A/N: Hello all! We're back with the start of part 2 of this four-part story. Special thanks to RuthlessRuthie for suggesting the ship name Rumpellyn, which I quite like and am going to use.

This episode is mainly to set up for future plot points and to flesh out a bit of what Ellyn was up to in the past few decades. We get to see an old flame from Ellyn's past (I imagine Timothy Omundson playing him).

The name "Cinaed" in this chapter is Gaelic (possibly with slightly different Irish and Scottish pronunciations), pronounced either Kin-ahd, Kin-ayd, or Kin-ee. I use the anglicized nickname "Ken" because if I'd used 'cin' it'd look like it should be pronounced 'sin'.

Chapter revised 2/5/2024.

Part 2: Beasts

Chapter 8: Wolves

The next time I meet Rumpelstiltskin, it's to the background chorus of screams.

I know that he knows when I enter the grounds of the Dark Castle; the doors opening themselves for me proves that much. I step in, and am immediately greeted by the familiar sound of a man screaming. By familiar, I don't mean just the sound in general; I mean that I've literally heard this particular man's screams before.

I follow the sound and the feel of dark magic deeper into the castle and down some stairs, into a stone, dungeon-like area. The noise bounces off the walls, coming from a cell in the back-left corner of the hallway. I stride there, intrigued, picking up on the scent of the prisoner as I approach; it confirms my earlier ideas about the identity of Rumple's quarry.

When I reach the cell door- a half-foot thick, solid oak, with metal bolts and locks that can be slid into place- I open it silently, leaning in the doorway and watching as the Dark One cuts into his prisoner with a thin knife. If he notices my presence, he gives no indication of it.

The imp's quarry is a man of massive heights, nearly seven foot tall and rippling with muscle- some of which are now visible. His face is round and harsh, completely bald despite only being in his early thirties. He looks like he was spawned solely for the purpose of adorning the poster of some king's army recruiting program.

Rumplestiltskin is currently working on skinning him, though from the amount of skin still on the man, he's only just started on that project. Limbs bent at odd angles tell me what he did first, and that was break every bone in his body.

After several minutes of observation, I say, "I'd use a duller knife."

The Dark One turns, knife in hand. He wears a dark apron that is soaked in blood, along with the rest of him, but he doesn't seem to mind. I have to consciously stop myself from reaching for my sword; a blade in his hands reminds me only of another Dark One, long dead now.

"Come again, dearie?"

I stroll into the room. The barely-conscious man hanging from the ceiling doesn't even look up. I stand next to Rumplestiltskin and cross my arms, examining his work.

"It's an excellent job as skinning goes, but you're doing the most efficient way, not the most painful way. A duller blade rips instead of cuts." He cocks an eyebrow as if to ask how I know that and I add, "I hunted when I was young. Didn't always remember to sharpen the knife before going out."

"Hmm. Interesting idea, little wolf. Let's test it." He waves a hand over the short blade, making it's edge glow with magic, and then looks back to the man. He pokes him in the chest with the tip acouple times. "Time to wake up." He half-sings.

The man stirs slowly, trying to lift his head but not quite finding the energy. I draw my own bone-handle hunting knife and step forward, Rumple turning slightly to give me room even though our shoulders still touch. I'm very aware of the contact, almost uncomfortable about it, but ignore it.

I use my knife to tip the mans head up, so that as his eyes slowly open, he has little choice but to look at me. His gaze is blank at first, but realization and recognition slowly fill them. He jerks back with a strength I didn't think he still possessed.

"Miss me?" I mock. A thousand emotions go through Jacob Stonefist's eyes. Hate seems to dominate everything else, but there's fear there, too.

"Oo, you've met before. You have to tell me that story, little wolf."

It then occurs to me that Rumple doesn't know that Ezra was my apprentice, or that we have a shared experience in Frederick's dungeon.

"Short story, really. I did some time in that cell, too. And little Jakey here-" I did the blade's tip into his neck- "Was less than pleasant during that time."

"And he's still alive?" Rumple's head cocks to the side, like, I muse, a confused puppy. The similarities end when he sneers, "Don't tell me you went soft."

"He's still alive. His family isn't." It was the first and only time I let the wolf's instincts take over with the goal of killing someone; I knew that the beast and my subconscious would be far less prone to hesitation than I would be conscious. A little over dramatic, maybe, but I was royally pissed at the time.

"Hmm. Creative." the Dark One says after a moment, though I honestly can't tell if he's being sarcastic or genuine. Maybe both. He uses a finger to push my knife away, which I allow. Before I can react, he grabs it with thumb and forefinger and flips it out of my hand and into his.

