A/N: I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

Now that that's out of the way: wow, has it been a busy few months! You have no idea how much work a litter of large-breed puppies are, especially when you're their sole caretaker and you have extra curricular on top. So this chapter is way late, because of that and other life events- mainly track and our choir showcase.

Anyway, this is a heads-up that this chapter is alot of dialogue. I'm using it mainly as character insight, explaining old plot points, and setting new ones up. There's also alittle twist at the end.

Enjoy!

Chapter 11: On A Pale Horse

He turns his head to blink owlishly up at me. "You."

"Me." I repeat.

Then he comes to his senses, pushing himself to his feet. I don't step back, sensing what's coming, and we stand toe to toe. "We had a deal, little wolf. You're no use to me dead." He's surprisingly calm; the anger in his voice is restrained.

"I'm not asking permission, Rum." My voice is flat, nearing dangerously calm, and I remind myself to not make this into a fight. "I… appreciate the help these last months. Really." I glance away, suddenly feeling awkward about my genuineness, before resolve hardens in my chest. "But I'm close now. So you can either keep helping me, or you can get out of my way."

"And if I do?"

The question stops me in my tracks, not quite registering. "What do you mean?"

Rum clasps his hands behind his back and steps forward at an angle, the movement slow and measured; he's not exactly circling me, but forcing me to turn to maintain eye contact, and when I do, he pivots back exaggeratedly to face me.

"Tell me your brilliant plan-" he says brilliant with a flourish, "To perform the spell without me."

He's got me. It's beyond my focus to complete such a complicated black-magic spell after stabbing myself in the heart, and perhaps beyond my power under that circumstance. I resist the urge to strangle the imp, or kick the table across the room, or strangle the imp and kick him across the room. Damn him and his clever mind.

Of all the times, now is not one for him to be obstinate. Not when the Horseman's ring is the last thing I need before I get Ian.

"I'll figure something out." I say, brushing his question off. He cocks his head just slightly, looking at me in an infuriating do-explain manner. I glare at him. "What? I'm sure plenty of people would like to stick a knife in me. It's all about timing from there."

"Oh? And who's to be my replacement?"

"Replacement?" I make a point of looking him up and down. "I don't think I could find one. In case you haven't notice, there aren't many people quite like you."

"There you're right, little wolf." His smile is self-satisfied, almost preening, and I roll my eyes at the false arrogance.

"Look, this is happening with or without you. And that's final."

Annoyance flickers across his face, far more genuine than his last expression and far more familiar, pressing his lips into a thin line. He makes a humming sound, and I don't know if it's one of contemplation or closer to an annoyed groan. "And if I do help?"

I lean back against the table, arms crossed. "Name your price, and I'll see if I can pay it."

"Information, little wolf. You will tell me…" He trails off, pretending to think with an exaggerate tilt of the head, before righting it as though he's found something. "Who told you about my past."

I'm not surprised by the question- I'm more surprised it took this long for him to ask. When I first contacted him in the tavern, and let slip that I knew he was trying to get a Land Without Magic, I was sure it would be a matter days before he found out how I learned that.

So, that leaves me with two possible motivations behind this question: either he doesn't know and wants the answer, or he does know and he wants to see if I'll lie. It would be a gamble to try to deceive him, so I go against my first instinct, and tell the truth.

"Two people in particular, and you're not going to like either one." With normal men, I'd expect him to look curious, but Rumple's eyes take on a hard glint. When I say you're not going to like it, he knows that I'm serious. I take a breath. "The first is Morraine."

He steps forward the instant the name is out of my mouth, rage burning across his face. "If you-"

I hold my hand up. "I didn't touch her. Acouple people from your town said she was Baelfire's friend, so I behaved myself."

Rum calms quickly after my first few words, though there's still anger in his eyes. The tension doesn't leave his body, but he brushes past me to cross to the table and half leans-on, half grips the back of his chair. "How was she?" he asks after a moment's silence, head tilting up to look at me.

"She's married to some lower noble and has a few kids. She seemed happy." He doesn't seem surprised by that, and I feel compelled to add, "She wouldn't say anything about you. Said it was in the past, and that I had no business there."

That gets a twitch of a smile from him. "Moraine was always brave." Then, almost to himself, he says, "She was the only one of Bae's friends who wasn't afraid of me."

There's a tender, far-away cast to his face, melancholy and reminiscent. It makes me feel awkward, like I'm intruding, but some part of me knows that I'm one of the rare people who've gotten to see this look, and values that.

Rumple finally focusing back in on me and the present moment. "And your other source, little wolf?"

"This is the one you're really not gonna like."

"Ah, but the deal's already struck." He reminds me. I sigh.

"The Rhuel Gorm."

His hands go from being folded atop the back of the chair as he leans on it, to gripping the wood until his knuckles turn white.

"And what business did you have with the blue bug?" He asks, voice low but sharp.

