A/N: Happy New Year!

Meet the family and enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 13: Nothing Like Family

The house is cozy, but far too small for the number of people in it. The room we find ourselves in serves as both living space and dining room, the kitchen little more than an alcove attached to it. The family is lined up next to the hearth; Arran and two women- the youngest balancing a baby on her hip- stand behind a row of eight children, hands on the shoulders of the youngest to keep them in place. It amuses me just a little bit to be able to so easily tell those born in this family from those who married in; no matter the complexion, build, or facial structure of a specific person, we all share the same wavy brown hair and near-black eyes.

Phelan sweeps his hand around the room dramatically. "I present to you the descendants of Elizabeth d'Corbin. Everyone, this is my Aunt Faolan."

The eyes of the children widen almost in unison. "The witch?!" The eldest boy says excitedly.

"Aedan!" One of the women snaps; I assume this to be Phelan's wife, as her green eyes and straight, sandy-blond hair distinguish her from my blood-family.

"Mage," I correct gently, smiling charmingly. "But it's alright. You guys don't get many magicians around here." Mostly because Pelagios started burning them when he took the throne; I've always gotten the feeling that I'm responsible for that rule.

Phelan snorts at my comment. "Isn't that the truth. There are more in this room than in the rest of the country."

"So what can you do?" The boy pipes up again.

"Aedan!" Phelan's wife says exasperatedly.

"I doubt that we can keep them quiet, love." Phelan says, and for a second there's such tenderness in his face that, for once, he doesn't look like Tor. "Auntie, meet my stunningly beautiful wife, Aisling."

Aisling rolls her eyes at the flattery, though the smile she gives him matches that description perfectly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Faolan. Elizabeth has told us all so much about you.

"I hope not. I'd rather you start with a good impression of me." That earns me laughs from the adults and scattered giggles from the children, though I doubt anyone in this room knows just how bad a 'bad' impression of me could be.

"She says only good things, Aunt Faolan." The other woman, a good few years younger than Aisling and obviously a d'Corbin, chimes in. With a wicked smile, she adds, "For the most part, that is."

I grin, amused and oddly proud to see some mischief in my family. "I'm going to want to hear about those other parts. You look alot like Elaine did at your age, you know. Phelan, is there something you want to tell me?"

"Mum was pregnant when you- were here last. We found out two weeks after you left."

I beam despite myself. "She always wanted a little girl, and from the looks of it she had a fine one. Who're you named after, niece?"

"No original names for your generation either, Faolan? I'm Tara, after you and Mum's brother."

I shake my head. "You know, I'm going to have to talk to Elaine about naming both her kids after her siblings. We can have new names every once in a while."

"You know how Mum and Grandmum are- they keep reusing the same ones for tradition's sake. And before you ask, the kids have their own. For the most part."

I snort a half-bitter laugh. "Good. We have enough people named after many-greats-grandpa Fillin in this house." Phelan bursts into laughter, followed immediately by the children. "Gods, kids, you didn't!"

The boy from before, perhaps eleven, scoops up the toddler next to him. "Meet Fillin, Auntie!" He laughs.

"My oldest boy." Tara adds.

"Speaking of-" Phelan interjects, nodding to the boy holding little Fillin, "Auntie, meet my oldest son, Aedan."

"Pleasure to meet you, Great-Auntie." Aedan recites, his words notably rehearsed until he breaks script to add, "Did you really kill a sea-dragon?"

"A long time ago. Who told you that story, your Grandmum Elaine or your dad?"

"My Pops."

"Good, you got the fun version. And who are these strong young kids?"

The children have been positioned in front of their mothers, and the rest of Phelan's brood are introduced in quick succession. Oisin and Aedan are the elder brothers of Daithi and Eimear, a boy-and-girl pair of twins who are little older than five. All four were apparently preceded by Bethany, a striking girl of fourteen with her mother's beautiful face and the d'Corbain hair and eyes.

I quickly find out that the smallest children belong to Tara, which I suppose is to be expected; if Elaine was pregnant when I left, Tara would have been born just after her brother's nineth birthday. As such, my niece's eldest is Faye, a bright-eyed girl of only five years, and little Fillin has a still younger sibling in Darragh, the sleepy baby boy balanced on Tara's hips.

I feel that I retain all these names well enough; the trouble will come with matching them to their owners. I've suddenly become a great-aunt to eight, three of which are brown-haired, dark-eyed five-years-old who look virtually indistinguishable to me. We're all so caught up in meeting that the kids don't notice Rum until I'm being introduced to littlest Darragh, and by the time I'm done fawning over the baby their glances at him have turned from furtive to openly curious. Aisling is shooting them silencing glares that go completely unnoticed, and Phelan flashes Rumple a sheepish smile and a half-shrug. The Dark One's hood still hides much of his face, but he seems more amused than uncomfortable with the attention.

"Well, everyone," I begin, and the children's eyes snap eagerly to me, "I'd like you to meet my friend and partner." I remember how Arran took that choice of words, and add, "Business partner."