He doesn't even wait for me to speak, turning and strolling for the exit. When I don't follow- I'm not going to let him think he can bait me wherever he wants with a trinket- he leans in the doorway and holds the knife up, balanced impossibly with the tip on his finger and the handle straight in the air.

In all honesty, it's a very important trinket to me, so I relent and stalk past, swiping the knife as I pass and sheathing it as I stand in the hall. The Dark One giggles and follows me out, taking the lead to stroll down the corridor. The door to the cell closes and blots itself as we go.

"Where'd you get that knife, dearie?" he asks as we walk.

"My older brother gave it to me for my thirteenth birthday. Why?"

"It's got quite the interesting enchantment."

"It's not enchanted. There's nothing magical about it." I pause. If a Dark One thinks it's magical, it probably is. "I think. Is there?"

"A normal knife couldn't cut me, dearie." His tone is nothing but condescending. I think about last week, when I accidentally opened a bloodless cut with a wild swing. I chastise myself for not noticing that detail earlier.

"Don't patronize me, imp." I growl. I draw the knife and flip it around my hand as we ascend the stairs. "I've had it for a long time. It must be absorbing magic from me." Objects of great power, though they can't kill a Dark One, can harm one.

Wouldn't I have sensed the magic in it, though? Can you sense your own magic? Even if you could, you might be so used to it that you'd never notice. Hmm. Maybe I should run some tests on that.

We pass through the reception room and the great double doors into Rumple's Great Hall. The imp suddenly rounds on me, making me stop short. He grins and leans back against the dining table, slipping his apron off over his head and hanging it on a chair next to him. A wave of the hand removes the blood from his clothes and skin.

"So what did the little wolf need?" he asks. It's a fair question; we've agreed only to interrupt the others business when their help- our alliance- absolutely has to be invoked.

"I have a lead on my ring. The author of that book was a priest for a goddess named Hel, and I've got the location of his temple."

"And why is my presence required for this?"

I shrug. "I might have pissed her off a bit. It's probably not in my best interests to walk into her temple without backup. Are you coming or not?'

He makes a humming sound and pushes off the table. "First dearie, you-" He- gods help me- boops my nose, and I jump nearly out of my skin, something that makes him gin. "Are going to help me."

"First come, first serve." I argue, then add, "And don't touch me." He laughs in a way that tells me it's a request that won't be heeded.

"We'll see, dearie." He says with a predatory grin meant to frighten. I'm a woman who grew up around drunken pirates; the look affects me not. "We're going to attend to my deal first."

"The hell we are!"

"We had a deal, little wolf. You," he points to me, "Help me", he points to himself, "When I say."

"It goes the other way too, and I asked first. Lets go."

He crosses his arms and cocks a leg in a waiting pose. "No."

I cross my arms over my chest and glare blatantly, content to wait until he caves. As the seconds stretch on, however, I see that he's not going to; he's the one most likely to be inconvenienced by our partnership, and as such he wants his way. The thought occurs to me that this is also a test, to see how useful I'd be to him in every-day deals. I'm not going to get his stubborn arse to move.

"What's this deal of yours about, anyway?" I huff. He grins triumphantly, strolling out to the receiving room and then out the front doors, me in tow.

Umbra grazes nearby. I'm still weary of the Dark One's wards, and will teleport only as close as the village not far away. Umbra doesn't mind trekking up the mountain, so it's good exercise for him and peace of mind for me.

I whistle, and the black unicorn trots over, ears swiveled forward in interest. He nuzzles my hand, and snorts in annoyance when he doesn't find an apple there. I smile and pat his neck.

"Dark One, meet Umbra."

Rumple, who stands a step back, comes up beside me slowly. He actually does have an apple, something that earns my steed's favor. He allows the Dark One to give his shoulder a companionable pat while he chews the peace offering.

"A fine beast." Rumple says politely. I smile.

"You never answered me, you know."

He grins. "I know." A clap of his hands brings a large black quarter to appear in front of us from thin air. The horse blinks at the three of us passively, and the Dark One gives him a pat as well and swings onto his back, making an exaggerated sweeping motion with his hand as he adds, "All will be revealed on the journey."

I roll my eyes at the intended drama of the statement and swing onto Shadow's light-weight saddle. The stallion tosses his head and takes a few stuttering steps, eager to run. "Where to?"

"The Infinite Forest." he says, and without warning he grins and digs his heels into his steed, sending them shooting down the trail. I hold the reins of Shadow's bridle tight, holding him back even though he takes steps forward to pursue. He rears, snorting in annoyance, and the minute his front hooves touch down again I let him have his head. We take off like a bat out of hell.

We gain ground fast, Umbra's long strides eating up ground at astounding speed, faster than any normal horse could run. We've caught up to and passed the Dark One in seconds, and I pull the reins hard to the right, swinging Umbra horizontal across the path and making Rumple's dark stallion skid to a stop, rearing up and snorting indignantly.