"Come on, Rum, you act like you don't trust me." The statement is half-sarcastic, but he still glares at me as though I've said something purposefully stupid. "I don't like the fairy either. She was always getting in my way, and Zoso's. But she was tired of me terrorizing the countryside for information, and she agreed to tell me what I wanted to know if I'd stop, so..." I shrug.

"The Blue Fairy made a deal with you?" he sneers incredulously.

"It took some... convincing about my motives."

"Which were?"

"To destroy you."

Everything goes still after the admission. It's a gamble to admit that, especially when I have no idea how Rum will react. He's ruthless when it comes to dealing with his enemies, and I don't know if a year of partnership would avoid me that fate.

Rumple doesn't make a move for several seconds, seemingly unable to process the statement- or processing it in great detail. He blinks owlishly, and says slowly, "You've done a remarkable job." There's a flatness to his voice that fills the room with tension and puts me on edge. It's not sarcasm or a statement; it's a challenge.

I act like his reaction doesn't bother me. "That's because I haven't tried. I was just telling the pest what she wanted to hear." Rum's eyes narrow, pointedly distrustful, and I add, "If I wanted you dead, I could have just left you in Frederick's dungeon. Ezra and him even made me that offer." When that sinks in, I say, half to myself, "And yet here we stand."

Oh, the irony. Lying to my friend and telling the truth to my enemies.

In front of me, Rumple's features take on a guarded cast for a second, and then he melts back into his eccentric and off-putting self.

"Ezra?" He asks curiously, the tension from a moment ago seemingly forgotten, and it occurs to me that I haven't told him about my ex-apprentice- or that I ever had one. Just the thought of it makes me want to wince; that's an in-depth story I'd prefer to never revisit.

"Frederick's dark-haired mage. You probably met him."

"I did." He sounds unhappy about that fact, which I don't begrudge him. "I just didn't know you had."

"It's a long story."

"We have time."

I snort. "No, you have time. I'd like to get the ritual done so I can get my brother back."

Rum's expression turns dark once again. "I'm not happy about this, little wolf."

"What are you happy about?" I ask rhetorically. Before he can say anything, I add, "We had a deal, and I paid up. It's your turn."

"Sadly, you're right. Shall we start now?" Then he's right in front of me, with such speed that it can only be teleportation, the cold flat of my own knife's blade resting threateningly on my collarbone. I jump halfway out of my skin and emit a strangled yelp of surprise, my step back hindered by a gentle grip on my elbow.

"You bloody ass!" I shout, and the predatory mask Rum had put on falls away as he laughs, a high-pitched, satisfied giggle; he still takes amusement out of startling me. I shove his chest, but he barely moves.

Something about him- the tilt of his head, the way he stands- makes me suddenly aware of how close we are. Extremely aware. I step back, and he steps with me, his hand still wrapped loosely around my right elbow, my hands still resting on his chest from the attempted shove.

"Have some patience, little wolf. You'll have the rest of your life to get yourself killed." His slow smile after he says it is wicked, acknowledging my mild annoyance at not being able to put distance between us, and giving me the feeling that that effort only amuses him further

Knowing what's going to happen if I take another step back, I lean into him instead.

It catches him off guard, which is my point. What I fail to realize immediately is that it's both because of my change in tactics, and because of the position we're now in; it's dangerously close to an embrace.

He blinks owlishly, suddenly uncertain, and the expression makes me realize what I didn't a second ago. My heart rate spikes, thunders in my chest, and for a moment we just stand there, me leaning against his chest, both of us staring at the other with slight alarm and a mix of other emotions.

I plaster on a smile and use his hesitation to summon the knife from his hand to mine. I pat his cheek mockingly with the flat of the blade, and this time he's the one who jumps- though if it's because the metal is cold, or because he somehow didn't notice the knife leave his hand, I can't be sure of.

"Stall all you want, Rum," I say, "We're doing this spell before the week's over."

Just like that, the uncertainty is gone from his face, and we're back to our original subject- and familiar ground. "Ah. Yes. That. And a papercut won't suffice?" I scowl, and he sighs dramatically. "Tomorrow, then."

"It's a date." I say, forcing myself not to dwell on the possible double meaning of that.

Then he's gone.

For several minutes, I simply stand in the middle of the room, replaying the encounter in my mind. His stepping forward when I step back; my leaning into him; his uncertain, almost panicked expression. Something just happened- of that, I'm positive- but I'm not sure what.

Either way, it takes several minutes for my heartbeat to slow down.

In the end, the ritual is nothing overly outrageous, as human sacrifices go. One six-foot-diameter pentacle painted in blood on the floor, complete with Nordic symbols; my bone-handle knife, because the spell calls for a blade with no small degree of dark magic in it; and one remark about to Rum about how he's finally getting to kill me.

"A shame it will only happen once." Is his reply, though the predatory smile is tight.

Then there's chanting in Nordic, the knife descending, sudden agony in my chest, and the spell is complete. For some reason, I expect what comes next to begin with something close to waking up; it doesn't.