"Rumplestiltskin." As usual, he rolls his r's and bows dramatically, and the younger children giggle at his high-pitched, playful voice. A nudge from their mothers, and they dip into bows and courtesies of their own- or near enough to it- and chorus their own salutations.

"Business partner?" Tara questions, eyebrow arched skeptically.

"Why are you lot so nosy? Yes, business partner."

"Now, now, little wolf," Rumple mock-scolds, "We all know that you've fallen for my stunning good looks."

"Rum, when you're around, the most attractive trait I can think of in a man is silence."

"Speaking of your good looks, Mr. Stiltskin…" Tara interjects, and tension wraps around my body as I anticipate her next words. "There is a rule in this house: No one may wear a hood past the threshold."

I'd completely forgotten about that, and Rum and I exchanged nervous glances. It's a completely reasonable rule to invoke when one's young son and toddler daughter are abducted from one's house, and the rule of Mum's seems to have stuck even with her grandchildren. A heartbeat passes in complete silence, wherein Rum moves not an inch to obey the order; Tara and Aisling are waiting expectantly, but as more seconds pass their faces become sharp, suspicious, and the children become much more curious.

"Well, little wolf?" Rum asks, and I look from him to my assembled family. I have no idea how they will react to him; they barely have mages in this country, let alone ones with scaled skin and a mane of curly, wiry hair.

"It's a house rule." I say, and sweep a silencing glare over adults and children alike. Do not be rude, I'm saying, and they seem to grasp that; parents' hands tighten on children's shoulders, and the children in turn lean forward, excited and curious.

Rumplestiltskin reaches up and tugs his hood down with one hand, immediately running the other through his hair as if in a last-minute attempt to comb it. The light from a nearby window catches off one side of his face and neck, and the young children utter an awed 'woah' almost in unison.

Tara looks at him appraisingly. "Well, he wasn't lying about those good looks."

"Mr. Stiltskin, are you a dragon?" One of the five-year-olds queries politely, so genuinely curious that none of us can help but smile.

Rum crouches down to talk to the child, flashing his gentlest smile. "I'm not a dragon, lass. I'm an imp." His eyes flicker subtly to me, the silent message passing between us. Well, most everyone with the guts either calls him an imp or a demon, so why not?

"Mr. Stiltskin-" Aedan begins, and, sensing the impending avalanche of questions, I jump in.

"Sorry to interrupt, lad, but there's something I need to do."

Concern, nearly hidden but still there, attaches itself to the face of the adults. "What is it, Auntie?" Phelan asks lowly, levely, trying to keep the tension out of his voice. Gods, these people are jumpier now than Mum and Elaine were- and they had to deal with the Barking Beast roaming around.

"It's nothing bad, if that's what you're thinking. Seeing as I've missed thirty years of birthdays, I think you and the kids are owed some presents." My look is pointed, and Phelan gets the general idea; he got the same when we first met.

Excited chatter breaks out almost instantly, all of the children talking over and to each other, but Aisling's voice cuts through the noise.

"That's very generous of you, Faolan, but-"

"Oh, come on, Aisling," I interrupt immediately. "I insist."

"Really, Aunt-" Tara jumps in, but Phelan talks over them both.

"She's family, girls." Then he glances at the kids, grins, and adds, "And besides, who are we to argue with the great sea-dragon slayer?"

"It's settled, then." I say cheerily. "Line up, kids, oldest to youngest. Bethany, be a good lass and hold Darragh after you've gone. Before we begin, does everybody have a particular piece of jewelry or clothing that they wear every day?"

So the procession begins. Each child gets an ancient blessing of protection and growth; it takes only the smallest amount of magic, and conserves energy for the more serious wards of protection that I lay on an item of each child. The spells aren't strong enough to make them invincible- they'll turn the first blow of a blade, protect from burns for a few precious minutes, significantly lessen the penetration of an arrow- but they are still moderately advanced, and by the time I'm through eight little d'Corbins, I'm feeling light-headed.

"You too, Tara." I say, standing from in front of Eimear. "Phelan got the same when I met him."

"Oh, I know, Aunt Faolan. He still wears that arrow pendant you gave him."

"Good. You know the drill, then. Got a piece of jewelry you wear every day?"

Something crosses Tara's face at the question- a flash of grief, a second of utter exhaustion- and the room quiets, heaviness filling the empty air.

"My wedding band." She says, voice so flat that my heart wrenches uncomfortably.

If someone killed her poor husband, I think, chest filling with cold anger, they're going to die painfully.

I nod solemnly, knowing better than to pursue those answers now, when the wound is obviously still fresh. Instead, I hold out my hand, and Tara slips a plain gold band off her ring finger. I enchant it and pass it back, and flash the kids a mischievous grin, knowing the excitement that my next words are going to bring.

"Now that that's out of the way," I begin, and Phelan sighs knowingly, anticipating what his own emotions at their age will mean for him now as a parent. "What does everyone want for their much-belated birthday present?"

"I want-" Aedan says immediately, and the other children pile on, drowning him out quickly.

