A/N: Two chapters in under two months? That's what happens when you're procrastinating studying for midterms.

Fair warning, this is a long ass chapter. I played around with moving the last few scenes to the start of the next chapter, but I didn't like what that did to the pacing, so screw it, it's just one long chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter title named after for the quote, "One lie has the power to tarnish a thousand truths." (Al-David).

Chapter 18: A Thousand Truths...

The sun is just setting by the time the d'Corbin clan have assembled in the castle. It took three trips on the wagon to bring all of the family and their essential belongings, which are now piled in crates or bags in the entrance hallway. When everyone has gathered inside the door, I stand in front of them, Mum leaning on my arm, and call for Alastar. He appears beside me, and they shrink back at the sight of a ghost, nervously glancing to me for confirmation and reassurance.

"Everyone, this is Alastar." I say. "He's our many-greats uncle."

Alastar bows politely. "It is an honor to meet you all. This castle has not seen it's rightful heirs in nearly two hundred years. I am the Keeper of this castle and will oversee much of the daily goings-on. If there is anything you want, you need only ask."

Elaine flashes an appreciative smile. "Thank you, Alastar."

"You are welcome. Come, I will give you a tour and show you to your rooms."

Alastar tours the family through the main keep, walking us past the Great Hall, the attached ballroom, a few sitting or music rooms, the library, and the kitchen. Two residential wings branch off the central building to make a blocky U, and he leads us to the east wing.

"I assumed that you would be more comfortable together for now," Alastar explains, "But you are of course free to move into the other wings. This room is for Elizabeth, and next to it is Elaine and Arran. There is a door between the two should you need it."

"That's very thoughtful," Elaine praises, and Alastar flashes what is perhaps the first full, genuine smile I have seen from him.

"You are welcome. Across the hall here will be Phelan and Aisling. The next room is for your boys, and then Bethanny."

"Wait," Beth interjects, "I get my own room?"

"Of course. A young woman needs her own space."

My grand-niece cracks a wide grin. "I don't care if it's haunted. This place is the best."

Alastar smiles again and continues, "Tara, the room across from her is yours. There is an attached room for your little ones."

"Perfect." Tara says.

Alastar nods, and when it becomes clear he has nothing else to say, everyone looks at me. I glance around, then realize they expect me to say something.

I shrug. "Get settled in, I guess. Explore if you want. I'll join you for breakfast tomorrow."

The kids scatter the minute I'm done talking, throwing open the doors to their rooms with unabashed excitement. Arran wordlessly takes Mum from me and leads her into her new room as the adults follow their kids' leads. Alastar drifts up next to me amidst the sea of movement.

"I assumed you would want to pick your own room?" He asks. I nod. "You need only tell me which one, and I will have it prepared."

Around us, the kids begin darting between rooms, either oohing or arguing as they see the rooms their siblings and cousins got. I distantly hear Aisling exclaim, A tub!, and smile fondly and a little sadly.

"I'll take a room in the other wing. Whichever is closest to the library. Don't go to too much trouble, I probably won't use it much."

Until now I have carried the same sword for decades, and am sorely out of practice with wielding anything else. Dyrnwyn is slightly longer and thinner than Durendal was, and that will take some getting used to. To that end, I set up a training dummy in the courtyard, and the next morning I pull on an old cream shirt with loose sleeves, tie my hair back in a low ponytail, and begin drilling with Dyrnwyn as the sun rises.

It's perhaps an hour later when Phelan and his oldest son, eleven-year-old Aedan, come to find me. Phelan leans in the doorway to the castle, watching me for a moment, and I note them in my peripheral vision. When a few seconds pass in silence, I pause, breath coming rapidly and covered in a sheen of sweat, and look over expectantly.

"Mum wants to know if you're joining us for breakfast." My nephew asks, but barely seems to care about that. "You still train?"

"Don't have a choice," I say, holding up Dyrnwyn slightly, "New sword. I need to get used to it."

His brow furrows. "Does it make that much of a difference?"

"When you've only used one for decades, it might." I cock my head at him. "Didn't your militia training teach swordcraft?"

Phelan barks a laugh. After a second, he says, "I think you forget where you are, Auntie. We can't afford to use that much steel to arm one person. We trained with spears."

I wince, momentarily embarrassed for how much of a rich git I've just made myself look. I've never had to pay for a blade; Fa Huan, my blademaster, equipped me with one as a teen, and Zoso gave me Durendal after that.

I think for a second, then ask, "Do you want to learn?"