One second I'm on the floor, pain burning it's way through my chest, and the next I'm standing in a vast black expanse. I can feel the ground beneath my feet, but all other senses are lost to me; this place has no smells, no sounds, and no light. I turn in a circle, gazing into the darkness, and I finally see something other than nothingness- a source of light. I squint at the object, trying to discern what it is. With nothing else to go on, I walk towards it.

It's an odd thing. A blob of light about the size of my toros, roughly spherical and translucent. I can relate it only to a grey cloud of luminous mist, it's slight glow out of place in the sea of blackness. As I get closer, I realize that it's not grey, as I originally thought- at least, not entirely. It's a splotchy silvery-grey, shot through with streaks of white and black. When I'm an arm's length away, I spend several seconds studying it, trying to figure out what it is. I stretch out my hand, curious to see if it'll pass through the fog-like substance.

"I wouldn't." A man says, and I jump, flinching back. The owner of that voice steps into the fog's light across from me; his clothes are black, making it seem like he materializes from the expansive darkness.

I look him up and down. He's slight of build and only a few inches taller than me, with dark hair of medium length and sharp features that give him a raven-like appearance. His eyes are two orbs of onyx that seem to glow where the light glints off them; his face is pale and wrinkled, and I'd estimate him to be my age, though he actually looks it.

He's nothing like I expected, and I stare at him for a long moment, uncertain. Finally, I nod to the glowing fog and say, "What is it?"

The man smiles slightly; though his lips twitch, it's an action seen more in his eyes than on his face. "I'm surprised you don't recognize it. Do you know where you are?"

"A Netherworld. A land between life and death."

"Correct. Tell me, do you remember this place?"

The question catches me off guard. "No. Should I?" I ask. It comes out more challenging than I meant it to, but he gives another of his twitch-smiles, amused instead of offended.

"Perhaps not yet. With time, it will come back." There's a moment of silence. "You know who I am?"

"I do." I imitate his pause. "You know what I want."

"I do." He lifts his hand, turning the back of it towards me so I can see the glint of the object that sits on the finger of his right hand. My heart skips a beat, and my eyes follow the signet ring until he clasps his hands behind his back. "I must admit, I'm impressed. It's been… centuries... since someone has done what you have." There's anger in his voice when he says centuries, but it's there one second and restrained the next.

"Rumple's the one you should be impressed with."

This time, the Horseman does smile with his lips, and I can see why the real one was mostly in his eyes; a smile on that face is so cold, so angry yet calm, that it borders on unnatural. "The Dark One will get the credit he deserves. That I assure you." There's no emotion in his voice, yet I still hear the threat.

A chill runs down my spine. I must have read the spell twenty times, and the exact wording of it comes back to me: to summon and bind Death. There's no way of knowing how old the Horseman is, but I'm sure it makes my own sixty years seem like a pinprick on the timeline, and that's one of the biggest risks of doing this. Binding a being so old, even with a spell as temporary as this one, is sure to piss him off.

"It's not Rum's fault. I-"

"No, the fault is yours, and will be awarded as such." He cuts in, voice as cold as his smile was, but then his face softens- or at least calms. "Fear not, I won't touch the imp. The future shall punish him enough."

There's a stretch of silence."You never answered me." I say, nodding to the glowing sphere of mist. "What is it?"

His eyes smile again, and he reaches out to the greyish fog that separates us, brushing his fingers across a streak of white.

Zosos beams at me, a rare smile of pride that he reserves for when I go beyond his expectations.

I flinch back, startled by the memory and it's vividness. I open and close my mouth several times before I find my voice.

"What in the bloody hell was that?!" I snap, unsettled.

"I see it did not help your memory of this place. Perhaps another try." Before I can stop him, he repeats his earlier action, touching his fingers to one of the other stripes of white in the greyish fog.

The world is distant and fuzzy, but I hear a soft voice, gently singing the end of a song. I drift into sleep, at peace.

I'm stunned, unable to move. I know the tune to that song; a lullaby, from somewhere deep in my past. I'd held onto it, knowing it was important, that it was all I had of the people I was born to, but it's been mostly lost to me all my life; time has taken everything but the rhythm of the song. And now I have it back.

In brings up too many emotions at once. I'd accepted what had happened to me as an infant, because I grew up with a father and brothers that loved me, but now, after hearing her sing, I realize what I could have had: a mother that loved me, that song me lullabies, that would have rejoiced to watch me grow. A normal, peaceful, happy life, stolen from me so young that I might never have comprehended what I lost; rage and grief don't begin to describe it.

I take a shaky breath. "Do not," I say, "Do that again."

The Horseman regards me for a long moment. "My apologies. I had hoped that that would bring back your memories of this place. Your disremembrance will be an annoyance the more we talk."

"Then deal with the annoyance." I snap. He glares at me, and I take a deep breath, reeling in my emotions somewhat. "Now answer my question and don't touch the bloody thing again. Please." I add the last word as an afterthought, and it's half sarcastic. I get some further glaring, but after a second, he nods to the glowing mist.

"Let's call it a… representation."

"So it's an illusion."

"Most things are." The man concedes. "But this one is alittle more interactive."