"There's not a horse alive that can outrun a unicorn, Rumple." I say. Perhaps gloat is the better word. Before he can reply, I tug left on the reins and tap Umbra's sides with my heels, taking us off at a trot down the trail. The Dark One flicks his reins and pulls up beside us, keeping pace easily.

"Who's the client?" I ask.

"I think you know him, dearie. Chief Damian Albjorn."

My jaw tightens. Damian was a baby at the time, but his father taught me how to control my wolf instincts. Before him, I was barely able hanging on during full moons; shifting meant losing control. When Ian and I were teens I would chain myself in the brig, but as I got older, flat out resisting it became less of an option.

"The Ulvur-systkin Tribe? You have a twisted sense of humor, Dark One." I say; one of the translation of the tribe's name is Wolf-Kin, granted the name because of the number of werewolves and werewolf-supporters who founded the group.

Rumple laughs maniacally. I sigh.

We ride on, discussing the deal and how the Dark One intends for it to go.

Damian Albjorn is a man of about forty-five years, dark-eyed and haired, skin tanned and calloused from a life outdoors. He's dressed finely by the standards of his groups, as one who wanted to make their authority known would. A black animal-fur cloak hangs over a maroon deerskin vest and dark pants, along with acouple necklaces of bones and animal fangs. Where others fear getting lost in the Infinite Forest, he seems to be comfortable in it, the confidence of one who knows every tree and stone.

He stands in front of the Dark One, contempt written over his sharp features. He can act on the emotion no further than to keep a white-knuckled grip on the sword at his belt, something that I suspect only agitates him further. Flanking him on the right is a man with similar facial features, though a foot taller and half a decade younger, and on the left an old man whose intricately carved staff and long robes mark him as the shaman. They seem to be more scared of Rumplestiltskin than their chief; they'd concede to demands easily, just to have him out of their camp.

Around them a ring of roughly fifty people have gathered, the people of the tribe having come out armed with spears and crude iron swords to show their support for their leaders. They, too, look scared, ready to dive behind trees and scatter into the undergrowth if things go wrong.

"Dark One." Damian greets coldly. "Are you finally going to assist us?"

Rumplestiltskin clasps his hands behind his back and rocks back and forward on his toes. "Depends, dearie."

"On what?" he growls, though I suspect he already knows. Rumple crosses the feet between them in quick strides, standing almost chest to chest with the chieftain; the imp seems to have little knowledge of personal space, though I'm sure that's purposeful. Damian doesn't step back, a sign of either bravery or stupidity.

"On whether you-" Rumple sneers up at him, poking him hard in the chest, "Are finally willing to pay the price." He turns on his heels, strolling back to his original place and leaning against a smooth-barked tree, arms crossed and one leg bent at the knee so his foot can rest on the trunk. He waits expectantly.

"You can ask for anything else, but you're not getting it."

"Then you've wasted my time, dearie." Rumple says, pushing off from the tree. He stalks a tight circle around Damian and his two advisors, a predator circling his next meal. "And that has a price too."

Damian turns with him to look the imp in the eye. "And what do you pay for wasting my time? You dangle the promise of your help in front of me- us- and then refuse to lend aid!" His voice rises as he talks, and he's nearly shouting by the end. Then, suddenly, he goes calm. Dangerously calm. "I think it's time I reminded you of the power a Ulvur chief has."

In front of my eyes, Damian starts to shift, something I wouldn't have registered if I hadn't seen Tor do it so many times; the chief doesn't have the slight scent of wolf that hangs over people like us. Before he's completely transformed, I'm moving, leaping over logs and around trees as I close the twenty yards between us, muscles rippling under brown fur. The crowd gasps as I come into sight, taking a step back. One animal these nature-worshippers have a special respect for is the wolf.

Only yards before me, Damian, now a giant canine with fur as black as the cloak he wore, leaps for a very bored-looking Rumplestiltskin with a mighty snarl. I propel myself forward and up, intercepting him mid-air and sending him crashing to the ground just a few feet left of Rumple. I land on my feet, but he hits the earth and rolls, black wolfskin cloak falling from his body and causing him to come to a stop as a man once again.

I glance from him to the cloak, slowly processing the information. That's why he didn't smell like a werewolf; he's not. The cloak gives him the power to become one, and without it, he's just a man.

Now I can see why the Dark One would want the coat so badly. Kings and soldiers especially would pay steep prices for such a weapon. I stand, braced to jump, snarling at Damian as he rises, glancing from me to the cloak to the Dark One. I can practically see him making the decision.

"Damian, don't." The shaman commands.