"Yes!" Aedan exclaims, at the same time that Phelan says, "Uhh…"

"The kids should probably learn at least one weapon," I continue, "Honestly, the adults too."

"They kids are a little young, Auntie."

I raise an eyebrow. "Look, they're your kids, but I was younger than Bethany when I started, and Tor was younger than Aedan."

"Please, Pop!" Aedan begs, and Phelan looks between me and his son.

"I need to talk to your mother first." He says the words almost defensively, trying to ward off further begging.

"I'll come to breakfast and help plead our case." I say with a grin and a wink to Aedan.

"Yes!" My grand-nephew exclaims, and darts inside.

We follow him through the halls of the castle. Though meals of a noble family should really be held in the Great Hall, we pass by it, and eventually my grand-nephew leads us to a spare room down the hall from the kitchen that has been set up as a cramped dining room, with just enough space for a person to walk between the chairs and the walls. The rest of the family is already inside, producing a jumbled buzz of noise I hear long before we get to the room. Phelan and I reach the door at nearly the same time as Elaine, who is carrying one plate in each hand and balancing two more on her forearms.

I pluck the plates off her arms and wait for Phelan to try to edge his way to a seat.

"Y'know, the Great Hall might seem pretentious and all that, but it might be more practical." I say to her. "It's a castle. You guys can spread out more."

"Baby steps, sister." Elaine says with a just-slightly-sheepish smile. "We're not the Great Hall kind of people, yet."

Inside the room, Aedan is already hard at work convincing his mother, and has recruited his older sister Bethanny to his side.

"Faolan," Aisling calls when I slide the plates onto the table and take a seat, "Do you really think they aren't too young?"

"'Not at all. Really, anyone over ten could stand to learn, and Phelan and Arran could use the practice. You and Tara should come, too."

"I'm… not so sure about that," Aisling says, and Arran glances between us.

"I don't see why the girls need to learn," He interjects, "And perhaps Phelan or I would be more suited to teaching Aedan? We are trained for combat without the aid of magic."

I raise an eyebrow. "What, you think the only way I can fight is with magic?"

"I don't think it's the only way, but without it- look, I don't mean anything by this, but you're always going to be smaller than a man, so without some other advantage-"

I grin savagely. "Arran, between the two of us, it's not a contest. I have over half a decade of formal training and decades more of practical experience. You guys train for, what, two weeks in the summer?"

He shakes his head. "Whatever you say."

Bethanny jumps in, a keen, devious look in her eyes. "Com'on, Granpop, if you're going to talk like that, you should prove it."

"No!" Elaine says, at the same time that I say, "Yeah!"

Phelan pauses mid-chew and looks between Arran and I nervously, and shoots his daughter a reproachful look. I wink at Bethanny and ignore Elaine's pleading look, and lean in towards Arran.

"What do you say, old man? Want to spar after breakfast?"

"No," Elaine says to Arran, because she, at least, has the good sense to see how this will end.

"A friendly match between family can't hurt anything," He tells her, and there's a satisfied gleam to his eye that tells me he already expects to win.

The children, of course, are delighted by the idea, and rush us impatiently through the rest of our food and the clean-up. We gather in the courtyard, and I summon two wooden training swords from my house in Mysthaven. I take one and run a hand over it, and the pull of magic has it elongating into a spear shaft with a padded point in place of steel.

"Rumplestiltskin," I mutter, and a second later, he appears beside me in a swirl of smoke.

He looks around at the small gathered crowd. "Did I miss something?"

"Arran thinks he could beat me in a fight if I don't have magic."

Rum laughs out loud at that, a slightly-unhinged cackle. "Oh, he does? And has he picked out what flowers he wants at his funeral?"

I grin and run a hand across the training spear and then the sword. To the group, I say, "Rumple will verify that I don't use any magic. These will tell us when someone lands a hit," I tap the sword against my thigh three times, and three loud bell chimes emanate from it. "Three hits wins a round, best two out of three wins the match." I look over to Arran. "Seem fair?"

He nods. "Completely. Just give me a moment to stretch."

The kids begin to chatter animatedly amongst themselves, and Rum steps up closer behind me and puts a hand on my back. "You're going to tear him apart, aren't you, little wolf?" He says into my ear, obviously delighted. I lean back into him.

"Course I am. It might be the only chance I get to rough him up."

Arran begins warming up with his spear, and Elaine steps back from him with a lost expression and makes a beeline for me.

"Faolan," She implores, "Go easy on him, please."

"He was the one running his mouth."

"I know! Just… just be quick about, and don't rub it in. Promise me that." I hesitate, and she repeats, "Promise me, Faolan."

"... I'll try."

