A/N: So, I might have written two+ chapter's worth of material before I realized how much I had. Basically, I have the only brand-new stuff I have to write will be the last chapter of this part. Anyway, after I realized how long it'd gotten, I divided it up into chapters and started editing. I have one chapter now, and I'm thinking I'll have the next one cleaned up and posted as a belayed Christmas gift on New Years.
This time around, we're finally getting to something that I've been hinting at every now and then for awhile: Ellyn's biological family.
Enjoy!
Chapter 12: That Which Haunts Us
Sitting in Zoso's chest are three crystals, each nearly as long as my hand and nearly half as wide. All are a dark shade of purple and glow faintly with the light of magic. I almost pick one up, but think better of it, and draw back my hand. I've learned my lesson about touching unknown magical items; I sometimes still dream of the black-magic book that cost me a life, and of Rum's expression as I sat dying.
Instead, I stand and stare for several minutes, trying and failing to keep my thoughts on the crystals and not on what the open box means.
It means you share blood. It means that he was family and still lied to you.
The phrase that bastard quickly takes precedence in my thoughts. That bastard, that bloody bastard. My hands open and close, clenching into fists and relaxing just so I can clench them again. How long did he know? How long did he know and not tell me?
I know the answer to that question as soon as I think it, and it only makes me angrier. Zoso was the Dark One, even if he withheld me that information; he knew from the beginning. Most likely, our shared blood was the only thing that caused him to seek me out.
That stings almost as much as the deception itself. When my apprenticeship came to an end, and Zoso faked his death, one of my biggest comforts had been that I had had enough potential to have ever been trained in the first place. After his actual death, after I learned who he'd been all along, it was again a comfort that a Dark One had taken me to apprentice, that I'd had enough power and potential to draw the eye of the world's most powerful magician.
But if he's blood, any self-pride I had was misplaced; if he's blood, then the only thing remarkable about me was his place somewhere in my family tree.
This time when I flex my hand open, I concentrate, pouring my anger into a fireball that sits in my palm. That bloody bastard. Did he ever draw a breath without lying to me? We spent nearly a decade working together- a decade where he was there and Pops was not. He couldn't have possibly thought I would react negatively to being related to him, so how hard would it have been to tell me the bloody truth? How hard would it have been to tell me that I wasn't alone in the world?
I spin and hurl the fireball into my artifact shelf; it hits my barrier with the audible crack of magic-on-magic and dissipates. Free of anything to occupy them, my hands open and close again, looking for something to do. I whirl back around, flinging the table's chair into the nearest bookshelf-covered wall.
Do I have one bloody person in my life who hasn't lied to me, betrayed me, screwed me over in some fashion? My birth father ripped me from my mother and sent me away; my adoptive father abandoned us; my apprentice betrayed me to better his station; and the mentor who faked his death, who left me alone and mourning, told me not just one, but two continuous lies about his identity.
Bloody Dark Ones, I think bitterly.
"Ellyn?" A tentative voice asks from the doorway of my study. I don't realize that my hands are gripping the edge of the table, ready to flip it, until I look up and see Graham standing there, wide-eyed and frightened. "I heard a noise."
The boy's dark-blue eyes are blurry, and his hair is a tousled mess. He must have been asleep, and I've gone and woken him. Well done, I mentally snarl at myself. Outwardly, I flash Graham a reassuring smile- however strained it might be.
"It was just me, lad. I, uh...", I glance to the chair I threw; the back of it is bent at an odd angle, and one of the front legs has nearly come off. "I got worked up. Com'on, I'll take you back to bed."
It takes a few minutes and a sea shanty, but when Graham is finally sound asleep once again, I lean in the doorway, watching his chest rise and fall. The rage in my heart has settled, sleeping uneasily in the boy's presence.
Looking at Graham, some part of me knows why Zoso never told me that we were related. It would have made it real- that he had a family, that he had someone he couldn't bear to lose, and that scared him.
Dark Ones are bloody cowards, I think bitterly.
Across the house, I hear the door to my shop bang open. Graham twitches in his sleep, and my anger comes roaring back to life in an instant. I very carefully, very quietly close Graham's bedroom door, and stalk down the hallways.
I throw open the door from my house to the shop, and it swings around to bounce off the wall with a loud crash that, thanks to magic, Graham will not hear.
"This had better be bloody good." I snarl, laying my hands flat on the countertop that sits just a few feet from the doorway. A man straightens in front of me; none of the lanterns are lit at this time of night, but the moonlight from the nearby window is enough to show me that the man is covered in a sheen of sweat.
"Elaine sends word." He huffs, and my heart drops to my stomach. "You're asked to come at once."
Elaine.