"Probably not a good idea, dearie." Rumple mocks, strolling towards the enchanted cloak. It's all the prompting the young chief needs to dash forward, aiming for the Dark One and the artifact. The imp pauses to watch calmly, and I spring forward, planting myself between the two and causing the tribesman to nearly run into me. He skids to a halt a foot short, and I snap warningly at his hand, snarling loudly.

"They never listen." Rumple chuckles as he bends down, grabbing the cloak and sweeping it around his shoulders. The gathered people shift, tension going through them at their enemy possessing what is probably considered a sacred artifact. No one moves, though, the sight of a wolf with the Dark One making them uncertain- which was just the point. Damian seems just as tense, but he, too, doesn't dare try to advance.

"There. You have the cloak, now hold up your end of the deal." the chief says, though his voice wavers uncertainty.

"Deal? We never struck a deal, dearie. This is what happens to people who repeatedly waste my time." Purple smoke starts engulfs us both.

Damian makes up his mind as his face contorts with rage, and he lunges forward, but we're already gone.

We appear a good mile away next to our horses. I shifted back as soon as I have the cover of magic smoke, and I laugh now at the look that was on Damian's face.

"Now that was entertaining, Rumple."

The Dark One looks exceptionally pleased with himself. "We worked well together, little wolf." I can see the wheels turning in his head, how everyone hesitated to approach a wolf, how they'd think twice about trying to retaliate later. "Perhaps our alliance could be useful to me."

"That was part of the point." I say, swinging onto Shadow.

Rumple looks at me for a moment, evaluating, and then he bounces over to his horse, going from thoughtful to impish in less than two seconds.

He swings into the saddle. "A deal's a deal, little wolf. Where's this temple of yours?"

I smile, flicking my reins and setting us off down the road.

We stroll down the market street, hoods thrown up as we make our way to my friend's tavern. It's a small enough town that two hooded strangers- one of them armed- get several looks. It's a big enough town that no one approaches us about it.

We weave our way down the street, avoiding shoppers and vendors. The local tavern-inn is on the left corner of the street, a half-block from where the market square ends. We're only yards away from the pub's door when a door to the right of us slams open with a crash and someone is thrown bodily into the street.

It's a boy. He's around six, maybe seven years old. Brown hair, wavy and unkempt, falls across his eyes as he stumbles to his feet to face the giant of a man that follows him out. The man is every bit as tall as Jacob Stonefist, a blacksmith's apron wrapped around his torso.

"Ye dirty little thief!" he bellows, storming over to the boy and grabbing his shirt. I take a step forward, and Rumplestiltskin grabs my arm.

"Not our business, dearie." he says. I jerk free, and so soon after a transformation, a wolf's growl nearly makes its way out of my mouth. I take a deep breathe and try to reign myself in.

"Not your decision, dearie." I snarl back. Then I stroll for the pair, letting a swordsman's aggressive gait creep into my steps.

As I walk, the man rips something from the boy's cloak pocket, tearing the cloth there. An ornate dagger, worth enough to keep a man fed for months, flashes in the sunlight. More people stop to watch as the blacksmith lifts the boy off the ground with one arm and slams him into the wall of the building.

"Ya know what we do ta' thieves where I'm from?" he roars, holding the knife's tip at the boy's throat. I reach them, grabbing the man's shoulder and yanking him to trip over my waiting foot. The boy, freed, lands on the ground with a puff of dust, still silent, dark blue eyes curious and afraid. I glance to assure myself that he's unharmed, wink, and give him a small smile. Then I get back to business.

"Enough." I boom, turning to face the blacksmith as he collects himself. His gaze shoots past me, to the boy whom I now stand in front of.

"Outa the way, girl." He growls, taking a step around me. I move to match him.

"You have your knife back." I say. "I think the kid has more than paid for the crime."

His face is going redder by the minute. "He ain't paid for nothin'! Now I said move." He throws his shoulder into me and shoves past when I stumble, but a hooded figure appears in between them. I glance back across the street; Rumplestiltskin just now strolling in our direction.

"You shouldn't do that, boy. This one'll rip ya to shreds." the hooded man says, voice a deep timbre. I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut. How long's it been since I heard that voice?

"Vali. Been awhile." I greet without turning. The blacksmith has stopped, looking between us uncertainly.

I feel Vali's eyes on me, but when he speaks, it's to the blacksmith. "This boy is under my protection. You'll not harm him."

The blacksmith laughs at hearing orders from someone who, though muscled and built like a warrior, is still a full head shorter than him. My patience runs out, and with one swift movement I spin to throw a haymaker into the blacksmith's chest as I sweep his feet out from under him. Timed perfectly, it causes his feet to leave the ground only so his back can fall onto it with no small amount of force. He gasps for breath, the wind knocked out of him before he completely knows what's happened.