"What are the limits, Auntie?" Bethenny asks warily, edging closer to be heard over her siblings and cousins. They quiet quickly, awaiting the answer with anticipation.

"For fourteen years of missed birthdays? Anything you want, lass."

"Faolan-" Tara says sharply, beginning another rendition of her earlier objection, and once again I interrupt.

"This applies to the adults too, you know." Aisling's eyes go wide, and I glimpse a grin spreading across Phelan's face at his family's joy.

"Are you serious, Faolan?" My nephew's wife asks softly.

"Aisling, the last time I was here, I doubled the size of this house and fertilized the land. There's nothing you can ask for that's out of my reach."

"The kids can have new winter cloaks… new cooking pans… a crib for the baby…" Aisling's voice is awed, her face the picture of wonderment.

"I can have my own bow?!" Aedan asks, nearly shouting with excitement.

"A doll!"

"We can have a puppy! We can finally have a puppy!"

"You might have to ask your parents about that one, lad." I jump in, looking to Phelan.

My nephew exchanges a glance with his still-bewildered wife, grinning all the while. "Why not? We've been thinking about getting a hunting hound."

It takes more self-control than it should to not laugh at the irony of that statement.

"Yes!" Oisin practically shrieks, bouncing around with contained energy.

"Oisin! Stop shouting." His mother snaps, and the boy's smile widens even as his face flushes.

"It seems like you all have something in mind. How about everyone tells me or Rum what they want-" A few of the younger children start in instantly, and I raise my voice to continue, "One at a time, and we'll make the arrangements later."

One of the five-year-olds- Eimear, I think- bounces over to Rum instantly, and I slip closer to the adults as the children crowd around my partner.

"Get me a list of anything the house or the family needs," I say quietly.

"Auntie, we can't thank you enough."

"You won't be thanking me at all, Phelan. I'm suppose to provide for my family. But when you get a minute, you and I need to have a little chat about those bear attacks your father was talking about."

My nephew nods, suddenly grim. "Of course. Mum has something to show you, but when you're done, we can talk."

"Where is Elaine, by the way?"

A door opens somewhere nearby, and Arran slips back into the living room from a doorway in the far corner. His face is drawn and tired, and he nods to Aisling.

"Bethany," Phelan's wife says, voice loud enough to be heard by all, "Why don't you take the children outside to play awhile before dinner?"

My eldest grand-niece glances at her grandfather and her mother; she didn't miss the look that passed between them, either. "Aedan can watch them, Mum." She protests, and I'm reminded for all the world of how Ian and I were shooed from the house when Pops and my older brothers had something 'adult' to discuss.

"Now, Beth." There's steel in Aisling's voice, and Bethany scowls, scooping Fillin up and, with Aedan's help, herding the smaller children towards the door. "And stay in sight of the house!"

"What's going on, Arran?" I ask when the door closes behind them. He hesitates, unsure of whether to answer, and my patience meets its end. "Somebody here is going to suck it up and bloody tell me where my sister is."

"Elaine is buying healing herbs from an apothecary in Astolat." Arran says after a moment. "She should return shortly."

Fear runs up my spine. "Healing herbs? Is she sick?"

"She wanted to tell you herself. It is not our place-"

"Arran, tell me what's going on." It comes out as a command, and my brother-in-law's face hardens.

"I will not-"

"For gods' sakes, Pops, she deserves to know." Phelan snaps.

"When Elaine gets back-"

"Shut up, Arran." I snarl, tired of that excuse. "Phelan, what's going on?"

"Faolan-"

"Shut the bloody hell up," I repeat, and look to my nephew expectantly. His face waivers, caught between his own morals and a child's obedience to their parent. "Whatever is going on, it was urgent enough to call me home. I can't help if I don't know what the problem is."

"Phelan-" Arran begins sharply, and this time it's Rum who interrupts him.

"I wouldn't push her, dearie." He says innocently. "She can be rather dramatic."

Phelan shoots my partner a grateful look and glances to his father, holding the older man's gaze for several seconds. "It's about Grandmum." He begins, and my mind stalls; Arran huffs and stomps off towards the kitchen.

"Really, brother?" Tara grumbles, hurrying after her father. Phelan glares after them both, crossing his arms over his chest. I barely register the exchange; I'm still trying to wrap my head around my nephew's words.

"Grandmum?" I question, and Phelan's attention turns back to me. "As in your grandmother." He nods. "As in Elizabeth d'Corbin." Another nod. "As in my mother."

"Yes, Auntie."

"What is it, little wolf?" Rumplestiltskin asks quietly.

"Mum's gotta be over eighty by now. Phelan, you're telling me that my mother is still alive?"

The thought had never occurred to me, that I might get to see my mother again, and as the concept finally begins to register, something like hope, like joy, flickers to life in my chest. I can tell her about the lullaby, I realize suddenly; ever since Thanatos drug it from the depths of my mind, I can hear it clearly. She would love that I remember it.

"Yes, Auntie, she's alive. She's-" My nephew stops short, takes a deep, shaky breath; his wife slips her hand into his.