I keep my breathing under control with difficulty; to send a messenger all the way from Listenoise, and to word it as such, she must be desperate, and that makes my stomach twist with instant anxiety. I was not raised with them, but I grew fond of my mother and sister, my brother-in-law and nephew, during the little time I spent with them. If they're in trouble…
My first instinct is to do as the message says, to come at once and barrel thoughtlessly back to Listenoise, but I remember all too well the day I came home to find Nidhad's men in my study. I know that this could well be a trap, and I rest my hand on Durendal's hilt.
"Yes, I'm sure she does." I say flatly. "Tell me, what does my sister look like?"
The messenger's brow furrows, sensing the danger he's in, but unsure of why it's present; if this is an act, it's a good one. "Dainty face. Wavy brown hair. Dark eyes." He pants out, taking a deep, gulping breath and watching me closely. "Early sixties. Had a son of 'bout thirty." There's a heartbeat of silence where he's waiting to see if I believe him. Then he adds, hesitantly, "She said you'd pay me."
He knows he's pushing his luck, if the way he fidgets during the next few seconds is anything to go by. My eyes narrow, but he's described Elaine passably, so I reach beneath the counter and pluck a leather purse from a drawer. I toss it to the messenger without a word, and he catches it, weighing the coins in his hand. It must suit him, because he nods once and is back out the door in an instant.
I stand in the dark after he leaves, thinking over what Elaine said, and for several seconds, I'm caught in indecision. Come at once. Do I rush to Listenoise, to the aid of my blood family, when I'm days, maybe only hours away from reuniting with Ian? Or do I ignore Elaine's message, and leave them to what could be mortal danger?
Too much has happened in the last twenty-four hours: Rum, Thanatos, Zoso. And now this. It's too many thoughts, too many emotions, and they only build on top of eachother; the pressure in my chest warrants that I either cry or destroy something, but either could wake Graham, and that I refuse to do.
A flick of the wrist, and a second later I stand on the beach near my house. I take a deep breath, tasting the salt on the air. For a minute, I close my eyes and pretend that I'm on the Jolly Roger, with my brother and our crew and all the seas before us.
Sshh, sshh, the sea whispers as it washes against the sand, and I take another deep breath.
Ian, or my last remaining blood family?
Elaine and them can wait, I reason. It'll take less than a day to get to Neverland and back.
As soon as I think it, I know that it's not true. Ian's retrieval itself may take less than a day, but only if everything goes to plan; even if it does, the aftermath will take far longer. Keeping him from Rum's throat alone will be a monumental undertaking, and one that my half-sister and nephew may not have time for.
I settle on the ground and lay back, interlocking my fingers under my head. The sand is cool, and the night is clear; I find the constellations we always used to navigate, and trace their outlines. The dragon; the ram; the hunter. The North Star, that I have not admired since Zoso told me that wishing upon it could summon the Blue Fairy.
My adoptive brother, or my sister, my brother-in-law, my nephew?
He's not your brother. You are devoted to someone who cares less for you than you do for him.
I push Thanatos's words away. I raised Ian; I looked out for him; I sacrificed whatever life I could have had, took on the alienation of a mage, to protect him. And I don't know if a group of people I've spent less than a week with are worth more than that.
I know, deep down, what decision I'm going to make. I know that logic will tell me that their immediate danger outweighs Ian's constant, yet mild, peril. After all, if he's still alive after all this time, he'll survive a few more days.
Knowing that doesn't lessen the frustration and rage and loneliness in my chest. In the past, I've come so close to finding a way to Neverland, only to have it delayed, destroyed, or otherwise ripped away. This is the closest I've ever come, and I fear, with an irrational intensity, that even the slightest delay will cause it to be taken away as well.
Sshh, sshh, the sea whispers. I groan in frustration.
"Rumplestiltskin." I say through gritted teeth. The word is so soft it might as well be whispered, but it's enough.
He appears beside me silently, the moonlight catching one side of his face and throwing the other in shadow. "You're sleeping well, I see." He says the moment he materializes, but when he actually takes in my face and posture, those reptilian eyes stare out at me from an instantly worried face. "What's wrong, little wolf?" He asks, settling on the sand next to me.
I turn my head to look up at him, but don't otherwise move from my comfortable position. A thousand things fly through my head. I suddenly want to tell him about Zoso's lie, about how this new delay sends fear burning through my veins, about how the thought of my blood-family being in danger twists my stomach into knots. He'd understand, I know.
And if you cannot harm him, then you must care for him, if only just. What will your brother think when he finds out, Ellyn?
I push my emotions and Thanatos's voice from my mind to reply, "I'm not entirely sure. I think my sister's in trouble."
"Sister?" I grin at his surprise. My complicated familial situation isn't something I've ever bothered to explain to him; he knows that I had a few brothers because of some of the stories I've told Graham, but much of my past I've kept to myself- just as he has his.
"Oh yeah. I got quite a bit of family on my birth-mum's side. A half-sister, a nephew, probably even a few great-nephews by now. More if you count my birth-father's side, which I don't."