Rum makes a dramatically disgruntled sound over my shoulder, but relief washes over Elaine's face. "Thank you."

I nod, then call over to Arran, "Ready yet?"

"Yes, whenever you are."

The kids spread out to watch us; over their shoulders, Tara and Bethanny exchange conspiratorial whispers and then shake hands, no doubt placing their bets. Arran and I face off, Rum a few paces back.

"Ready," Rum calls, and I shit my weight to the balls of my feet, "Go!"

Arran makes the first jab, but is not particular fast for a supposedly-trained spearman. I jerk forward and to the side and grab the shaft with one hand, and use my sword to give one thigh and then his ribs gentle whacks. My brother-in-law backpedals, trying to yank his spear free. On the second yank I let go, watch him stumble back a step at the sudden lack of resistance, and then lung forward to hit his closest forearm.

For a long moment, the courtyard is completely silent. My family is just as stunned as Arran by how quickly three bells chimes have cut the air.

"Round one to Ellyn," Rum announces smugly.

I back away to resume my starting position, and after a second of staring, Arran walks forward to do the same.

"Just because I'm old and slow," Arran defends petulantly, "Doesn't mean that any young man couldn't beat you."

I glance over to my nephew and call, "How 'bout it, Phelan? Want to take your father's place for round two?"

"Gods, no! Leave me out of this, Pop."

I shrug theatrically and look back to Arran. "Looks like it's me and you, then."

"Ready?" Rum calls, and I nod. After a long second, Arran does as well. "Go!"

He does better this time, throws a few quick jabs that I have to parry or dance back from. The next thrust I actively swing my sword to meet, batting the spearpoint aside just enough to lung forward. Arran swings the butt around to hit me, but I go low, putting one shoulder into his middle and throwing him to his back on the ground. I catch myself before I accidentally step on him, my sword chiming once as I rest my swordpoint on his chest.

"Yield." I growl, and anger flashes through his eyes. He swings the spear in a sideways arc that would catch me in an unsportsmanlike shot right across the side of the face, but I throw my free arm up and catch the stinging blow across the forearm. The spear chimes a successful hit, followed by two more chimes as I poke Arran twice more with my sword.

"Match to Ellyn." Rum calls, and I step away and inspect the angry red welt forming across my forearm.

"Prick." I complain "I pulled my hits for you."

Elaine hurries over to us and helps pull Arran to his feet. The kids slowly begin to scatter, and Elaine and Arran start to follow them inside.

"Arran," I call as they turn to leave, and he pauses and waits for me to catch up to him.

"...Yes?"

I glance over his shoulder, to the children disappearing inside and Phelan and Aisling hovering just outside the door, and lower my voice. "I know I invited you to earlier, but don't come to training. Whatever excuse you want to come up with to save face with the kids, I'll back it."

For a second, he looks at me blankly, completely surprised. Then his expression melts into indignation, but Elaine speaks before he can.

"What?" Elaine asks. "Faolan, you can't be serious."

I glance pointedly to Arran, then refocus on her to say, "I know this seems petty-" And it is, partly, and I take great enjoyment in that, "But I can't have him undermining me for not being a man. If I want them to learn anything from me, I can't have those little boys picking up on that idea. More importantly, I won't contribute to teaching Bethanny that she has to put up with it."

"Faolan-"

"Really, Faolan?" Arran cuts in indignantly, almost condescendingly. "It was one comment-"

"Aye, this time, it was just one. How many are you gonna make the next time I wipe the floor with you?"

"You did not wipe the floor with me!"

A high and unhinged giggle cuts the air, and we all look over at Rum. He slips up next to me and, at Arran's annoyed look, adds, "Oh, you weren't joking?" He glances to Elaine and asks in a stage-whisper, "Did we watch the same fight?"

My brother-in-laws ignores him, and says with no small amount of venom, "This is an overreaction if I've ever seen one, but rest assured, I was never interested in coming."

He spins and stalks away, and Elaine looks after him for a long moment. "Why would you do that?" She asks me, equal parts tired and annoyed.

"I told you why-"

"I don't care about the class, Faolan." She snaps now, turning back to me. "You didn't have to pick a fight now, when everything is changing for us. You could have at least tried to include him in this. And you didn't have to embarrass him like that in front of the grandkids, either."

I blink, a little stunned. I've never been seriously scolded by my little sister, and Rum comes to my defense before I can reply.

"He embarrassed himself, dearie."

Elaine shoots him a black look and storms away. I watch her for a second, then shake my head, retrieve the wooden training spear, and shrink it back into a sword.