Everything clicks, and my heart drops to my stomach.

"Bloody fucking hell." I curse under my breath. "She's dying, isn't she? That's why Elaine is buying healing herbs, and why her message was so urgent." Agitated energy hums through my veins, some kind of mix between anger and frustration and fear, and I pace to the door and back as I talk. "Not a word when Tara was born, not a word when your kids were born, but now, now she gives me the okay to come back, when my mother is bloody dying..."

Phelan seems to physically flinch every time I mention death, and I trail off when I finally notice that.

"We did not know how bad it was, Faolan." Aisling explains gently. "She was feeling poorly for a while, but the... severity came on suddenly. We thought she would pull out of it, but she only worsened. Elaine sent for you when we realized that."

I stop then, when I finally see the hope buried on their faces.

They think I can save her. The trust they have in that idea, in me, and the starkness of reality set against it, sends a lance of white-hot pain through my chest.

"I'm not a healer, kids." I tell them softly, feeling the weight of their hope- and their impending grief- starkly.

"Auntie, you've done it before." Phelan protests, though something in his voice is suddenly unsure, afraid. "Mum cut herself cooking when you were here last, and you healed it. I watched you do it."

"That was different. Cuts, small things-" I cast through my mind, trying to find a way to explain my situation. "What I have- my magic- it's not meant for this. The emotions it draws from, the intentions in it, they aren't meant to heal. That's the realm of light magic."

"You said you knew both." There's something almost accusing in my nephew's tone, though I know it stems from fear.

"I do, lad. But… it's hard to explain, Phelan. Light and dark magic don't really like each other, if that makes sense. The amount of dark magic I use, and how often I use it… well, it makes it very hard to do anything with light magic."

Zoso's warning comes back to me: If you bastardize your magic like this, you will never be as powerful as you could be. I do not even know if it is possible for you to learn such magic, this far into your training. I wouldn't listen, back then; I was determined to learn to heal for my brothers' sakes. Now I starkly feel his frustration in explaining this concept.

"Faolan," Aisling interjects pleadingly, "You have to do something."

"I didn't say I wasn't going to try. I'll do everything I can. I just… I can't make any promises."

"That is all we ask." Aisling says, but a look at her face, and Phelan's, tells a different story. Stop believing in miracles, kids, some part of me wants to tell them. They only happen in fairy tales.

Outwardly, I run a hand through my hair. "Where's Mum? I'll have to take a look at her."

"If we have any luck, she's asleep by now." Aisling says.

"That's fine, I don't need to wake her. Where... where is she?"

Phelan looks at me with that damned hope still burning on his face. "That door goes to her room." He says, nodding to the one in the far corner. I stare at it for a long moment, apprehension building slowly in my chest as reality settles further in.

"Thank you for telling me all this, Phelan. I know Arran isn't happy about it."

"My father's happiness is not important right now," My nephew snarls, before remembering his manners and adding, "But you are welcome, Auntie."

I start forward, brushing Rum's hand as I move, and my nephew and his wife part for the two of us none the wiser of the silent request. I cross the room with purposeful strides- determined, resigned- only to hesitate in front of the door. Rum stares down at me, concerned and understanding.

"This is going to bloody suck." I mumble, and Rum rests his hand on the small of my back comfortingly.

"Such an optimist, little wolf." He teases quietly, despite the tenseness on his own face. It suddenly occurs to me that I may have put him in an awkward position, having thrust him into the middle of personal and deeply emotional family affairs amongst people he barely knows. I'm full of great decisions lately.

"Always." I reply with a tight smile. I look to the door, take a deep breath, and open it.

The room is dimly lit, and I crack the door just enough to slip in, instantly wary of letting in too much light and disturbing the sole occupant. Rum shuts the door behind me, and I focus magic into my eyes until the room appears as brightly lit as any other.

That is when, for the first time in nearly thirty years, I see my mother.

As Phelan said, she's asleep, but even several layers of blankets don't cover up how much weight she's lost. She'd been round-faced and shapely in middle age; now her face is gaunt, and the arm resting atop the blankets is little more than skin and bones. The sight sends a spark of pain through me, but I push it away; for any of this to work, I'll need utmost concentration.

I pad forward, every hunting skill Tor ever taught me channeling into moving silently. "Bloody hell, Mum." I whisper when I reach her, taking in the yellowed, sickly pallor of her skin and the few wisps of wavy bone-white hair left on her head. It makes my stomach twist uncomfortably, and I take a deep breath, focusing on that action until my world narrows to only the rise and fall of my own chest. I drop the magic that allows me to see in the dark and close my eyes, shifting that razor-focus to the memory of the meadow near my childhood home, where my brothers and I ran and held mock sword-fights and napped in the summer heat.

When I can almost hear Ian laughing, I call my magic.

I never quite get used to how light magic feels when used in full force. After so many years of tapping into the opposite with ease, this type of power always seems soft, uncertain, unreliable. Breathing carefully, painstakingly aware of how easy it would be to break concentration, I hold my hands out and trickle energy into my mother's body.

