A/N: Revised 2/13/2023.
Chapter 4: Negotiations
It has been almost three decades since that day, and a miserable three decades at that.
When Zoso died, I had an elder and a younger brother left to me. Now I have lost them both. Tor, my older brother, died on a suicide mission on the far-off continent of our birth, at the behest of our birth father. Pellamos barely batted an eye at the loss of his bastard, and yet my birth mother wept for the son had only recently been reunited with, and for the children she had lost when Tor and I were taken.
I had been born with one brother, and raised with two more. When Tor died, I and my little brother were left to mourn them, half of the family we once were. And then, just a few short years later, I lost him as well, to rage and revenge and a child's dreamland that holds a deadly poison.
I have spent the years since trying and failing to find him again. He's my baby brother, as much my responsibility as he is- was- my best friend. I need to find him the way a hound needs to chase game. I scoured all the major ports, all our old hideouts. I know that he had wanted to go to Neverland for the poison that killed Liam, and so that became the focus of my search. But few people know of Neverland, and those that do gave contradictory and disheartening information. In my search, I have hit dead end after dead end, have burned through contacts and pissed off noble families. I even found a teenage orphan and tried to use him to lure Peter Pan to me, an effort which failed miserably.
The search for my brother is not all I have been doing, of course, but it is the underlying driving force behind all my other dealings as a magician. I have met allies and lost them. I have fallen in and out of love. I kept that teenage boy on as an apprentice, and when he was grown we had a dramatic and painful falling out that landed me too many days in a lord's dungeon. All I have to show for the past years are new scars, new artifacts, and the shell of a plan.
Now I stroll through a city in the kingdom of Ulstead, not all that far from the town where I first met Rumplestilskin the spinner. I am armed with shreds of knowledge and a magic bean and dying hope, and I am going to meet Rumplestilskin the Dark One for the first time.
As I walk towards the tavern, I wonder if Rumplestiltskin will recognize me. I'm wagering he will. Twenty-seven years has added only a fraction of that to my appearance, putting me in my early forties by appearance; technically, time should not touch me at all, but the wear one puts on the body and the soul have a way of manifesting themselves. Since I last saw the spinner, I have gained a few more streaks of gray through brown hair and deeper crow's feet at the corners of my eyes, and the slight crookedness of my otherwise strong nose did not improve upon the second break.
Despite what has changed, more has stayed the same. Under a long navy-blue cloak that once belonged to Zoso, my frame is still densely packed with more muscle than is considered attractive for a woman. I'm still adjusted to dressing more like a pirate than anything else, preferring dark breeches, loose shirts, a man's waistcoat, and a dark-gray tricorn hat. Durendal, the indestructible longsword that Zoso gifted me when I graduated my apprenticeship, still hangs on my hip, opposite the bone-handle hunting knife Tor gave me for my thirteenth birthday. A subtle glamor hangs over the weapons, just strong enough to make the mind subconsciously pull away from noticing them unless otherwise prompted.
I step into the tavern and make my way to the bar, weaving through the small crowd that has gathered as the sun set. I order three fingers of rum and two shots of whisky, and cast my senses around the room. My nose is as good as useless in a crowded tavern that stinks of booze and sweat, but a prickling at the base of my skull confirms that magic is nearby.
I pour both shots of whiskey into the glass of rum, swirl it around, and take a long sip. One for calm. In my mind, I reach for the tingly feeling of strong magic, and find my consciousness pulled toward one corner of the tavern, where a man hidden by an oversized dark-red cloak sits in the shadows. A brief glance, and the way my eyes want to skip over him, tell me that he has covered himself with a mild glamor to allow himself to go unnoticed by most. I take another swig of my drink. One for courage.
I lay out a gold piece and push off the bar, glass in hand, desperation and determination curling through my chest in equal measure. I haven't gone two steps when a man- a soldier, judging by the armor- steps in front of me with an easy smile.
"Care for a drink?" He asks charmingly, offering his arm. He's perhaps late-forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a nearly-white crose-cropped beard. A small pang of pain goes through my chest, because he looks a little like Vali. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes, though, certainly isn't something that I ever saw out of my ex, and if I weren't here on business, he might make an interesting distraction for a night.