He cocks an eyebrow and reclines back on his elbows. "You've never mentioned them." I shrug.
"I met them once, thirty years ago. I care about them, of course, but we're not all that close. It'd be dangerous for them if we were." And painful for me.
"And yet they summon your help."
I frown. "That's the part that worries me. I didn't think I'd hear from them again." That earns me a curious sideways glance.
"Had a bit of a fight, did we?" The tone is teasing, but I think there's real concern behind those eyes.
"I left on good terms, but I still left. I think-" I cut myself off; it's best to stop sharing things with him, I know. It's best to put distance between us. Thanatos is right: I can't kill him. But that doesn't mean I should screw myself over more than I already have.
"You think…?" Rum prompts, and I look up at him for a long moment.
Sshh, sshh, the sea whispers. Perhaps it's the sound of the water, the taste of salt in the air, reminding me of home; perhaps it's having a friend again.
"My mum wanted me to stay with them, and... I couldn't. I just couldn't. I still had a brother to look after, back then." A brother who I'd actually grown up with, who I'd actually loved. A brother who wasn't a constant reminder of the life I could have had, if it hadn't been stolen from me.
There's silence for a long moment, and the only sound is the sea as it washes against the sand. I don't need to elaborate any further on my statement. He, of all people, knows how that would have hurt them; he, of all people, knows me well enough to know that it hurt me. I sigh.
"I guess I'll be leaving in the morning. I have no idea how long I'll be gone. It'll probably get dangerous. So." I look over at him, the slightest of smiles twitching on my lips, "You coming or not?"
The same grin creeps slowly across his face. "What about Graham?"
"I'll leave him at Cinaed's. He'll be safe while we're gone. In or out, Rum?"
"Oh, I think you know the answer to that, little wolf."
"When're you gonna be back?" Graham asks, clutching my hand. I pick the bag off his bed and swing it over my shoulder.
"For the millionth time, lad, we won't be gone all that long. A week, maybe two."
"Promise?"
"I promise. On my little brother's life and my older brothers' graves."
The boy considers this for a moment. "...Okay." He finally says somberly; he knows I take such a promise seriously. I've told stories of my brothers, and he's perceptive enough to have picked up on how much they meant to me.
"Good. Now hold on." He huddles closer to me, and I tighten my own grip on his hand. I make a motion with the other, and near-black purple smoke swirls around us. When it clears, we stand in a quiet street, Cinaed's bar a few dozen feet to our left; warm night spills out of it and into the morning air, but it's barely past dawn, and there's little noise coming from it. Directly in front of us is a sturdy wooden house, one of the few buildings on this stretch of road that isn't a business. "That one's Ken's." I say, nodding to it.
"Is Rumple goin' with you 'cause it's dangerous?" Graham asks suddenly, in a tone that suggests he didn't hear a word I just said.
I laugh. "Smart lad." I praise, strolling forward and banging on the door to Cinaed's house.
"I hear ya, I hear ya." Ken calls from inside the house, and a second later the door swings inward. "Come on in." The alchemist holds the door for us as we enter, smiling when he sees Graham. "Nice'ta see you again, tidbit."
Graham grins bashfully, muttering a hello in return. Cinaed gives him a quick tour of the two-story house- luxuriously big, compared to the one I grew up in- and we leave him in his bedroom to get unpacked. Ken and I make our way back to the kitchen; we're barely through the doorway before the alchemist has produced a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, and I laugh as I settle at the kitchen table.
"So, Ellie..." Cinaed begins, trailing off as he fills a glass. I take a quick sip while I wait for him to continue. "Is it true that yer screwin' that imp o' yours?"
I choke on my drink; the resulting coughing fit saves me from answering for a few minutes.
"Where the hell did that come from?" I choke out, thumping a fist against my chest.
"Rumor's been flyin' all over about the Dark One's compan'n. I heard that yer either screwin' him or bein' blackmailed, and I know which o' those is more likely."
I feel heat come to my face. "You should know better than to believe what the people say, Ken."
He grins widely. "O, I know. I just like watchin' you squirm."
"You're a bloody ass." I growl with only the slightest smile. He laughs, bringing his cup to his lips. I snap my fingers before he can take a drink, and it disappears in a puff of smoke.
"Ya dirty lil' trickster!" He exclaims. My smile lasts only a second.
"No drinking while Graham's here," I say, and the alchemist huffs. "I mean it, Cinaed. Not a drop. And for gods' sakes, don't shout everything you say. The lad's not as shy as he used to be, but raise your voice at him and you'd never know it."
Cinaed rolls his eyes. "Ya' got my word that I won't traumatize the boy." He looks at me for a long moment, his face taking on a more serious cast. "Yer really attached ta this kid, aren't ya?"