"A representation of what?" I look at the thing again, noting for the second time the white and black stripes- the latter far outnumbering the former. "My mind?" I guess aloud, thinking with annoyance of how he can summon memories with a touch.

"You're surprisingly close." He says, and I look up questioningly, "Your soul. Or, close to what you would know as such."

I stare at him for a moment, unable to think of a reply; I glance from the 'representation of my soul' to the Horseman.

"I expected it to be more… black." I say at length.

"No representation is as perfect as the real thing." He says. "I chose to give your curse a silver hue, and so a majority of your soul appears grey."

"The curse is part of my soul?" I ask, horrified by the idea. It has it's uses, but I have no love of the magic that brings me back from the dead- or the pain it causes.

"Not quite. Bound to would be a more accurate way to phrase it." My expression must betray my thoughts, because he adds, "I'm well aware of your dislike for the curse, Ellyn. We discussed it at length during your last visit. Our conversation revolved largely about it's uniqueness."

"I've never seen another spell that can break one of the Rules of Magic." I consent grudgingly.

"You so quickly forget your mentor's teachings." The Horseman says, and I bristle. "The Laws of Magic are nearly impossible to break. Baba Yaga did not possess enough power to do so even in her prime; that she managed even the curse she did by the time you arrived is surprising."

Anger flickers out, replaced by mild confusion. "If my curse doesn't break the Rules of Magic, then how can I die and come back?"

"You are close to the answer already. How did you originally believe your resurrections worked?"

"Originally? I thought the curse brung me back from the edge of death. But if I've been here before, and if I've talked to you, I've obviously been completely dead."

He makes a tsking sound. "You see me and disregard where we stand. Your original theory is as close to correct as you can comprehend. This is a Netherworld, between life and the afterlives. You have come here several times, and several times you have been allowed to return to your world because you were not truly dead."

That only brings up more questions. "But why do I go back when I come here? Why aren't I just stuck here?"

He looks at me for a long minute. "What?" I ask challengingly.

"That you have lived nearly four decades with this curse, and have taken only minimal efforts to understand it, continues to baffle me. You don't lack the training or intelligence to come to the answers on your own."

"Ever think that maybe I just don't want to know? I know what it does, I know what it gives me and what it takes away, so why dig any deeper?."

"Why would Baba Yaga choose to give you a curse that grants you immortality, that brings you back from the grave?" He asks.

I can't say it's a question I've never thought of, and when I've decided how to answer, I ask, "You know how I can break my curse, I'm assuming?"

He nods, and I don't doubt his answer; if he knows this much already, then he knows that the curse- and my immortality- vanishes with three simple words: I love you.

"Well, that's why. Because she knew immortality gives me power." My hands curl into fists. "Because she knew, somehow, that if and when it comes down to power or love, I'll choose power."

Power gets me my brother back; power makes me more than a hedge-mage who searches for Neverland in vain. Vali knew that. I told him- as soon as I trusted him with it- that I could never say the three magic words even if I wanted too; when we got more serious, it became a point of argument. He found no reason why I shouldn't profess my feeling when I was ready, even if it meant losing my immortality, never finding my brother, and growing old while he stayed young. That's the kind of happy, normal life that good men want for their loves.

It's never really been my thing.

"Why do you ask?" I add after simmering in my own thoughts for a moment.

His lips twitch, and his eyes smile. "Because your reaction reminds me of who you are." He reaches out to a particular streak of light through 'my soul', but per my earlier request, doesn't touch it. "Family above everything. To a worrying degree."

I know he's baiting me with comment, and I mentally sigh and open my mouth to reply.

"It's been called the Promethean Curse, though yours has its alterations." He refers to the extra condition applied to it; usually strong curses can only be broken with true love's kiss.

"Promethean? As in Prometheus?"

"Yes."

I consider this information carefully. "So there really are gods. I always thought they were just legends."

"The Olympians are as much of gods as the Aesir are."

I smile a bit, humored at the sort-of inside joke. "Does that mean you aren't a god, Thanatos?"

He smiles one of his cold smiles with his lips, though there's a slight twinkle to his eyes that says he's slightly amused. "Perhaps."

I blink at the suddenness of the memory. The Horsemen watches me closely, obsidian eyes knowing, and I stare at him for a few seconds, surprised that he now looks familiar, like an old friend- though friend isn't the term I'd use.

"You've remembered something." He says. It's not a question.

"You called my curse the Promethean Curse. I asked if the Olympians were gods." He watches me patiently, waiting for me to say more, and I add, "I called you Thanatos. Is that your name, then?"

The Horseman- Thanatos- smiles with his eyes. "One of many. It is what the Olympians and their kin call me."

"So. The Promethean Curse."

"Yes. It was created from the magic in Prometheus's blood, recovered from the rock where he was chained." Thanatos falls silent for a moment, watching me closely. "I assume you're familiar with the story."

"I am." I shift my weight, uncomfortable with the intensity of his stare. "What?" I finally demand.

"Do you remember anything else?"