I turn to face Vali, face blank.

He looks at me for a long time, emotions warring across his face.

"It's good to see you, Ellie." he says, eyes gentling. He reaches out as though to touch my face, but a hand catches his wrist.

"And just who are you?" Rumple asks coldly. Vali looks from the Dark One to me expectantly, wanting an introduction.

"A relic from a distant past." I answer Rumple, brushing past the two to crouch in front of the boy. He watches me fearfully, standing now with his back pressed flat against the wall.

"You okay, lad?"

Without a word, he bolts to the right, turning down an alley. Vali makes a move to follow, but I hold up a hand.

"I got 'em."

In the next moment, I appear in the alley in front of the young thief, and him runs smack into my legs, bounces off, and falls flat on his butt. I smile alittle, amused, and cross my arms.

"Gonna let me talk this time, Lost Boy?" I ask. He nods dumbly, and I sit down next cross-legged to him. He hugs his knees to his chest, watching me with wariness and trepidation.

"I'm real sorry 'bout the knife." He says quietly. He seems to remember something, and adds, "Thank ya' for helping me."

"No trouble, lad. I look out for fellow orphans."

He shoots me a wide-eyed, curious look. "How'd you know?"

"That you're an orphan? My older brother was one, and my little brother as well. I learned to recognize the look."

He nods, glum, and I nudge his shoulder with my elbow. "Want something to eat?"

His eyes light up. "Really?"

"Mmhm. Maybe afterwards we can talk about finding you a place to stay." Any joy drains from his face at those words, and he lurches to his feet, ready to bolt again.

"I ain't goin' ta another orphanage!" He nearly shouts, voice desperate and eyes wild.

"Who said anything 'bout an orphanage?" I ask innocently. He relaxes slightly, but just barely, more curious about my next words than calmed by the question. "I have some friends who could give you a room and a few hot meals for at least a couple days."

Energy and hope dance across his eyes, joy making him seem suddenly more childlike than moments before. It halts, though, as suspicion creeps into his eyes. I don't blame him; people who hand out help to street-rats usually aren't doing it for the kids' best interest.

"Wha'do I have ta do?" He asks.

"Nothin'. Well, scratch that. Ken might want you to do some chores if you stay at his house."

"You don't want anythin', though?" The boy isn't even hiding his suspicion anymore.

"I want to go have lunch." I climb to my feet and brush the dust from my pants. "Coming?"

The boy crosses his arms, face as close to stone as a child could get. I give a dramatic sigh. "If you want to know all the mushy details, I promised my brothers to help out kids like us. And it's bad luck to break promises to the dead."

"Oh." The boy says, politely somber at the mention of the dead, and seems to think it over. "Okay." He steps to the side so I can lead the way- something prompted by wariness, not politeness. It's easier for him to escape an adult's reach when he's walking behind them, but I trust that he won't flee; a free hot meal is hard to pass up when you live on the streets, no matter how suspicious you are.

"What's your name, lad?" I ask as we walk. Silence is my first answer.

"Graham." He eventually answers. "My name is Graham."

We emerge from the alley, and I find that Rumple and Vali haven't moved, though their stances tell me that they're about two nasty comments away from ripping each other's throats out. Perhaps leaving them alone together shows an absence of thought on my part; Vali can come off as a judgemental ass sometimes, and I'm sure he's found plenty to judge. As for Rumple, well, he doesn't seem to play nice with others in general.

"-wouldn't be mentioning it, if I were you." Vali is saying, voice sharp.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're talking about me?" I ask. Both men- the term is used loosely- look to me.

"Because we are." Vali says simply. He spots Graham behind me and smiles gently, though most of his face is hidden by the shadow of his hood. "Hey, kid. Not gonna take off again, are yeh?"

"No, sir." Is the polite reply.

"We're going to lunch." I say. It's more of an order than an invitation, and I stroll across the street, headed for the inn-tavern. Graham follows behind, but when two men flank us, he moves up to walk beside me, his shoulder touching my arm in a way that tells me he's resisting the urge to hold my hand. It's an aversion I understand; a woman, no matter her power, is always going to look less intimidating to an orphan than two obviously-sometimes-aggressive men.

I let my hand brush against his shoulder, glaring over my shoulder at Rumple and Vali. The latter halts, grabbing the Dark One's shoulder so he does the same. Rumplestiltskin looks up at the Asgardian, expression seeming to contemplate just how he should murder the man.

"They creep me out too, sometimes." I say to Graham with a nudge and a smile. He returns it tentatively. I open the tavern door and hold it for him with one hand, making a small motion with the other. I hand him the gold coins that appear there. "Go grab us a seat. I need a quick word with an old friend."

