Rum wanted to live; and more.
I suspect that I could name one factor, and it would be taken as a satisfactory answer. I could say you had a son, and he was a good kid, and I didn't want to make him an orphan, and he would likely accept it because it allows him to recoil from the conversation- as he always does when Baelfire comes up. For a long second, I consider taking that easy way out.
Instead, I simply say, "You deserved better."
If he looked like he'd been slapped earlier, now he looks like he's been flat-out punched in the face. He rocks back on his heels, as though that small amount of distance will protect him from something. I expect the shocked, nearly wounded expression on his face to sink behind a hard mask, but it instead bleeds into something viscerally angry and strangely introspective.
"You didn't know that. You didn't know me." He snarls harshly. I pause, evaluating. Is he angry at me, or himself? I pick my next words carefully; if the last year has taught me anything, it's that I have a limited opportunity before this blows up into a big fight.
"Rum-" Slowly, cautiously, I try to take his hand, but he yanks it away, steps back. "Rum, most men don't even stick around to raise their kids. But you, a single father with one good leg, you burned down a noble's castle, and stood toe to toe with the world's most powerful warlock, to protect your son." This time, when I take his hand, he doesn't pull away. "I didn't need to know you, Rum, to know that you deserved better than incineration."
He stares at me for a long second, gaping, shocked in a completely new, very vulnerable way. A dozen emotions filter across his face, and though it is all dampened by old pain, something suspiciously like warmth, like affection, finally settles on his face. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
"You were going to incinerate me?" He asks teasingly, a tight but playful smile twitching at his lips.
"What can I say, I was pretty volatile at that age."
"As opposed to now, where you are the picture of composure."
"Knew you'd agree." I say cheekily. I start to pull away, but Rum pulls me back. "Ellyn." He says, suddenly serious. "I'm not that man any more."
"What, you think I'm the same person I was thirty years ago?" He doesn't look comforted by the response, so I add, "I didn't kill that man, Rum, but he's not the person I invited into this castle. That's all you, mate."
There's that surprised, vulnerable, affectionate look again. He clears his throat, looks away. "Um, yes. Well." I'm pretty sure that he'd be blushing if it weren't for the scales, and I grin, counting that as a kind of small victory.
"Com'on. We should give Alastar some space."
Rum falls into step next to me as I head towards the door, his expression shuttering at the mention of the Keeper. "He's going to be difficult about this." He warns.
"Probably." I would be. "But we're going to have to work with him. He's the only person who knows how things work around here."
"We don't need him." Rum counters. "We could figure it out."
"Aye. If we had to, we could." It would take time, though, and this trip is already shaping up to be longer than I wanted it to. We emerge back into the crypts, and the wall and stone soldier move back into place behind us. "Let's stop by the library. I want to see if there's anything there about how the castle works."