No, I want to say. Caring is a length of rope, love is a noose. The saying runs instantly through my mind, reminding me of how many times I've seen that rule proven. I care for no one but my brother, I should say. That's the sentiment that's kept me alive, the rule that's only caused grief when broken. I admitted that I cared for Ezra, and he used that against me; I cared about Vali, and it made it so much worse when that relationship ended.
Zoso wouldn't admit it. He was so scared to that he lied to you for a decade. Fresh anger thrums through me, ice-cold instead of the red-hot rage that overcame me last night.
I'm not him. I'm not a bloody coward.
"Yeah, I care about the lad." I say quietly, downing the rest of my glass in one burning gulp. Cinaed knows that admittance doesn't come easily, and raises an eyebrow, surprised. That one motion throws my guard back up, and I plaster a small, teasing smile on my face, a none-too-subtle signal that this moment of genuineness has past. "So I'd like him back in one piece, if it's not too much trouble."
"He'll be fine, Ellie, ya' got my word."
I nod once, standing. "I'll go say goodbye, then."
"You do that." The alchemist says. I'm halfway to the door when I hear him rise from his chair and cross to an opposite wall. I pivot instantly on my heels, stalking silently back across the kitchen, standing with arms crossed just behind Cinaed as he reaches up onto a shelf. When he turns around, bottle in hand, he jumps nearly out of his skin.
"Ah, rum! My favorite." I say cheekily, slipping it deftly from his grasp as a slow grin spreads across my face. I see now why Rum enjoys startling me; it's taking every ounce of self-control I have not to laugh at the alchemist's reaction. He scowls down at me.
"I own a bar, ya'know. Ya gonna take all the liquor outa there too?"
"That depends. Are you planning on drinking it?"
"Go give th'boy a hug and get outa my house, ya damn buzzkill."
I flash Ken a smile and slip out of the room. I'm already in the hall when a thought hits me, and I pause, retracing my steps to lean against the kitchen's doorway. Cinaed is washing out my cup and replacing it in the cupboard. He must sense eyes on him, because he turns, sees me watching him.
"I trust you, Cinaed." I begin slowly, keeping my voice calm, my face cold and blank. "But it occurs to me that Zoso trusted you as well." I push off the doorway, slowly closing the distance between us. Ken's face is hard, evaluating; this cold demeanor is not something that's ever been directed at him. "How long did you know Zoso, Ken?" I ask innocently, though the sharpness in my face likely leaves no doubt as to how seriously I take this conversation.
Cinaed looks at me for a long moment. "Met 'em nearly a century ago. Worked with him till he disappeared. A good few years after that, you turnt up and told me he was dead. And'a Dark One."
I nod. "So, around seven decades of working together. People become friends when they're together that long."
"Enough with the run 'round, Ellie." The alchemist says harshly. "Ask what you wanna ask."
I look him in the eyes, prepared to catch any flicker of hesitation, any hint of a lie.
"Did you know that Zoso was related to me?"
It's not the preparation for a lie that crosses his face; it's exhaustion, almost sadness, and he glances away.
"So ya' finally got that damned box open." He says, sighing. He looks at me and away again. "A man like him, getting so attached to some kid... always thought that ya had to share blood somehow. Finally got as much out of 'em, one night." He looks up, meets my gaze. "Ya' got those damn black eyes."
It takes a second for me to fully register the confession; I didn't think he'd admit it so easily.
"All this time, and you didn't tell me." This time, when anger comes, it's slow, cold, calm, of a variety no less deadly for its rarity; it is a point beyond the anger of betrayal, the rage of grief, wherein the most dramatic measures seem a rational way to release the pressure and emotions built up from those other kinds. When I reached this point in the past, I ran a blade across my traitorous apprentice's face and killed Jacob Stonefist's family; I killed Ezra's love and burned down Lord Frederick's castle; I stole the Candle of Niflheim, knowing full well that it was a betrayal of Vali's trust, that it would hurt, and doing it for that reason.
I force myself to take deep breathes. This is Cinaed. I was fourteen when Zoso first introduced us, and he's been a valuable friend in all the years since. One of your only friends left, besides Rum.
"Keep yer temper down, pup." Cinaed snaps. "It wasn't my place to be tellin' you, so I did'n."
That one sentence turns ice to fire in a heartbeat- a fire which is less dangerous, but demands to be expressed with more passion- and I'm shouting before I realize it.
"I'm tired of people bloody lying to me! If I deserved to know about anything, it was this!"
"Ya' said something earlier about not yellin' around the boy." The alchemist says flatly, and I glare at him, fuming but silent. A long moment stretches out. "What would've it changed, Ellie? Not a damn thing, that's what."
"It changes everything, and you bloody well know it."