It's an act of trust, something we both know; a second entrance- and exit- to the bar is right across the room, door ajar to let in a breeze. If he wanted to, he could take the gold and bolt. It's an action meant to show that I actually do want to help in some way.

"Okay." Graham says, scampering off. I watch him go, but don't worry for his safety here. It's the middle of the day, and the tavern is filled with more families stopping for lunch than it is with drunkards.

"The little wolf's black heart has a ray of light after all." Rumple sneers, standing in the doorway next to me. "I never would've guessed it."

I whirl on him, shoving him hard into the corner of the doorframe. "Not a damn word about this, do you understand me?" I snarl darkly, hand curled into his cloak to keep him pinned. "It's my business, not yours."

The Dark One seems amused by my anger, leaning forward so our noses almost touch. His hands grab my elbows, keeping me from pulling away. "Hero." he taunts, with a half-mad chuckle.

Vali shoves himself between us, pushing me into the bar and stepping after me, glaring over his shoulder at the imp. I brush imaginary dirt from Zoso's cloak and ignore them both, looking towards the bar. "Ken!" I shout over the constant hum of noise. No answer. "Cinaed!" I shout again, using his full name.

"Shut up, ya damn dog!" Ken shouts back, appearing behind the bar from a back room. I cross to him and hop onto a bar stool.

"Someone's about to be beheaded." Rumple sneers as he and Vali come up behind me.

"Cinaed's like that. Pay it no mind." Vali says dismissively. The Dark One opens his mouth to retort.

"Down, boy." I say. Ken laughs, and Vali smirks, causing me to add, "I was talking to both of you." The amusement wipes from his face.

"Still got ya' chasin' yer tail, eh wolf-boy?" Ken asks with a toothy grin as he pours a drink and slides it to me, shaking his head. It's a rhetorical question, and his next words are to me. "Yer the only person I know who mixes rum 'n whiskey."

"I'm the only person I know who does alot of things." I say, taking a gulp from the drink. Vali makes a disgruntled sounded, and I sigh. "What?"

"Whatever happened to- how did you put it?- "I only drink when it's more destructive not to"?"

My eye twitches at that condescending tone, the one that says 'at least I'm not the beast who makes mistakes and has no moral compass or self-control'. One of the things about good men, is that they expect you to be, and if you're not, then they push you to be. It gets annoying, honestly.

"It's more destructive not to. Trust me." I say. If he knew how my heart is more throbbing than beating, maybe he'd shut up. Like it's easy for me, seeing him after all this time, and still finding love in his eyes. I want to bang my head against the table just thinking about it.

"So what brings ya' here, my canine compan'in?" Ken says, leaning on the bar.

"Other than the run-in with 'wolf-boy'?" I ask, and raise my glass to demonstrate why that would bring me in.

"Am I to assume that's your real name, dearie?" Rumple asks Vali; apparently he didn't introduce himself. I spin around on the stool, one elbow resting behind me on the bar counter.

"Rumplestiltskin, Vali Lokison. Vali, The Dark One of Mysthaven."

Vali's eyebrows make a break for his hairline, and he eyes Rumple. "The Dark One? This runt?"

"A son of Loki? This oaf?" Rumple shoot back mockingly. I throw back what liquid is left in my glass.

"How'd'ya end up with these two followin' you?" Cinaed asks me in mock-whisper.

"I suspect it has something to do with karma and past crimes." I reply with a tired smile. "What do you have in the way of weapons, mate?"

"Depends on where yer goin'."

"Hel temple on the edge of town. I'm not exactly going to be well-received."

"Then you're gonna want this." The bartender says, pulling a small vial from under the table. It's a dark purple, and shimmers slightly where the light hits it.

"And what would we have here?" I ask, taking it and holding it up to the light.

"Acouple ingredients, mixed with holy water 'n flecks of cold iron. Should be able to harm whatever hellbeast you encounter."

I swirl the container, gaging how the liquid moves in response. It's alittle slow, giving me an idea of it's consistency. "Holy water, huh? Holy to who?"

"All the priests I could get my hands on."

"I'm guessing this is going to cost a pretty penny."

Ken laughs. "Still blunter than a club, huh? Never change, Ellie. Lets talk price."

After several minutes of negotiating, we get the price to a thievery job: steal some ingredient popular amongst fairies from a king's vault. Not a particularly hard job, but one Cinaed couldn't do himself. Alchemists tend to not be too good at confrontation.

"It's a deal, Cinaed." I say, and we shake on it.

Now it's time to get down to the business that I've been putting off, and I swing off my stool to lean back against the bar, looking at Vali.

"Rumple, go entertain the boy, please."

"What do you want me to do? Dance a jig?"
"He's six and you sparkle. I'm sure you'll work it out."

The Dark One looks offended. "I do not sparkle."