"No." I say flatly. The Horseman sighs, explaining, "You have tried to make deals with me before. Once you remember that, it shall simplify things, and allow us both to leave quickly." Though there's frustration in his voice, anger doesn't enter his voice until his next sentence. "I do not enjoy being summoned and bound like some rabid dog, Ellyn Davina Jones."

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but I shrug. "We can't do anything about it now. I guess we just have to kill time." Thanatos glares darkly at me, but he either calms himself or gradually hides his emotions. "You were saying something about 'to a worrying degree'."

He snorts. "Surely it isn't news to you. You are nigh on co-dependent on those you deem family, and your younger brother in particular."

The anger he's hidden comes to life in my chest. "It is news, actually." I say, an edge to my voice. "So what exactly do you mean when you say co-dependent?"

"What is your goal in life, Ellyn? What is your purpose?"

The answer comes automatically, and I have to clamp my mouth shut, because I almost say to find Ian. "Will you stop answering my questions with questions?" I put more annoyance into my voice than I feel, but he noticed the slip. After a few seconds of enduring his patient look, I say, "I raised Killian since I was barely a teenage. Excuse me if I've grown attached to my brother."

"He's not your brother." Thanatos says calmly. There's a satisfied mischief in his eyes that says he knows how I'll react to the comment, so I keep myself as under-control as possible when I answer.

"I'd beg to differ."

The Horseman's hand shoots out, brushing a patch of black that imposes itself on the luminous fog between us.

Killian is standing behind the wheel, looking down at me on the deck, his eyes red-rimmed and full of rage. I keep glancing to his hook, unable to process the events I've learned of.

I say I'm sorry though I know somewhere in the back of my mind that I would've made little difference to the situations outcome. He brushes my apology aside, his hands- hand- gripping the bridge railing as he says that he's going to kill the Dark One. And there's something in his eyes when he says that I don't like, that scares me, because it's rage and pain and something dark and cold. Because it reminds me of myself in my worse moments.

We argue, shouting back and forth, exchanging biting words. He's hell-bent on revenge, and wants my help in it; I refuse, tell him it's suicide and that he has nothing that even can kill a Dark One, but he won't listen. I snap; I tell him that revenge won't bring Millah back. I tell him that I'm not going to let him to throw his life away over something that's already gone.

He says that it's his ship, and that he'll do what he wants- as though, after years of watching out for him, I have no say in his life. In the lull silence after his reminder, we glare at eachother. My breath comes in hard puffs from shouting so much; Ian's knuckles have turned white from gripping the railing so hard. And then come the words that haunt me, no matter how many years pass.

I say, for the second time, that he has no way to kill Rumplestiltskin, and the look on his face tells me he's about to do something rash.. "Brother-"

"I'm not your brother." He snaps. "My brother is dead. You're an orphan my father took pity on." He takes a deep, shaken breath. "Get off my ship."

I stare at him for a minute, feeling like I've been punched in the chest.

"Ian-" The word is barely out of my mouth when he steps to the top of the stairs and interrupts, descending as he talks.

"Every time I needed you, you weren't there. Liam." He takes a step down; tears come to his eyes at the next name, but he blinks them away. " you'd let that scaley coward get away with this. Get off my ship."

You weren't there. All I've done for him, and I wasn't there? "Ian-"

"You can leave, or help me skin a Crocodile. Make your choice, Ellyn."

The anger and hurt he's caused is cooling, hardening, the former slowly overriding the former. The words I'm not your brother replay themselves endlessly in my head.

"Make a choice?" My hands curl into fists, and magic crackles the air around me with an almost electric charge. "Well, my choice, Killian Jones, is that I'm not going to go through with this. If you want to get yourself killed, fine. But don't expect me to be there to watch."

This time, when the memory ends, I'm sure to keep my face blank. Rage pounds through me at the Horseman's actions, at how my chest aches dully from the memory he dredged up. When I speak, I keep my voice cold and low, a dangerous tone.

"If you do that again," I say calmly, "I will drag this process out for as long as possible You don't like being 'summoned and bound like a rabid dog', and I don't like you playing with my memories."

The Horseman's expressions doesn't change, though his eyes take on a hard glint. "Do not threaten me in my own realm, Ellyn Davina Jones." I raise an eyebrow, an action that takes more bravado than I feel, and after a second Thanatos adds, "But I will refrain from 'playing' with your memories, if only to make this experience no less unpleasant than it need be."

"Good. And stay out of my family business."

"I don't mean to be cruel, Ellyn." Bullshit. You wouldn't have brought up that memory otherwise. "I know he means much to you. But how much you are willing to do to 'protect' him… it is a point of interest to me, as morbid as that may be. I'm curious to see how much you would give up for a brother who won't even acknowledge you as his sister."

"For some reason I keep hearing that sentence repeated, so let me make myself clear: Killian is my brother, and I am his sister. Blood or not. He only said what he did because he was hurt, and angry with me."