My training in doing this mostly involved looking for infections. They were easy to identify: white-hot, seeping from the source like black tendrils, giving me a feeling of vague disquiet when magic brushed against them. This, though… this is something different, something my minimalist amount of hands-on training never introduced me to. I've been told what it is and what it means, but that was in theory, in the hypothetical.

Now I feel the diagnostic spell sweep over it. It's spread almost like an infection might, but instead of the tendril-like impression, I'm hit more with an atmosphere of unhealthiness; her body is fighting to continue its functions, but tiring. The disease concentrates in places where growths of twisted and deformed biological matter seep into the things around them, and I follow the spread back to the source, touching each growth with soothing magic to ease the pain- because I already know that, with how widespread it is, I can do little else. When I find the origin- a small organ behind the stomach- I sense first it's weakness, how it struggles to continue its work.

Then I feel the disease that grows there, and my concentration snaps.

My eyes fly open, and I take a ragged breath, heart pounding in my chest, light-headed from exertion and grief and fear. My minimalist healing training tells me that that there is no potion, no known spell to cure this, and the fear that runs up my spine only sparks anger.

Why is light magic so bloody useless? I think bitterly.

I rack my brain, searching for any unorthodox magical solution. I visualize my study, running through a mental inventory of the artifacts I have and looking for anything that could prolong her life, but few of my possessions were designed to heal, and those that can have a price- and the more powerful the artifact, the steeper that price is.

Then I reach the Candle of Niflheim, and almost laugh aloud, for both my own stupidity and relief. I turn on my heels and stroll for the door, my legs shaky from the exertion of unfamiliar magic. Rum is suddenly in my path, and he searches my face for several seconds. "Is it bad?"

"Bad? It's horrible, worse than I ever expected. It would take a miracle to save her."

Rum, expression almost worried, pauses, a slow smile spreading across his face as he registers mine. "What miracle do you have in mind, little wolf?"

"I'll explain later, but it'll work."

"And if they ask?"

"Then we just have to go make a potion that'll cure her." In the back of my mind, I feel vaguely guilty about lying about something like this, but I ignore it; their approval or disapproval of my methods doesn't change what needs to be done, and will only add time that Mum doesn't have.

"Then by all means, little wolf, we should deliver the good news."

The adults- Arran, Tara and Phelan, Aisling- are all waiting expectantly when Rum and I emerge, though I don't fail to notice how far apart Arran and Phelan stand, and their pointed refusal to look at each other. It takes quite a bit of self-control to not roll my eyes- why are the men in this family so pouty?

They huddle forward before the door is even closed behind me, and I run a hand through my hair, still grinning.

"Good news?" Tara asks hopefully.

"You lot are lucky." I say sternly, the close call turning me deadly serious for a second. "She didn't have much time left, no matter what herbs Elaine brings back."

"Didn't?" Arran questions, pushing closer. "So you've healed her?"

"I told you- well, I told them while you were off pouting," I get glared at for that one, "I'm not a healer. I've burned down castles with less effort than it took to figure out what the problem was. No, I didn't heal her, but I know of an elixir that will."

"Thank gods." Phelan says, relief written on his face. "I knew that you could do it, Auntie."

"Thank you, Faolan." Aisling puts in. "I don't know what we would do if we lost Elizabeth now."

"Don't thank me yet. We still have to actually go get the cure."

"Why are we waiting, then? You should-"

Arran plows right over the rest of his daughter's sentence. "Elaine will be home soon. I'm certain that she'll be overjoyed with the news- we can't thank you enough, Faolan- but I am also certain she will want to know all that's happened before we do anything else."

For a minute, we all stare at him. "Pops-" Phelan objects, and Arran swings a venomous glare onto him.

"Faolan's return is enough to process on it's own. Do you wish to shove even more onto your mother at once?" He says sharply, and I dislike more than just his tone; my 'return' seems much too permanent when put in his voice.

Phelan glares at him for several seconds. "And you expect us to do nothing while Grandmum is in there suffering?"

"I expect you to do the work that needs doing. Food needs to be made, the garden tended- there is much more to do than nothing."

"Fine." My nephew practically spits. "If everyone wants to get started on dinner, I'll show Auntie and Stiltskin around the farm."

"I can do that." Arran interjects. "You still need to mend the southern fence."

I glance at my nephew, see him struggling to find a way out of his father's order, and jump in. "Actually, we can do that during the tour. It'll be easier for everyone, with magic."

Arran looks at his son and I in turn, unable to decide if my offer is simply a polite gesture, or if there's some reason that Phelan and I need to be alone.

"The help is appreciated." He finally says. "Thank you, Faolan."

I smile charmingly and nod, trying to will my nephew into not looking so relieved.

"We'll be back in an hour." Phelan says, giving his wife a quick kiss on the head and motioning for us to follow.

When we emerge from the house, it's blissfully quiet, and I sweep a glance around.

"Where are the kids?" I ask, a bit anxious over their absence.

"At the creek, if I had to guess." He glances at me and adds, "It's on the other end of the farm, in a stretch of forest. We can swing by on the way back."