"No, I bloody well don't. Bastard he might'a been, but he did the best he could for you. The only thing different now is that ya' know why." Cinaed pulls out the chair I previously occupied and all but collapses into it. He suddenly looks old; the philosopher's stone stops the effects of time, but it does nothing for the effects of life, and I almost feel guilty for yelling. "I know yer upset, Ellie, but we can talk 'bout it later. You and yer imp got places to be, r'member?"
"Fine." I snarl, the dismissal not helping my temper. "But we will talk about it later, Cinaed."
I stalk from the kitchen, the anger that pulses through my chest fading slowly as I head to Graham. I find the boy quicker than expected; I'm mounting the stairs as Graham is hurrying down them, and he nearly bowls me over.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry, lad?" I ask teasingly, if a bit strained, and his cheeks turn red.
"I didn't know if- I thought maybe that, uh-" It takes me a few seconds to realize what the boy is trying to say.
"What, thought I'd left without saying goodbye?"
Graham looks away, blushing, and I pull him into a hug. It surprises him at first, but his hesitation only lasts a second before he's clinging to me. After long moment, I pull away and crouch down, looking him in the eyes.
"Be good for Cinaed, Graham." I say, keeping my voice soothing even though the alchemist's names sends a spike of agitation through me. The boy looks scared, suddenly terrified at the reminder of the situation, but he nods dutifully. I brush his wavy, disheveled hair back from his face. "Do you still have your necklace?"
"Uh-huh." He says, tugging the crescent-moon pendant out from under his shirt.
"Good lad. As long as you have that, I'll always know when you're in trouble." I wrap him in another hug, and he clings to my neck. Sadness and worry surge equally in my chest, and I push them down, pulling away. "I'll see you in a week, Graham."
"Goodbye, Ellyn." The boy says softly. With one last grim look, he turns and bolts back up the stairs to his room. This first day will be hard on him, I know; the fear of being left behind, coupled with this unfamiliar place and his experience with life, will lend itself to tears and nightmares later tonight. It's a feeling I recall vividly from that first fateful night without Pops- orphaned, thirteen, on an unfamiliar ship with unfamiliar men and an uncertain future. The memory sends a spike of anxiety through my chest for what I'm putting Graham through. This isn't the same. I'll be back in a week, and he has Cinaed.
I turn to leave, and find the alchemist watching me from the bottom of the steps. Our gazes lock for one long minute, and there's something about the expression on his face that makes me think that it's not me he's looking at; it's the black eyes that sit in my skull.
"I miss him, too," I finally say, "And it doesn't change a thing."
"You've opened it." Is the first thing Rum says when I appear back in my study. He's examining Zoso's box, still opened and untouched on my table; one hand is held in front of his chest, the other resting on his hip, his whole body tense. There's a look on his face that I can't quite place, an odd countenance to the hard brow and sneering mouth that usually accompanies his agitation. "And I doubt you found a vial of his blood."
His is hissed venomously, and I freeze in place; Zoso had a very different effect on Rum than he did on me, and I am not the one of us who inherited all his power. Common sense screams at me to handle this situation carefully, but after all that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, common sense is far from the forefront of my mind.
"Thanatos- the Horseman- was hinting around at it. Mocking me, really, for taking so long to figure it out." I move to stand beside Rumplestilskin, heedless of the danger this conversation could escalate too, and stare down at the box. When I next speak, any agitation is overtaken by hurt, softening the words. "He lied to me, all those years."
The Dark One turns to look at me, and his face is guarded, cold, calculating; he's trying to gauge the genuineness of my emotions, trying to decide if I've been keeping this information from him since the beginning. That we'd previously discussed my inability to get the box open, that I've admitted to being constantly fooled about my mentor's identity in another regard, all means little with us. We scheme and lie for a living. Anything could be a ruse; anything could be a lie, as the paranoia of most black wizards reminds the both of us now.
Perhaps paranoia is necessary. After a year of working together, Rum still has no idea who my little brother is. And if I've kept that from him, only the gods- and likely not even them- would have a chance of knowing all that he could be keeping from me. Tension charges the air around us, uninterrupted for several heartbeats.
"So explains the chair." He finally says, some of the hardness, the distrust, leaving his face. I look to Rum and then the aforementioned furniture, still laying in a mangled heap of wood across the room. I'm silently surprised that he noticed that, having nearly forgotten about it myself. It soothes some of the tension in my body. After all, if he saw that, then he's had time to work out more. Combined with my statement, he'll know by now that this is as new to me as it is to him; that I didn't lie to him.
Not about this, anyway.
"Yeah, I forgot about that." I say, and bark a small, joyless laugh. "If it weren't for Graham, half this room would be kindling."
Rum shifts his gaze to meet my eyes; something on his face is trying so hard to be wary, distant, but it gives way to a tight- yet gentler- expression. "Are you alright, little wolf?"