"Maybe later." I say flatly, moving to brush past him.
"Don't be like that, love." He returns as he steps in front of me, the slightest edge to his voice, the smile fixed in place and suddenly miles from his eyes.
"Don't call me that." I shoulder past him now, and out the periphery I see him turn and reach for me, starting to say now wait just a minute.
His hand never makes contact. I use my growing annoyance to reach for magic, and the soldier takes one staggering step before he crumbles to the ground. I don't break stride, and though many people glance over at the sound of the impact, they assume he has passed out drunk and take little further interest. My eyes are locked on the figure in the corner, but if Rumplestiltskin has noticed the surge of magic or the falling body, he doesn't show it.
Rumplestiltskin must notice my approach, but even as I stop in front of his table, he doesn't look up.
"Sorry dearie, I'm not making any deals at the moment. If you're looking to sell your soul, try a politician. They're just as untrustworthy as I."
"Really?" I ask lightly, and his head snaps up- just like, I muse, an owl's would. So he recognizes my voice. Does he remember from where? I gesture to the seat across from him. "May I?"
He squints, eyeing me warily, and without waiting for an answer, I plop down across from him and throw back the rest of my drink. I toss the empty glass up in the air and twirl my hand under it, and the glass is gone before it starts its descent. Acouple seconds pass in tense silence.
"Well, out with it!" he snaps, agitated. Lucky me, I caught him in a bad mood. He sets his drink down on the table in between us. "You're not here for the fun of it."
The mistrust and annoyance that he so readily expresses has me assuming that he must remember me; after all, I'm sure that no one from his past ever comes back for anything other than to mooch off him. I ponder his words, and take a minute to look him up and down. His hair has turned a bit more wiry and curly, and sitting across from him I can easily see the light scaling over his body, vaguely tan in color with flecks of brighter gold. His eyes are reptilian and amber, though in the shadows and distant firelight, they sometimes verge toward gray. Not exactly this country's version of handsome, but certainly interesting to look at, and I bet that those scales would have quite the interesting texture.
"Don't sell yourself short." I finally decide. "But this time, you're right. I've gotten about as far as I can with my own contacts. I was hoping for some expertise."
He leans forward, using one hand to point from himself to me as he talks. "You want me, to help you, for nothing in return." He makes an annoyed shooing motion with his hand, and picks up his drink. "Sorry dearie, but that's not how it works."
My eye twitches. His use of the word dearie is starting to bring up the memory of the day Zoso and I met; that was the only time he ever used the nickname.
"I planned to offer something in return, but that would be considered a deal, now wouldn't it?" I return sarcastically, flashing a small and sharp smile that is closer to a snarl. His smirk vanishes, and he leans in close.
"No one's helping anyone." he says in a low, dangerous tone. With a predatory grin, his next sentence ends in a unnerving half-singing voice, "Best get going, else the monster gets you."
I lean in to meet him. "You think you're the only monster here?" I snarl. The idea is downright funny. He's been the Dark One for less than thirty years, and he thinks he's the worst thing around? I doubt he's had the time to do anything more heinous than even I have, and there are worse still than me. But I can see it in Rumple's face, that he thinks he has a claim to this title, and it sends annoyance shooting through me.
Without thinking, my hand shoots out and grabs his wrist, the sleeve of his tunic falling back to show the scaling on his hand. His first reaction is to jerk away, but my grip is iron-tight. He goes still as I gently flip his hand palm-up, where his scales are least noticeable, and put my own hand on the table next to his. I reach for the wolf-blood to change my eyes to burning amber, and claws flick out, gleaming ominously white in the candlelight. Looking at our hands, compared side by side, it's obvious who is the least human, and it isn't the Dark One.
"The monster is right in front of you." The sound comes out in a more gravely and grated voice than my own, from the vocal cords of something that can't quite decide whether or not it's human. "So show me a bit of respect."
He looks down at my hands on his, and his smile morphs from dangerous to amused. And it's that look that makes me realize what exactly I just did. Putting hands on him, being borderline threatening, is not something I should have ever done to someone I need help from. Surprised at myself amd a little unnerved, I jerk my hands away from his and lean back in my seat, closing my eyes for two breathes as I collect myself. I plaster a pleasant smile on my face and look back up. I swear Rumple's eyes are softer than normal, for just a second, but it disappears the moment he sees me watching him again.