"And if it were the other way around, you would do the same? If Ru-" He falters, cutting off whatever name he was going to say, taking a fraction of a second to find a new one. "If Vali had died while you were still together, would you have been upset enough to disown your brother?"

"No." I say automatically, cursing the reaction at the Horseman's next words.

"Then you are devoted to someone who cares less for you than you do for him."

The comment cuts as it was meant to, but I don't let it show. "It's not my job to be loved. It is my job to protect him."

He's doing this on purpose, I realize. He's pressing this subject because he knows it's one of my two only fears, that when I find Ian he will hate me. It doesn't matter, I remind myself. It doesn't matter what he's like when you find him, as long as he's alive.

A memory comes drifting back to me then, and I blink slowly as it passes. "We've had this conversation before." I say, looking at Thanatos accusingly. "Multiple times, actually."

The Horseman looks pleased with himself. "I'm glad to see your memory is returning. With luck, we won't have long to wait now." His eyes drift from me to look at my 'soul' once again. "But we may have a few minutes yet. Let us discuss something other than your… brother."

The pause is pointed, but I swallow my anger. "Pick something to talk about, then."

"Vali Lokison."

"Pick something else."

"You hurt him deeply with what you did in Niflheim. You must know that."

That one stings, though it's not new news. "I had to. It was the only thing I could think of to put distance between us."

"Because he put distance between you and your brother."

My anger flares back to life. "My brother will always mean more to me than any lover."

"And so, to achieve that end, you stole the Candle of Niflheim from Hel's halls after Vali introduced you. One of her most prized possessions, able to exchange a life for a life, taken from under her nose." He gives one of his fake smiles with his lips, a sour look crossing his face. "She was livid, and daughters of Loki are so much more unbearable when they're angry."

"You know her?" I ask, though I'm not sure why I'm surprised at this point.

"Yes. We… work together, in a sense. As I do with Hades, and several others. But Hel… a sullen, petulant child, that one. And you did a remarkable job in rousing her ire."

I flash him a cold grin. "I seem to have a knack for that."

"There, you are correct. Though I must say, that your one and only use of the Candle was quite the clever trick."

He's not wrong there. When the fireseer's father asked me to take away the boy's powers, it was on the condition that he must live through it unharmed- or relatively so. I'd explained how the boy might transfer his gift, though not that it would kill him, and once he'd done so I put the Candle to use and exchanged our lives. I fulfilled my end of the bargain and got his Sight, for only the cost of one death. Now, I think it's a price too high; I can count on one hand the number of times I've been able to See.

"It was also quite the waste of time. I am curious, though, about how that boy came into his powers. His father was unremarkable and unmagical, and yet his son was a firemage with the Sight."

Thanatos's fake smile grows. "For one who bears the Promethean Curse, you are quick to forget the Olympian's habits. The boy's gift for fire came from his grandfather, Hephaestus. His Sight came from his mother, an Oracle."

"Impressive heritage, but if he was so gifted, why aren't I? The Sight's been next to useless to me."

"You bear no Olympic blood; his skills would never have sat well with you." His next fake smile is coldly amused. "How ironic, that you exchanged a true love for an unprofitable power."

My breathing catches, thoughts whirling around my head, and I fight to maintain a blank face. "True love?" I ask tightly. Those come along once in a lifetime; it Vali was mine, and I threw it away…

It's the price of finding Ian, a voice whispers. You always said you would pay it.

"Not exactly. Oh, he had the potential to be, of that there is no doubt. The resonance was there. But your differences, it seemed, outweighed your compatibility."

My mind calms somewhat, and the tightness in my chest loosens; I can live with losing a love. "You have a habit of saying things as though they don't need explaining, Thanatos." I say, mostly to distract from my momentary panic. "A true love? Resonance?"

"That is by design, Ellyn. We must have something to talk about whilst we wait for your memory to return." He says, in answer to my first statement. In answer to the second, he says, "True love is rare, but a person can have more than one, though it is unlikely. For immortals, two or three may come and go throughout the course of their long lives. As for my use of the word resonance… that is harder to explain. Perchance you have heard the term soul mates in place of true loves? They are nearly synonymous. When two people are each other's true loves, one can see it in their souls. I know no way to describe it; I can only say that it is easy to see for those who can look. I say resonance, but I mean balance, and I say balance and mean that they fit together, and so on. A million words would be inadequate."

I take a minute to absorb all that, trying to equate it to what I think of as true love. "You said the Vali was a possible true love. What do you mean by that?"

"It is exactly as it sounds. You loved each other, did you not? But you felt that he loved you only in your good moments, that he wanted you to be someone you aren't, and could never be. You believe that his condemnation of your quest is an extension of that."

"You say believe like it's not the truth." I say bitterly.

"Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't. That is for Vali to say." He gives one of his fake smiles, self-satisfied in a way that says he knows he's being infuriating. "But, while we are on the subject, let us discuss the Dark One."

I have no idea what that has to do with the subject, so I ask, "Rum or Zoso?"

"Both, though we shall start with the one that came first. Have you ever wondered why he mentored you? Dark Ones are rarely want to invest the time and effort of such a pursuit."