"Off ya' hop, lizard. The lady asked for a moment." Ken puts in. Rumplestiltskin takes a step towards the bar, everything about him suddenly promising aggression, and I step in between them, Vali watching and ready to spring into action.

"I'm asking nicely, Rumple." I say quietly. It's a two-in-one statement: 'pretty-please' and 'I can ask less nicely'.

Rumple's lips curl back in a feral snarl. "We'll discuss this later, little wolf." He spins on his heels and stalks off. I sigh heavily and resist the urge to bang my head against a wall.

"Ken, will you ever learn when to shut up?" I ask. He snorts in a way that tells me no. Vali shifts next to me, and silence stretches between us.

"What are you doing here, Val?" I ask, because this area isn't exactly his usual territory.

Vali doesn't answer me at first, throwing down his hood and stepping up to the bar. Ken passes him a drink without a word.

The Asgardian has dark shoulder-length hair streaked with gray and a well-kept beard, paired with vibrant blue eyes that leave women swooning. His features are just square and regal enough to give the impression of a king, with a jawline and cheekbones just sharp enough to look like a fighter, a warrior. He lives up to everything the son of a god should look like. If my mother knew I threw a specimen like this away, she would kill me.

Vali finally answers me after taking a small sip of his drink, a grimace crossing his features. Whether it's because of the taste or me, I don't know.

"I had assumed the same thing as you: holding up my end of the deal. But apparently," he motions to Ken and the vial in my hand, "That isn't the case."

I blink. That deal was more of a promise, something personel between the two of us a decade ago. My end of it was to help Wolves; his, to help to orphans and bastards. They were our birthday presents to each other that year.

"I…" What the hell am I suppose to say? After all this time, he still keeps his word- and still holds some kind of affection for me, if I judged the look in his eyes right. And all I've done is try to forget him. Finally, I say, "What does the boy have to do with my end of that deal? I'm supposed to help wo-" I stop mid-word, glancing to the table where Graham sits, inhaling a bowl of soup. Rumple bounces up to him, all aggression a remnant of the past in the boy's presence. "You've got to be kidding me."

Vali nods. "I wasn't sure at first, but I knew his father. The boy's inherited much from him. I'd wager that means the blood, as well."

I run a hand through my hair. "I'm guessing you're going to want to place him with one of your packs."

"I know you don't like that, Ellie, but-"

"But people hunt down wolf packs, Vali. That's no place for a child."

"What else would you have me do?" His voice rises slightly, but he calms himself. Good men are patient, and Vali tries to be both. As though that will erase his past.

"I don't know. I'll think of something."

The Asgardian is silent for a moment. "Does he remind you of Tor?" He asks.

"Tor and Ian. And he's trusting, so perhaps Liam as well." I sigh. "I have things to do, Vali. I guess I'll trust you to look after the kid." I think for a minute. "But do me a favor and give him this." I conjure a simple crescent-moon pendant necklace and pass my hand over it, making it glow gold. I pass it to the werewolf without a word.

It's a dismissal, and though Vali nods and stands, he doesn't leave. "Ellie." He says, hand against reaching for my face. I tense, but just before his fingers can brush my cheek, he changes his mind and drops his hand to my shoulder. "Take care of yourself."

When he's several feet away when I finally let out the breathe I've been holding.

"Wanna refill?" Ken asks, taking my glass and pouring more rum into it before I even answer.

"You're a real friend, Cinaed." I say. Rumple appears by my side, leaning against the bar with arms crossed, watching Vali talk to Graham.

"How do you know him, little wolf?" he huffs.

I shrug. "We dated for a few years."

The Dark One shoots me a curious look, more interested than annoyed now. "What happened?"

Graham catches me watching them, and I wave good-bye and mouth 'good luck'. Then I push off the bar and head for the door as I answer.

"I fell in love."

"I mean, he's a good guy, but that's part of the problem. He thinks that because he's trying to be a good person, I should be too. I think he was more in love with an idealized version of me, or the potential of what he could make me into."

I still remember eavesdropping on the conversation that ended our relationship. The way Hel laughed right in Vali's face when he'd said he hoped that marriage would "settle me down", would "make us normal", is branded permanently onto my mind. In some ways I appreciated her for it; in some ways I resented her, for knowing me better in that moment than my own fiancé did.

"Are you done stalling?" Rumple interjects, voice the very definition of annoyed.

"I'm not stalling. This is part of the reason it wouldn't have worked out."

"I didn't ask for part of an answer."

"I don't care. It's my business what I tell you and what I don't."

We sit against an oak tree, a graveyard just ten yards in front of us, protected by a low fence. A temple sits beyond it, medium sized and exquisite with its sharp-edge architecture and harsh spires and black-and-blue stained glass.