"Apologies. That was unprofessional of me."
He picks up his drink, curiosity and bemusement sparkling in his eyes as he takes a sip and leans back in his chair.
"What does the little wolf need help with?" he asks.
Little wolf. Well, it's better than just plain dearie.
"Realm hopping." I answer. He freezes, something flashing across his face before he schools his expression. "More specifically, I need to get into a realm no one has ever come out of, find someone, and get back out. I have a plan, but I need more power than I can put out. It shouldn't be too much of a challenge for you, based on Zoso's power level."
In all actuality, I'm lying through my teeth. I remember the flashes of white-hot pain, and waking later with fire scorching through my veins as I resurrect. It would've kill anyone else, and even for someone who can only be killed with the Dagger, I don't imagine that it will be particularly pleasant.
A new kind of tension, of distaste, enters his face at the mention of Zoso. I suppose that's fair; in his position, I would hate my mentor as well.
"Sorry, little wolf, but you don't have anything I want."
"I have a way into the Land Without Magic."
He goes completely still, and we stare at each other for a long, tense second. It's a risk, revealing what I know about him. It's not going to win me any trust, but I only have so many cards to play.
"Why would I be interested in that?" He asks tightly.
"You know why."
"Whatever you think you know about me," Rumple snarls, "I can assure you, you're mistaken."
I know I'm not. I've spent almost a year of sleepless nights and long days doing my research, tracking down witnesses and then materials, and verifying the untrustworthy word of a certain blue bug. A year spent preparing for this one conversation, because the entirety of my plan, and my little brother's life, rests on obtaining the Dark One's help.
"Let's skip the lying." I suggest lightly. "It'll save time."
"Me? Lie? I'm hurt, truly."
I cross my arms. "I know why you're trying to get there, too."
His face goes hard, shuts down on all emotions. I know the look; it is the look of a man about to do what he must to protect what is his. If I don't cool him back down quickly, this meeting will not go the way I need it to. He might not be able to kill me, but if he realizes that, there are so many more creative things to be done to people than killing them. I have no doubt that Rumpelstiltskin has a very creative imagination.
"How could you possibly know that?" He challenges quietly, voice hard and dangerous. I don't doubt that, in this moment, he intends to tear his way back through my trail of information to eliminate every possible source of information leaked about him, starting with me.
"It wasn't an easy process. I could tell you how, but information isn't free." The statement and the snark in it is another risk in this situation. This isn't a man who likes others knowing things about him, and it's touching a nerve to wave it in his face like this. "You can consider it apart of the exchange if we agree to help each other."
"I'm not making any deals." he growls.
"I'm not proposing a deal." His lips curl back in a sneer before I'm even done with the sentence. "I'm proposing an alliance."
"Listen closely, little wolf," He begins lowly, again propping one elbow up on the table and uses his hand to point between us as he talks, "I do not need nor want your help, and you are not getting mine."
I didn't expect to be so effectively stonewalled, to get absolutely no interest from him. Is it because I mentioned knowing Zoso? Because I did my research on him? For a long, long moment, we simply stare at each other, each waiting for the other to break the silence, or waiting for a twitch or a tell to reveal some weakness.
I can see no weakness in Rumplestiltskin's eyes. That little flame of hope that has kept me going for over twenty-five years starts to flicker out, and a hole begins to open in my chest.
Time stretches for a second, and our stare is only broken when I throw my head back to down the rest of my drink in one gulp. When I look back and find those brown eyes again, they're more relaxed, but still unyielding. I lock onto Rumple's eyes again. This time my gaze is pleading, but I keep my voice flat.
"And there's nothing I can offer that will change your mind." It is not a question.
Not for the first time, I can see my reflection in his eyes. Desperate, pleading, and, for just a split-second before I reign my emotions back in, completely lost. But that look is quickly gone, only flashing across my face for a heartbeat. My expression cools and hardens as I shove my pain and dying hope down, holding my emotions back until I can find a more creative way to let them out.