"Y'know," I say to Rum, "Spears are a good challenge, but it'd be nice to have someone with a sword to train against."

The Dark One makes a contemplative face. "I could."

"Really?" I ask with unmasked surprise. "You can fight?"

"I'm a man of many talents," He defends with a devilish grin and a wink. He holds out his hand for one of the swords.

"...Alright." I concede, unsure, and hand him one. "Let's see what you've got."

What he has, as it turns out, is lightning quickness. From the second we start, I'm dodging or blocking blows, being pushed around the courtyard with expert skill. I try to push back, but though I come tantalizingly close to landing a few jabs, he slips out of the way of every strike or turns it with his own blade. Our spirited back and forth slowly edges toward the courtyard wall, and when our blades next cross I push him back into it. He hits the wall and then rolls expertly to the side, and my sword glances off the stone where he just stood, my body already twisting to the side to track him.

The Rum somehow snakes his blade to hook under the pommel of mine, and a flick of his wrist wrenches it from my hand, his other hand pressing flat against my collarbone and pinning me back against the wall by the base of the neck. He is only slightly out of breath, gaze intensely focused, and he taps the side of my stomach pointedly with his sword.

I raise my hands, flushed for more than one reason and breathing hard. "Alright, I yield."

Rum's palm is warm against my skin, skirting the line of being unpleasantly so with how warm I already am. The last time I was manhandled like this, I got a few free drinks first, I think distantly, but I'm not exactly complaining. Rum cracks a wide, triumphant grin, expression relaxing as he lowers his word and slowly pulls his hand away.

"And you doubted me." He teases, collecting my sword from the ground and passing it back to me.

"Com'on, how could I have expected that? It was damn impressive. You didn't learn all that in the Ogre Wars, did you?" I remember armies being more concerned about getting bodies on the field than ensuring they survived. Knights and noble's sons and the occasional mercenary were the skilled fighters; everyone else was cannon fodder.

He shrugs. "I didn't really learn it. But some Dark Ones before me were renowned warriors."

Unease prickles at the base of my skull, and I shoot him a sideways look. "Are you saying you have the past Dark One's memories?"

"Not their memories. I don't remember their training, I just know how to do it."

I raise an eyebrow. "So you cheated, then."

"Just because I beat you doesn't mean it's cheating, little wolf."

"Not the fight- well, the fight too, but not just the fight. I-" I stop short and wince, having realized that where that train of thought is headed is perhaps a bit too harsh and bitter to be saying out loud. "Uh, nevermind."

He cocks his head just slightly and narrows his eyes. "I didn't think you'd be such a sore loser. What were you about to say?"

"Just the normal sore loser stuff," I placate, edging away. He holds his training sword out to block my escape.

"Ellie," He begins, more serious, "What were you about to say?"

"Look, I didn't say it for a reason. I'm not looking to start a real fight."

"Aww. You think you could hurt my feelings?" He taunts. "How adorable."

For half a second, I grind my teeth together and try to keep my mouth shut. I slowly turn back to face him fully. "You wanna know? Alright, fine. I spent almost a decade in an apprenticeship to learn sorcery, alchemy, and swordcraft, but you just picked up a knife and stabbed a guy. Like some fucked up version of nepotism where it's about killing the right person instead of knowing the right person. That's what I mean by cheating."

Anger hardens his features, anger and some more complex mix of emotions that I can't begin to decipher. "Do you hear yourself? The power of the Dark One isn't a blessing, it's a curse."

"It can be both." I argue, thinking that I really shouldn't be even as I continue, "In the right situation, the benefits outweigh the cost." Looking back, seeing the possibility that Ian may have kept his lover and his hand and his place in my life if only Zoso had chosen me to succeed him instead of Rumple, I can't pretend that it wouldn't have been worth it.

Rum looks at me searchingly, distrust and distaste on his face. "You think you want this?" He holds a scaled hand to glint in the light and flexes his hand; a fireball appears in it as it opens and vanishes as it closes. He's always made magic look effortless.

"I would've." Before it was you, or at least before I knew you. "Just another way Zoso screwed me over, I guess."

His eyes search my face for a long moment, and though his face is cold and serious, I sense some chasm of emotion running beneath the surface: frustration, paranoia, distaste, and just a hint of curiosity.

"Would have," He begins carefully, almost suspiciously, as though I'm trying to trick him into a false sense of security with the word, "But not now?"

"What more do you want from me? It's just not worth the price anymore. I already have magic and a version of immortality." I try to step past him, but Rum steps with me.