I wish I remembered the earlier conversations he claims we've had; I get the feeling he's pressing the buttons he knows how to, because I've spent hours in total thinking about exactly that question: if Zoso was the Dark One all the time I knew him, why did he bother with me?

Though inwardly I'm brooding, outwardly I shrug. "Because he was bored. Because he was lonely. The same reasons gods get involved with human's lives."

"Perhaps not as weak a theory as one might think." Thanatos consents. "But why make you his heir, if he was only bored? And why deny you the Dark Curse?"

"I get the feeling you're asking me questions you already know the answer to." I say dryly. "But if you want an answer, one works for both of 'em: because he got attached. He made the first mistake you can make when it comes to dealing with another dark magicians."

"The mistake you made with… Ezra, was it?" I bristle at the name. "You cared for him, thought of him like the brother you'd lost. And he turned on you the first chance he was given."

"Thanks for the reminder." I growl; his eyes smile, a wicked light to them. If gods truly get involved with human lives only because they're bored, this is prime evidence of it.

"Ah, but I'm getting off topic. We were talking about Zoso's attachment to you. Have you truly not figured it out? You have had thirty years, and the answer sitting on your shelf all that while."

Sitting on my…? "The box? The bloody thing's locked. Warded with blood-magic."

He gives one of his fake smiles. An idea starts to slowly form in my mind, but it's absurd, impossible, and I push it away.

"So it is." Thanatos says, his tone the one of a man who knows something I don't, and knows that I know that. "But enough about dead men. I am far more fascinated by your relationship with Rum."

"And why would that be?" I ask sarcastically, annoyed- at both his tone and the statement following it.

"Because you can't kill him."

I expected him to say, because you manage to work with him, or because you have no reason to help eachother, but no; Thanatos goes right for the throat.

When I've spent afew seconds gaping like a fish, I say, "Why in the bloody hell would I want to kill him? I can't get to Neverland without him."

"And after Neverland? When Ian sets off to kill him, what will you do?"

I open my mouth, hesitate, and close it. I haven't thought that far ahead; I've been actively avoiding thinking that far ahead, because I don't want to think about how Killian will take my return. But now the point is brought up: when I get my brother back, what will I do if he's still set on killing Rum?

"I'll… Trying to kill the Dark One is suicide." I decide on my argument; it's the same one I used twenty eight years ago. "I'm not going to let him through his life away."

Thanatos laughs. "Davey Jones cannot kill the man who maimed her brother!" He says when he's done. Fire seeps into my blood.

"You're wrong." I snarl. "I don't see the point of trying to kill him, but I can. And if he tries to hurt Ian, I will."

"You are the one who's wrong, Ellyn." There's amusement in the Horseman's voice. "You made a fatal mistake. You let him include himself in you research, and be your constant companion, for over a year. You might be able to trap him, betray him, even bring yourself to control him with the Kris Dagger. But you cannot do him mortal harm. And if you cannot kill him, then you must care for him, if only just." His cold smile returns. "What will your brother think when he finds out?"

A chill goes up my spine, and not because of the unsettling smile. "You're wrong." I repeat. "I don't give a damn about Rumpelstiltskin, and he definitely doesn't give one about me."

"You're sure about that, are you?"

For a moment we just stand there, me leaning against his chest, both of us staring at the other with slight alarm.

"Completely."

The smile widens. "I cannot decide if you are ignorant or obstinate, but denial always makes immortals seem so childish nonetheless."

"Funny, I could say the same thing about you."

His merriment is replaced with cold dark anger, and immediately swapped for amusement again; it all flashes across his face like a spasm.

"I forget that I talk to Davey Jones, the quartermaster who threw drunken sailors into the cargo locker."

"Someone had to keep order. And don't call me that." I add hotly. "I barely tolerate it when my brothers do it."

"Did it."

"You bloody a-" I've said that very sentence to him before, and it triggers something. Memories slam into me without warning, images and voices and emotions erupting in my mind simultaneously; pain blossoms on the inside of my skull as though it's been split with an axe.

The next few seconds are fuzzy, though my agonizing headache is as clear as ever. After it passes, my mind begins to bring order to the sudden information; the memories become clear and organized, and I find that they're as Thanatos said: earlier conversations between us. Many times we have the same discussions that we've had here today, but a few are new to me, like those about Pops and Tor and William, and even those about my mother and Pellamos, my birth father.

I'm not as interested in these conversations as I am with Thanatos's mannerisms during them; I'm slowly starting to get a better idea of who he is. That's how I know I've really pissed him off by trapping him here with me; once I have my memory of those conversations back, I know how much friendlier- in a way- that he usually is.

I also remember the deals Thanatos mentioned earlier, the ones that I've tried to make with him before, and they're not as one-sided as he made them sound.

I take a deep breath, calming myself from the heart rate spike that that horrible headache caused. When I've regained my composure, I say, "I'll take your deal."

Thanatos cocks an eyebrow. "I've never said what I wanted, specifically."