I nod, almost unconsciously tucking their location into the back of my mind as we walk. Though Listenoise is as grey and overcast as it always is, it is at least relatively warm, and the air smells of pine and rain. Phelan leads us down a path that loops around the side of the house and continues towards a wooden barn, and as we stroll down it my nephew casts a quick, hawk-eyed gaze around and falls in next to us.

"What do you need to know, Auntie?" He asks quietly, referring to our conversation about needing to talk. "You have the short of it: I believe the Bete Glatisant has returned, and Pops doesn't."

"The bear attacks, yeah. But people die and disappear all the time, and if it isn't bandits, it usually is animals. So what else is going on?"

My nephew shrugs and avoids my eyes. "Livestock and people go missing. Loud barking is heard from the forest, and the animal population has dwindled."

"And?" I prompt; all of that could be attributed to his father's theory of wolves and bears, and I wait expectantly for further explanation, growing slightly suspicious in the silence that follows. We reach the barn doors, and Phelan heaves one of them open, saved from answering.

"As much as I just love the vagaries, little wolf," Rum says as we wait for my nephew, "Some details would be appreciated."

"The Barking Beast- the Bete Glatisant- is the local monster. The royal bloodline has been hunting it forever, but if one is killed another just appears. A bit annoying, really."

"Tell him the story, Auntie." Phelan says from inside. "Pops moved my tools again, and the gods know how long it will take to find them."

Rum cocks an eyebrow expectantly, and I shrug. "The official version of the story goes that a princess lusted after her brother, and drew the attention of a demon that tricked her into sleeping with him by promising that he could make the prince love her. After the princess, eh, paid the price, the demon got her to accuse the brother of rape. The king had the prince torn apart by a pack of dogs, and the demon-spawn the princess gave birth to was the Barking Beast. After the Beast was born, the king chased the demon off, and the princess was happily married off to some noble. Their son was the first Pellinore, from which the royal bloodline descends and takes their name, and he started to hunt the Beast to make up for his mother's sins."

"Com'on, Auntie." Phelan scoffs, throwing something from the loft and following it down the ladder. He gathers whatever tools he's found in a bucket, slinging several large planks of wood over one shoulder and grabbing the bucket with the other hand. "Tell the man what really happened."

Rum grins. "Oh, please, Ellyn," He says melodramatically, "I must know what really happened!"

"That is some important family history you're making fun of, Mr. Stiltskin." Phelan warns teasingly as he rejoins us.

"Set those down, lad. I got it." My nephew raises an eyebrow, but swings the wooden planks to the ground without question. I hold my hand out, and the boards iift off the ground and hover in the air.

Phelan grins. "You'll make us lazy, Auntie." He takes the lead again, strolling down the path just ahead of us, the boards floating along next to us. To Rum, my nephew adds, "What Auntie just told you, that's the royal propaganda. The princess being 'tricked', everything she did being forgiven, a line of noble kings risking their lives to set her mistakes right- you can see the holes in that story from miles away. Even if the Pellinores believe it-"

"They do." I put in, remembering my last conversation with my birth father.

"Of course they do." My nephew scoffs. "Delusional lot. The point, Stiltskin, is that that story is what the Pellinores want to believe. What actually happened, that's our story."

"Then what is the real story?"

Phelan looks to me expectantly, and I shake my head. "I don't even remember half the details."

"Alright, Auntie, I'll tell it. First of all, Stiltskin, the "brother" was a ward of the king, not a prince, and not any real blood of the princess. The princess thought she was in love with him, but after a bit of adventure, fell for someone else." He nods to the deteriorating castle that looms over the nearby town. "Her new bo was a dark magician who lived over there, in Corbin Castle."

I freeze in place. A dark magician, from Corbin.

Son of a bitch. I glance at Rumplestiltskin, and see the same realization on his face.

"Are you alright, Auntie?" Phelan asks over his shoulder, brow furrowed with concerned.

"I'm fine, lad. I just- well, let's say I haven't really thought much of this story until now." I look to the imp again. Well, Rum, you're about to learn more about Zoso's life than I'm sure you ever wanted to know, I think, and as I listen to the story continue, it's with a newfound attention, trying to remember more than just the important details that Phelan relays aloud.

Still shooting furtive, concerned glances at me, Phelan goes on, "As I said, the magician lived Corbin Castle, and their relationship didn't go over too well with her family. The king's ward had rather liked the idea of marrying into royalty, and when the princess chose the local 'demon' over him, he forced himself on her. Afterwards, when the wizard and the king were after his head, the ward made a deal with the magician-king Math of Mathonwy.

When the ward was caught, and the king sentenced him to be torn apart by dogs, the ward and Mathonwy cursed the princess to bear only monsters. The dark wizard was able to alter that, somewhat, and the princess's first child, the wizard's son, grew up human in Corbin Castle, and the curse didn't overcome him for twenty years. Meanwhile, the princess was married off to some noble who was more than happy to forgive her of her lover and bastard son if it meant he got to sit the throne. So the noble and the princess had a son, the first King Pellinore, and when he was grown he started the good old family tradition of hunting down the Barking Beast. When he succeeded in killing his half-brother, Pellinore and his half-brother's kids found out that the Curse of the Barking Beast passes down the family tree when the current one dies."