"I don't know. Maybe." I cross my arms, look away. "It's not that we're related- I considered him family long before now, and that makes it worse. He lied to me. For a bloody decade, he lied to me." I expect the renewed agitation to come, but this time, it brings with it a wave of sudden exhaustion; I still haven't slept since my meeting with Thanatos, and my emotions are stretched thin. For one illogical second, I want nothing more than to sleep and escape from all this for even a few hours, but I know that sleep has not equaled rest for me in a long time.
I rarely feel my age; perhaps it's that so many years blur together, only distinguishable by significant deals, significant people, making the decades feel shorter. But I feel it now, a weariness that settles in my bones, draining away all energy and dampening emotion.
Rum senses the change and shoots me a sidelong glance, wrapping a tentative arm around my shoulders. I lean into his side, grateful for the attempted comfort.
"What about you, Rum?" I ask after a moment, looking up at him. "Are you okay with… all of this?"
A shadow crosses the Dark One's face, and his lips curl back, somewhere between a grimace and a sneer. "I'll get used to it." He practically snarls, but a concerned look tells me that he's not angry with me, only the situation. Inwardly, I breathe a sigh of relief for the avoided drama, and exhaustion settles heavier into my chest without apprehension to lend me energy.
I raise a hand to close the lid of Zoso's box, and pause, staring at the crystals before tilting my head up to look at Rum. "Any idea what those are, Rum?"
The Dark One eyes them with an appraising- and perhaps distasteful- look on his face. "Memory crystals." He says shortly, and I shake my head.
"Thanks, Zoso. I don't have enough traumatizing memories." I say to no one in particular, only half-joking.
No rest for the wicked, I think with a bitter smile, closing the lid of Zoso's box with a flick of the wrist. I slip from under Rum's arm and hold out my hand.
"Ready?" I ask, a small smile playing across my face, and Rumpelstiltskin takes my hand with a wicked grin. A broadened smile and a twirl of the hand, and near-black smoke envelops us both.
The next moment, we stand on a quiet dirt road, the groves of scraggly fir and pines lining the path silhouetted against a grey sky. Despite the time of year, there's a chill to the air- not cold, by any means, but not nearly as warm as the port town in which I reside.
"Welcome," I say, with a dramatic sweep of one hand, "To Listenoise."
"A charming place, I see." Rum quips, glancing around this dreary countryside.
"Oh, you have no idea." I stroll forward, following the road and tugging Rum along. "Remember awhile back, when King Nidhad sent soldiers to my house to look for Durendal?"
"Vividly."
"I mentioned something about a half-brother."
"Something along the lines of, 'Why do the legitimate sons never have any manners?!'" He quotes in a high-pitched voice, teasing, and I roll my eyes.
"I could do a much better impression of you, you know," I say, the smile falling slowly from my face as my mind circles back to the subject of the legitimate son. "Do you remember the name I signed our contract with?"
"Faolan Bethanny Pellinore. And before you ask, yes, I know who that makes your father."
"My father isn't the problem. My half-brother, on the other hand… he's a wild card. We met when he was barely a man, and I have no idea the kind of person he's grown into."
"Would you mind skipping to the point?"
"How do you feel about overthrowing a monarchy while we're here?"
Rumple laughs aloud. "This is what I like about you, little wolf. We could just kill him, but instead- down with the government! It sends such a lovely message, doesn't it?"
"That's the idea. Viva la anarchie, and all. So I take that as a yes?"
"It's the start of a beautiful tradition, little wolf."
As we've been walking the path has curved slightly; now the trees thin, and a castle rises on the far horizon. The stones are dark and rough, and moss crawls over the walls, but the sheer size of it- even from this distance- cannot help but draw the eye.
My eyes linger there for a moment, as they always do, before dropping to the village before me. I release Rum's hand as he pulls the hood of his cloak up. It's an act of habit more than necessity; the "village" is little more than a collection of perhaps twelve farm houses, scattered a minimum of a quarter-mile from each other. Fields of hay and wheat span the distance between them, and a grand total of four businesses, a shrine, and a mill stand in for a town square along the main road.
"It's that one." I say at length, nodding to the nearest house. Rum appraises it for a moment, and fixes me with a patient look; I could have teleported us to the door, but here we stand, and the imp knows that that has a purpose.
I turn to face him, arms crossed over my chest. "I probably don't have any right to ask this of you, Rum, but I will anyway." He mirrors my stance, head tilting down inquisitively; the morning light catches a patch of skin and glitters off the scales. "When you meet my family, don't tell them who you are. I might not have time to explain, and it's hard to protect people who don't trust you."
"Rather they judge the monster for themselves?" He asks with a predatory, toothy grin.
"I'd rather they judge the man." I retort, and the Dark One scoffs. "Oh, knock it off. Just be your usual charming self-" We both grin at that idea- "And they'll trust you just fine."
"You really are wicked, little wolf. Tricking your family into trusting me."
"Well, I'm still alive, so it can't be that bad."