"Fine. Good night, then. Best of luck."
I stand, take a half -step, then turn back. Rumple tenses up at that; in all likelihood, he expects a fight. I glance down at him, and can't help but remember that day all those years ago, when I didn't intervene on the road with Hodor, or when he stood before Zoso. I produce a single bean from my pocket. It pulses ever-so-faintly with blue-green magic.
Rumple looks to it, then to me, and his face is guarded and suspicious. Every logical part of my brain starts screaming at me. But a memory pierces through these thoughts, an image of Rumple's little boy, and how he looked at me like I was some kind of white knight when I came to his friend's defense. He didn't have a mother; no, she was galavanting around the seas with my brother. It was him and his father, and that was all the family he had.
I can feel, deep down in my bones, that that boy needs his father, in a way that Ian doesn't and perhaps never has needed me. It might be hell for me, and it might be highly unpleasant for Ian, but my brother is a grown man, and I have to trust that he can survive on his own much longer than Baelfire will.
As if in a dream, I set the bean on the table in front of the spinner. "I only have one. It'd be a one-way ticket."
He picks it up warily, gently, and holds it thoughtfully between his thumb and index finger, not even attempting to filter his facial expression. The emotions that shine through the brightest make him look haunted, untrusting, and even angry. He doesn't look up from it as he speaks.
"And what, exactly, do you expect in return for this? And don't say an alliance again."
Your help with Killian, Some part of me wants to scream.
"Nothing."
Rumplestiltskin's head snaps up. "Don't play games, little wolf. Everyone wants something. That's the reason they come to me." He almost says thats the only reason, and sympathy bubbles up in me, because that's how it was for me once people heard of the things I could do. Reptilian eyes dart over me with open suspicion. "Let me guess: you're going to say that I can have the bean, if I help you. And when I refuse that deal, you're going to demand a favor for chasing off a drunk three decades ago."
I shake my head. "When I say nothing, I mean nothing. And for the record, I'm not looking for some kind of payment for intervening back then, either."
"Am I suppose to believe that that, and this-" His tone is mockingly sarcastic and disdainfully unbelieving, as it rightly should be, and he holds up the bean, "-Is just from the goodness of your heart?"
"I've been reliably informed that I don't have one." I shoot back coldly.
He glances from the bean to me. "Why?" That's all I get: one syllable to convey suspicion and confusion.
I shrug, trying to feel the nonchalance even as my mind fights with itself. "You were my ticket in. That was my ticket out. But like I said, it's a one-way thing. If I use that bean, there'd be no easily coming back. And it's not going to help my little brother if I get trapped right along with him."
After the way we parted, getting myself stuck in Neverland with him isn't going to be good for our relationship; if we're going to repair things, I need to do something to actually help him. I repeat my words to Rumple in my head, holding on to them for later when I need a logical reason for being so stupid.
His attention catches on the phrase little brother, sympathy passing so fleetingly across his face that I might have imagined it. It melts into utter perplexment, and then a hard stare. Well, stare is perhaps too nice a term. The look he gives me is more like the paranoid, hateful glare that you might give a coiled snake- one who, though it hasn't stuck yet, you know is going to.
"If this is supposed to somehow guilt me into helping you, then you have greatly overestimated my morals. I am perfectly happy to take this bean and never thinking of you again."
"Great. I'll leave you to it." The comment does not seem to help. In fact, all it really succeeds in doing is making the Dark One more suspicious and agitated than he already is. I roll my eyes and challenge, "If you don't want it, give it back."
Rumple immediately draws his hand back, holding the bean possessively. Well, on the bright side, he doesn't seem as suspicious anymore; from the way he looks at me like I've grown a second head, I would wager to guess that he now thinks I'm insane.
"If you want a price for it," I say on impulse, "Then use it to find your boy. He seemed like a good kid. He deserves better than to be an orphan."
At the mention of his son, some of that paranoia and suspicion finally returns in his gaze as he glances down at the bean. "People don't just help monsters." He challenges quietly.
"No, people don't help monsters." I return bitterly, and the Dark One turns his gaze to me once again. "That's why you get something for free while I leave here empty-handed."
Without another word, I cast a spell and am gone.