"That's how you get us lot, Stiltskin." Phelan says. "That's who we are: a line of bastards, who been outsmarting our royal cousins' obsession with killing us for two centuries."

Rum glances at me questioningly. "Was your father not a Pellinore, or did he think that he was supposed to be doing a different kind of hunting?"

"Pellamos and Mum didn't know each other's surnames until Mum was pregnant with me- she thought he was just some lower noble."

Phelan shakes his head. "How you can have two kids with a man, and not talk enough with 'em in that time to find out his full name?"

"Well, dearie, seems to me that they were busy making those two kids."

I laugh at that. "Well, that would explain the timeline. Nearest we can tell, Mum's fiance had been dead for, oh, maybe three weeks when she met Pellamos."

My nephew looks at me for a long moment, and that, combined with the subject of my brother, sends a spike of dulled pain through my chest.

"What happened to you and Uncle Tor, Auntie?" He queries. "Grandmum never told Mum much, and Mum told us even less."

"That doesn't surprise me, with how the whole thing affected Mum. What did they tell you?"

"That Pellamos sent you and Tor away, to a land called Misthaven." I wait patiently for him to divulge more details, but several heartbeats pass in silence.

"What, that's it?"

My nephew shrugs. "That's it. I remember some of what you told us happened after all that, but no one wants to say much about the abduction itself."

"Well, besides the fact that we were grabbed, Mum would have only known what Pellamos told her."

"Which was?"

"That it was a better alternative than having us killed," I say it nonchalantly, and it takes my nephew a few seconds to fully register the words.

"Your own father was going to have you killed?" He exclaims, horrified.

"Oh, sure. I don't think he ever really cared much about us. He looked after Tor because he needed an heir to the throne, and when his wife gave him a legitimate son, they decided it was time for the bastards to go. The whole killing part was the queen's idea- or so he said. It's easy to throw your wife to the wolves when there's a sword at your throat."

Phelan shoots me a sideways glance at that final statement, and I vaguely wonder if he remembers how Pellamos died, and a mere three days after my departure from Listenoise. If he has suspicions, though, he says nothing.

We reach the fence Phelan is supposed to fix; to our left, it extends back in the direction of the house, and to the right, it runs for nearly half a mile before it's bordered by forest. My nephew nods to a break in the tree line, nearly imperceptible with the late-summer foliage and the distance.

"There's a path to the creek there. We can check on the kids when we're done." He says, setting his bucket on the ground, and I sweep a quick glance over the damage he's looking to fix. The fence is simple and wooden, made of three horizontal planks nailed to posts set in the ground; the top plank of this section is kindling on the ground, the middle is hanging by a single nail, and the post it's connected to is ripped halfway from the ground.

I frown, maneuvering around Phelan to crouch next to the plank on the ground. It's split nearly in half, the nails missing from where something ripped the plank from the posts.

"These marks are from an axe." I observe aloud, tracing my fingers over the split and glancing up to my nephew.

"Like Pops said, the neighbors aren't happy with us. This-" Phelan gestures to the ruined fence- "Is the price of not letting them track the Beast onto our land. If it hadn't been a full moon, they might have decided to do a good bit more." He flashes a bitter smile that's almost a grimace. "Good thing we have that pair of giant wolves hanging around, huh?"

"Maybe they need a third one to teach them not to wander around at night." I snarl darkly, rising to my feet with predatory grace, and Phelan's head snaps up.

"I appreciate the thought, Auntie," he says with a nervous smile, "But these people are still our neighbors. After the Beast has gone, we will have to rebuild our relationship with them."

Annoyance bubbles in my veins at my uselessness. "Fine. I won't terrorize the locals."

"What will we do without our favorite hobby?" Rum objects teasingly, and I grin- both at the quip, and at looking up to see that he's sat himself atop the nearest intact fence post. I swing onto the fence next to him and watch my nephew work. He rips that half-attached board from the post, tosses it aside, and draws a miniature spade from his bucket of tools; he'll have to dig the post almost half out of the ground to right it from its current angle, and that will take time. It's the perfect opportunity to grab the Candle of Niflheim from my study- Arran's wishes about waiting be damned- but one thing lingers on the edge of my mind.

"So, Phelan…" I begin, and he briefly glances up from his digging to acknowledge the statement, "What happened to Tara's husband?"

Grief passes momentarily across his face as he works. "Darach was his name. The guards in Camelot cut him down." His voice is cold, matter-of-fact, but I still hear the anger in it.

I shake my head. "Of course it was Camelot, the world's most miserable city. I hear the Pendragons are as bad as the Pellinores."