I start forward again, eyes flickering across the farmhouse, alert for any sign of danger. Elaine's message was urgent, and with the number of people I've angered, and the relationship between my mother and birth-father's families, my family may well have come under attack. My stomach knots again; even I don't know how I will react if I find my sister or nephew dead, but I know it will amplify this anxiety a thousand times with rage.
The house is intact, at least, and the chimney emits a steady column of smoke. That calms my nerves somewhat; an attack would have left visible damage, and chased off the occupants. As Rum and I turn off the main road and onto the dirt path that leads back to it, and I loosen Durendal in its sheath. We're less than twenty yards from the doorstep- close enough to see movement through the windows- when the door bangs open, silhouetting a man with a crossbow pointed squarely at my chest.
I take in his appearance in a split-second. Straight and thinning hair that's gone white with age, grey eyes, tall; none of the features of my family, and Durendal is out in an instant, magic fire alighting in the Dark One's hands.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" I snarl, at the same time the man yells, "You've got ten counts to get off our land!" Then we're both shouting over each other, where's my family against you've got no business here. I almost miss the sound of pounding footsteps, am almost caught by surprise when another man rounds the corner at a dead sprint. There's a longbow in his hand and a rabbit strung through his belt, and instantly the old man is yelling orders at him.
"Shut up! For the love of the gods, shut up!" The bowman yells over all the noise. I suck in a sharp breath as I take in his face, swordpoint dropping to the ground. Rum glances at me and shifts closer, fire still crackling in one hand.
"Auntie?" The younger man asks tentatively. He looks so much like Tor that it hurts, and I know what that must mean- Elaine looks like Tor, too- so I flash the man a strained smile.
"Phelan. Look at you." My nephew grins, and the other man's crossbow lowers. Rumple quenches the fire in his palms with a flourished twirl of the wrist, though there's a new kind of tension, of stiffness in his body.
"Faolan?" The blond man asks from the doorway, squinting at me. I grimace at the name, but allow it.
"Unfortunately. And who are-" I cut myself off. "Gods, Arran, is that you? You look like shit."
He breaks into a broad grin, and the prominent wrinkles on his face deepen. He's a few years older than Elaine- nearly my age, by now- but the last thirty years have not been kind on him. The Arran I knew was golden-haired, young, lithe, vibrant with energy, and the one before me- well, he still has some gold to his hair if I squint. A hint of embarrassment skitters through the back of my mind for what I could have- would have- done to my brother-in-law. A wonderful start to this family reunion that would have been.
"It's good to see you again, Faolan. And who are you?" The question is directed to Rumple, and we exchange a glance.
"My partner." I say.
"Rumplestiltskin." He introduces himself with a proper, unexaggerated bow, rolling the r's only slightly.
"Odd name, that." Arran says, leaning against the doorframe and squinting at the imp. If he notices the scaled skin or reptilian eyes hidden under the Rum's hood, he doesn't mention it, and almost as an afterthought he adds, "Well met. The girls will be thrilled to find you've finally settled down, Faolan."
Heat comes to my face almost instantly, but Phelan replies before I can, strolling forward.
"I don't think it's like that, Pop." My nephew says, extending a hand to Rumple. "Even so, it's good to know that someone's got her back. I'm Phelan, son of Elaine. The old man is my father."
"Charmed." Rum says, something about the word suggesting that he's unused to saying it genuinely- not sarcastically, not flatly, not predatorily. He shakes the offered hand and glances at Arran. My brother-in-law nods, but doesn't move from the doorway.
"Where is Elaine?" I ask, glancing from her husband to her son. "We came on her message. It sounded urgent."
"Ah. That." Arran drawls, exchanging a look with Phelan that sets me on edge. "Elaine should be the one to tell you. We aren't in danger-"
"That would explain the crossbow." Rumple cuts in dryly.
Arran smiles sheepishly. "Apologies for that. We are in some danger, aye, but we always are."
Always? "What are you-" I stop short, any semblance of pleasantness falling from my face. One heartbeat, two; keep it together. You don't want to scare the boys.
"I'll rip his bloody head off." I say, levelly. Rum shifts closer to me; concerned, yes, but with the slightest predatory twinkle to his eyes that says he's ready for mischief, for action.
"Really, Faolan, it's nothing-" Arran begins, but Phelan cuts him off.
"The Pellinores keep their name out of it, Auntie."
"Who does keep their name in it, then?" I ask tightly. The mere reminder of the royal family raises old pain, old rage- and does not let me forgot that it was only months ago, not in some distant past, that the current King of Listenoise sent Nidhad's soldiers to my doorstep, armed with the materials to paralyze me.
My brother-in-law smiles bitterly. "Our fellow countrymen. Many are scared farmers, or huntsmen looking to make a name. The last winter was hard. The wolves and bears took a few lives, and suddenly everyone believes that the Beast is back. As for us, well, we're cowards and witches for not joining the hunt."