"You said you wanted a favor. Because I'm 'of great use'. So there's your deal: give me the ring, and I'll do you a favor."

"You'll find my favor rather steep." The Horseman says. I look at him expectantly. "Work for me." He says simply. I blink owlishly. "Temporarily, of course. There is a…" He takes a deep breath, and there is rage in his eyes, though he gives no outward appearance of it. "... matter that you could be of use in."

"What kind of matter?"

"A petulant king." He practically spits, "That thinks himself above death. His name is Sisyphus. I will provide you with the means to recognize and deliver him back to me. You will meet him soon, and I expect you to completely this task the minute you see him."

"Alright. What exactly are these means you're going to provide me with?"

He smiles with his mouth, which tells me I'm not going to like something about his next words. "You will find out. And I warn you, one comes at a price. You cannot have it and your meager Sight."

I only consider it for a second. "It's rarely done me any good. I can stand to lose it."

"Excellent. Do we have a deal, Ellyn?"

"Yeah, we've got a deal."

"Good. Then all we have left to settle, is what I shall do to you for binding me here."

"You're still on that? You'll be free when I wake up, and we both got something out of it."

"Ah, but you have slighted me, Ellyn Davina Jones. And you should have remembered by now, that I am not a merciful man. I think an hour should do; you most likely won't die in that time."

"An hour of what? Mostly likely?" The chill of fear is going back up my spine.

"Why, the Underworld- with all the people you've put there. Enjoy your stay."

"Now, wait a min-" I don't get the chance to finish the word.

Because of the spell, I don't awake from death like I normally do. There's no memories, no pain; suddenly I'm back in my own body, and I sit up without a word, silent, not quite registering where I am.

"Ellyn." Rumplestiltskin says from somewhere nearby. I don't respond, barely hear him in reality. I'm shaking like a leaf, I realize slowly, but I can't seem to stop. "Ellyn?" Rum asks, crouching next to me, hand touching my shoulder "Are you alright, little wolf?" I don't respond. "You're trembling, dearie." His voice is gentle, and I know he's trying to talk me down, but's not working, and I can't find the will or focus to reply.

After a second, Rumple awkwardly puts an arm around my shoulder. The action is tentative, uncertain, but I don't care at this point; I curl into him, and we sit in silence until the shaking passes.

When it finally does, all I can think is, I can't kill him.

I've rarely been more terrified.

The means that Thanatos was going to provide me are, oddly enough, found by Rumpelstiltskin. When we rise from our spot on the floor, he offers me a hand up, and when I reach to take it my sleeve falls down and reveals the edge of a word engraved onto my forearm. Before I know it, he's pulled up my sleeve and trapped my arm in his hands, and we're both reading intently. It's only after I see the words that I feel the pain- when I say engraved, I mean freshly-cut with a knife, and blood is starting to flow- but I numb the pain with a spell and pull together enough concentration to read the two lines of text.

My right forearm says, The eyes are the windows to the soul, if one knows how to look. Vide praeter.

We look up at eachother. I tug my arm free of the Dark One's hands, wincing, and roll up my other sleeve. That forearm reads, When seeing with your new eyes, whistle to summon help.

"Vide praeter are probably the words to a spell." I say needlessly.

"There have been enough spells today, dearie. And that's coming from me." He takes my wrist and passes a hand over my forearm, and the cuts heal over as though they were never there, though I've already memorized every word. Rumplestiltskin repeats the process with my other arm, and I tug my sleeves down.

"I'm going to bed, Rum. It's been a long day." It's not a lie; darkness fell while we were still sitting on the floor, and I'm unusually exhausted. I know he recognizes the hint, but he lingers anyway.

"What happened, little wolf?" He means all of it; the shaking, the engraved words, what happened after he performed the sacrifice. I shake my head.

"A story for another time. Preferably with alcohol involved."

His eyes narrow a bit, and I know he wants to push more, but he nods slowly. "I will be nearby. Sleep well, little wolf."

I stand there for several seconds after he leaves, simply processing everything that's happened in the last hours. I remember the Horseman's ring with a jolt, and look down to find it sitting on my right ring finger, as though it'd always been there. That I can't be sure if it was on me when I woke, or just now appeared, is slightly unsettling.

My mind strays back to the Underworld, and then to Zoso. I lurch into motion, crossing to my shelf of artifacts.

The bloody thing's locked. Warded with blood-magic.

"Why leave you a chest you can't open?" Rumple says.

I take Zoso's little chest off the shelf and set it on the table where Rum and I spent the last year of research, simply staring at it for a few moments.

But why make you his heir, if he was only bored?

I draw my bone-handle dagger.

Have you truly not figured it out?

Perhaps some part of me always suspected it, and the rest of me just couldn't admit it. I prick my thumb and let the blood drip onto the triangular engraving on the lock.

The entire box shimmers red, and the chest pops open.

A/N: I put this part at the end, because how Ellyn has magic when no one else in her family does is going to be explained in the next few chapters- starting here.