Phelan grunts in response, and my mind drifts back to my own brief time passing through Camelot. Tor had stopped there for a week on his way here, all those years ago, and I had followed his trail; I vividly recall a gloomy city with the slight, constant feeling of fear in the air- probably because of the not-so-noble knights and the seemingly never-ending threats of war from the neighbors. Judging by my nephew's expression, it seems that three decades have not changed much.

"What was his name, this man who killed Darach?"

Phelan doesn't react. "Doesn't really matter, Auntie. He's dead." There's something cold and all too familiar in his eyes. "There's nothing more important than family to a d'Corbin."

Good to know that that runs in the family, I think for the second time today, hopping from the fence. "Speaking of, it's time to go get that cure for Mum."

"Pops won't be happy." Phelan looks up to say, cracking a strained but mischievous grin.

"That is the point." Rum quips, sliding to the ground as well, and I smile.

"We'll be back in twenty minutes, Phelan. Ready?" I ask Rum, and he takes the offered hand.

When we once again stand in my study, I cross immediately to my artifact shelf, plucking the Candle off a display stand. One of the candles that make it up is white with delicate black vines crawling up its length; the other is black with gold runes inscribed down it, the two joined by what might be an intricate red-brass holder.

I turn it over in my hands, drawn back to Niflheim and all that happened there; it's been less than half a decade, but with the events of these last twelve months, it feels much longer. Rumplestiltskin shifts closer to get a better look, and out of the corner of my eye I glimpse his expression- curious, sympathetic- as he studies my reaction. I vaguely wonder if he looks at anything with worn-out grief and regret, the way I look at this candle or the bone-handle knife Tor made me or Zoso's cloak.

"You asked me once, Rum, what happened between Vali and me."

I almost surprise myself with the statement, let alone the Dark One, but I don't regret it as I know I should.

"I did." Rumple begins slowly. "But you weren't very forthcoming."

"Yeah, well, seeing your ex can open up some wounds." I defend, smiling bitterly down at the Candle. "This is what happened between us. Or it's the result of it, anyway."

"You've peaked my curiosity, little wolf."

I huff a small laugh and cross to the table Rum and I spent so much time at, leaning against it's edge. Rum sits next to me, our shoulder touching, and I pass him the Candle wordlessly. He turns it over in his hands, paying special attention to the ruins on the black half.

When he's least expecting it, I say, "It started when Vali proposed, and I said yes."

The way his head whips up nearly makes me laugh, is nearly enough to distract me from the subject. "You did what?" He hisses, shocked, and I grin.

"I was in love, and somewhat young. It makes you do stupid things." The smile falls away. "I realized just how stupid when I met his family."

"Hellish inlaws?" He quips, and I snort a laugh.

"That's the worst pun I've ever heard." But I appreciate the effort.

Rum passes the candle back to me. "What happened, little wolf?"

"What happened-" I take a deep breath before my next words, bracing for remembered pain, "Was that I overheard Vali talking to Hel."

"And?"

My hands tighten around the Candle. "And I found out that Vali only proposed because he thought marriage would make me the person he wanted me to be."

It had sounded so innocent in the first few exchanges I heard. Then there were phrases like settle down and accept reality (in regards to Ian); next were words like give up magic and live a happy, normal, human life.

"I knew he was delusional, y'know? Just a little bit." My voice wavers slightly. "He always saw someone in me that doesn't exist- or that hasn't, not for a long time. And he was always talking about being a better person and healing and redemption. He'd built up this idealized version of me in his head, but I thought we'd gotten past those bloody fantasies of his. Then… then he planned to use one of the happiest occasions of my life to manipulate me, to get me to say the magic words and lose my immortality, so he could-"

I'm not thinking, and my guard is down, and the words come tumbling out before I've even realized it. I stop short, fear lancing up my spine, glancing at Rum to see if he caught the slip.

"The magic words?"

Of course he did- which means that I've just given the Dark One an idea about how to end my immorality. What took Vali two years to earn has gone to a far more dangerous ally in one.

Bloody fucking hell, Thanatos was right.

"Nothing, Rum. Forget I said anything. We need to go work Mum's miracle." I stand abruptly, taking several steps away. The Dark One studies me, no doubt trying to match the importance of the magic words to my reaction. Then he slides to the floor and takes my offered hand, tugging me closer and fixing me with a serious gaze.

"Vali is a fool." He says harshly, and I smile tightly.

"That we agree on."

In the next moment, we stand in a dimly-lit stone room; cells line the walls around us. "Who wants to make a deal?" I ask the room at large, and all heads instantly turn to us. Uncertain silence reigns for several seconds, and I wait patiently until a man stalks to the front of his cell. Rum and I move to meet him, and he looks at us appraisingly- paying special attention to the Dark One's scaled skin.

"What typ'a demons are ya?" His voice is rough and deep, his tone conversational. I raise an eyebrow, sweeping my gaze around his cell, to where his cellmate huddles in a corner, skeletal and bruised.

"What type are you?" I counter, and the man flashes a smile of busted and rotted teeth. I return it, sharp and predatory, and his amusement falters.

"What's your name?" I ask sweetly as he shrinks back, summoning a flame to my index finger and lighting the black end of the Candle.