I frown, for more than one reason. "Bears go to ground in the winter." I say at length, and father and son blink dully at me. Of all the things I could have responded, it appears that that wasn't considered as a possibility, and I suppress a grin at their dumbfounded faces.
"What?" Arran finally says, and Rum laughs- one of those laughs that's more of a short, high-pitched, maniacal giggle, and Phelan and Arran shoot him unnerved looks. After more than a year together, I sometimes forget just how demented that laugh can sound.
"There were 'bear' attacks last winter, but bears sleep through the winter," I repeat. Arran frowns, a flush creeping up his neck. Phelan glances to his father, a sharp yet satisfied expression on his face that doesn't go unnoticed by either Rum or me.
"The Bete Glatisant hasn't been seen in Listenoise for nearly thirty years." My brother-in-law says, defensively. "It has no reason to return now."
"Unless it found a reason." Phelan mutters, and his father shoots him a silencing glare that has the weight of past arguments behind it. The younger man matches the look brazenly, arms crossing over his chest.
"What reason?" I press.
"The same reason Mum called you here."
"Enough, Phelan." Arran interjects. "There will be time for idle speculation later. Come in, Faolan, meet my grandchildren. You're a legend to them."
Anger rolls off of Phelan in waves, and he glares at his father as the blonde retreats into the house, calling names both familiar and new to me. Quiet sounds spring to life from inside the house- laughter, footsteps, conversations. I smile in spite of myself, in spite of the mild anxiety that sits in my chest for several reasons.
"Come here, lad." I say, holding out my arms. Phelan grins despite the tenseness on face, wrapping me in a hug and lifting me off my feet. He's so tall; my five-and-seven foot frame towers over most of the women I grew up around, and puts me nearly eye-to-eye with many of the men, but Phelan is nearly of a height with Vali, and nearly as muscular. That's what happens when you grow up with a full belly, I think, both bitter and grateful for that difference in our upbringings.
"Gods, it's good to see you, Auntie." My nephew says softly, setting me back on the ground. "Mum and Pop weren't sure that you would come."
"What?" The innocent phrase catches me off guard, and I'm sure that hurt flashes plainly across my face, because regret and guilt instantly cross Phelan's in response. "Why would they- I told them, I bloody told them that I would be there if they needed me-"
"I apologize, Auntie, I shouldn't have put it like that." Phelan interjects quickly. "They made themselves believe that they weren't sure, to protect themselves if you didn't. They knew, Faolan. I swear, they knew that you would help us. It's only that-" He cuts himself off, and is nearly saved by a woman's voice calling his name from inside the house.
"It's only that what?" I push, and my nephew glances between Rum and I. That's when I know that whatever he was going to say would have hurt: because he hesitates to say something so personal in front of a stranger. "What, Phelan?" I ask, gentler this time.
"It's only that you said that, about being there if we needed it, and then… you walked out. It hurt them. Hells, it hurt all of us."
He was right to hesitate in saying that; the statement cuts, but this time I'm prepared, and allow my face to show only tiredness. "I know, lad." I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I had to. It was best for everyone."
He looks at me for a long moment, evaluating, discerning, and I feel another stab of dulled pain. Gods, he looks like Tor. Whatever he's trying to figure out is interrupted as a child appears in the doorway, freezing instantly when he sees the two hooded strangers. His hair is brown and curly, his eyes a near-black brown; that, and the way he glances to Phelan for direction, tells me that I'm looking at my grandnephew.
"What is it, Oisin?" Phelan asks, and the boy- perhaps seven- shoots a furtive glance at Rum and I again.
"Grandpop says to come in."
"Tell him that I'm talking with Faolan." When Oisin doesn't budge, my nephew raises an eyebrow. "Now, please."
"Mum said to get you, too."
Phelan throws his hands up with a loud sigh, only a tired smile showing that the action has it's roots in dramatics more than frustration. "Fine then. Are your brother and sisters are all together?" Oisin nods, and my nephew fixes Rum and I with a proud smile. "The family grew a bit since your last visit, Auntie. Come in, meet them- before my father has a heart attack."
I grab his arm as he turns, holding him in place. "Before we go in, how many of them know? About the, uh," I glance towards the door, unsure of how much sound it really blocks, "The family history?"
It takes Phelan a minute to see what I'm getting at, but after a second, understanding lights his eyes. "Oh, our moonlit runs. I enjoy them every now and then, and my eldest has started coming along. The other adults know, but they prefer your little concoction for a good night's sleep." A woman again calls Phelan's name from inside, and he smiles as he shakes his head. "There'll be time to talk about all this later. It seems we're wanted."
My nephew turns on his heels and disappears inside. Nervousness crawls up my spine, but it's of a not completely unpleasant kind, and I shoot Rum a reassuring smile as we follow Phelan into our family's home.