The sun set perhaps an hour ago, and we arrived an hour before that. In that time, the Dark One has been unsuccessful in getting me to explain my comment at the bar. I don't plan on it; to fully explain would be to tell the details of my curse, and how to break it. Alliance or not, I can't risk that. Without my immortality, there's too much that could keep me from getting to Ian.

Rumple opens his mouth to retort, but a hundred yards away the back door of the temple opens, and golden lights spill onto tombstones that huddle next to the main building. A man exits, the outline of his long robes visible from here. I'm up in an instant, vaulting over the fence and running silently across the graveyard. Neither of us make any sounds, but with focus and the strange absence of other sounds, I can hear the Dark One's heartbeat increase as he keeps pace with me.

I stop short. It shouldn't be this quiet. The crickets have stopped, the slight wind has died down, and it's not natural. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I draw my bone-handle knife with one hand and the vial from Cinaed with the other.

"What's going on, little wolf?" The Dark One asks in a whisper. There's a tense edge to his voice that tells me he can sense something wrong, too.

Mist starts to rise from the ground as the summer night takes on a sudden chill, and the waning moon is covered by clouds. With sudden certainty, I realize what it is we're going to be faced with.

"Back to back, now." I say, and Rumple cocks an eyebrow but obliges, turning to face away from me and putting his back only inches from mine. A familiar crackle tells me that a fireball has formed in his palm, but its light is muted. "Keep your eyes peeled. Those things come out of nowhere." It's not going to be hard for it, either, with all this damned fog.

Suddenly a shape, big and black and lupine, leaps from the fog. I shout, "Down!" and drop. The imp hits the ground next to me, both of us scrambling to our feet and turning to face the ghostly dog as it lands and turns back, growling.

It's got to be every bit as big as a werewolf- that is to say, the size of a small horse. It's solid black, but the edges of it's form are fuzzy, ethereal, and its red eyes glow fiercely.

"What do you know about black dogs?" I ask, trying to sound calm and failing. Creatures like that are, well, like me; hard to kill and vicious.

"That they're extinct!"

"Surprise." I say, just as the dog is done deciding about its next action. It darts forward, easily dodging Rumple's fireball and jumping for his throat. The Dark One ducks and spins out of the way.

"Keep him occupied!" I shout over the beast's snarling growls.

"Do it yourself, dearie!" Rumple snaps back, dodging the dog's jaws. I ignore him, opening the vial and pouring it over the blade of my knife and then using magic to harden it. A fireball flies past me as the Dark One's intended target jumps out of the way.

"Ellyn!" Rumple shouts, and I look up in time to see that the dog's focus has shifted, and that it's barreling towards me. It's all the warning I get before it slams into me, bowling us over as its claws wildly tear any flesh it can find. The knife goes skidding as some of the creature's weight lands on my hand and opens it out of reflex.

I let out something between a scream and a pained shout as the dog tears into me, leaves scorching gouges down my side and the arm I've thrown up to keep its jaws from my throat. Its mouth clamps down on said arm, but the next instance it winks out of existence.

The Dark One stands over me, the knife he stabbed into the animal's back still in his hand. I roll on my side and pant for breath as I call my magic, and the burning pain ebbs away as the wounds close.

"What was that thing doing here?" Rumple demands. I push myself to my feet, and the imp hands me my knife back.

"I think it's a breed of black dog called a church grim. I'm sure Hel put it in place to keep us out."

He studies me for a long moment. "What exactly did you do to her, little wolf?" He asks haughtily.

"Story for another day. Come on."

I kick the church doors in, and we follow my nose to an attic room. It's a study of some sort, if you go by the bookshelves, cluttered tables, and desk. Sitting behind said desk in the robes of a Hel priest is the dead author of the book I found. His hand is still wrapped around the knife he buried in his chest, and for a long moment I can only stare as my best lead evaporates before my eyes; I missed him by so little time that the blood is flowing from his chest.

I've flipped one of the smaller tables before I even realize it, sending books, papers, and quills to the ground.

Dammit. I needed that ring. It's the only thing I know of that could contain Peter Pan, could trap him long enough to get Ian out of there. There's next to no point in going without it; I'd be trapped in that realm alongside my brother, and what good would that do anybody?

The imp lounges in the doorway, arms crossed as he watches me. I lace my fingers behind my head, taking deep breaths as I try to calm myself, try to think.

"What now?" he asks, genuinely curious. He doesn't know the extent- or anything, really- about my plans, but I'm sure my reaction shows him how much of a setback this is.

"I don't know." I lash out and kick over a stand that holds a globe. I draw in a ragged breath and look around, at the books and documents covering almost every surface.

"I don't know." I repeat, more levelly. "But I know where to start."