"You had all of that when he was still alive." He counters. Is he really trying to make me say it? I think with annoyance. Well, I'll call that bluff.

This time, I step up to him, toe to toe, a hand's breadth apart. Lowly, I say, "Just tell me what answer you're fishing for, Rum. It'll be quicker that way."

He tilts his head down towards me, face dangerously close now, and for a second my heartbeat is thrumming in my chest for a whole new reason. Then I register the agitation sparkling in his eyes at my response; he might suspect, heavily by now, that I wouldn't harm him, but he's not going to say that and make it real- and, perhaps worse, risk being wrong about it. Silence stretches for a second.

I flash a tight smile and pat his chest. "Good fight, Rum. We should do this again sometime."

He catches my wrist as I turn to leave, but doesn't pull me back to him, and after a second, I turn back around.

"Do you resent me for it?" He asks, quiet but deadly serious. His voice and face still contain a thousand things, but a slightly different mix now: anxiety, frustration, paranoia, pain. "For being the Dark One instead of you?"

"No." My gaze focuses out into the distance as I think for a second. "Not you. The situation, a little. Zoso… more than a little, for not even giving me the choice." I look over at him, begin to slide my hand from his grasp until he's holding my hand and not my wrist. "I could ask you the same thing, y'know. He pulled you into all this."

He drops his gaze. "I made my own choices," He says quietly, but something angry and bitter burns beneath the words. His choice was between a power he did not understand and could not possibly grasp the price of, and the death of his son. I distantly wonder when it stops being considered 'a choice' and starts being just plain extortion. Zoso screwed us both over.

"So," I say, changing the subject and holding up my wooden sword, "Wanna go again tomorrow morning?"

"...We'll see."

Over the next few days, we begin to settle into a routine. I spend the mornings either training on my own or occasionally sparring with Rum on the days he is there that early. I've yet to beat him, but I like to think that I come closer each time. Three days a week, I also spend two hours before breakfast teaching swordplay and hand-to-hand to Phelan, Aedan, Bethanny, and Tara.

My family still have livestock to tend to on their farm, so Phelan and Arran and occasionally some of the kids wake well before dawn to ride back. They are usually back in time for training and almost always back for breakfast, and both of them often end up napping in the sitting room in the middle of the day, making Arran easy to avoid most of the time.

For the first two days at the Castle, I spend the daylight hours in Corbin proper trying to hire workers to make repairs, and, when that fails, I go to the nearest major city and find more luck in Astolat. I spend the nights researching the Barking Beast, pouring over Zoso's notes and digging up any sources he references. The next time the Beast surfaces, I want to be ready to be ready to capture it. The third morning, after breakfast, Rumple and I go to Cinaed's house to collect Graham.

"Right on time." Ken says jovially as he pulls the door open. He glances to the Dark One over my shoulder and adds brightly, "And ya brought yer imp, too!"

Rum eyes him with barely-disguised annoyance. "It's such a joy to see you again, Cinaed."

I push past Ken into the house and call for Graham. There are heavy footsteps from above, and then the boy is flying down the stairs. When he hits the ground, I only hold my arms out, and he launches into me and wraps me in a fierce hug.

"Hello, Graham." I say, grinning from ear to ear, shockingly happy and relieved to see him again. "How's it been? Did you have fun?"

He nods fiercely. "Ken taught me to play cards!"

"That's great-"

"And dice!"

I glance back over to Ken, suspicious now. "Dice too, huh?"

"And this game called Find The Lady with three cards that you shuffle around on a table and then guess where the queen is-"

"You taught my eight-year-old to gamble?" I ask Cinaed sharply, and he flashes a sheepish smile.

"In my defense, I didn' think the kid would be a damn nark 'bout it."

Rum snorts behind him, and Graham cranes his next around me to finally see the Dark One standing in the doorway.

"Rumple!" He exclaims, and bolts over to wrap him in a hug as well. Rum freezes at first, looking up at me with a vaguely uncomfortable expression, before patting Graham on the back.

"It's good to see you, littlest wolf."

Graham pulls away, and I join them in front of the doorway and put a hand on Graham's shoulder. "Can you and Rumple give me a moment to talk to Ken?" I ask, glancing up to Rum as well.

They both nod, and Graham looks between us to ask, "Can we go see Kraken?"

I look to Rum, and he shrugs. "Why not?"

"Thanks, Rum. I'll meet you at the house." I say. To Graham, I add, "Go get your things."

Cinaed and I excuse ourselves into the kitchen, and the alchemist immediately pours us both a drink. "Thanks again for watching him," I begin, and Ken only waves his hand.

"It was nothin'. Kid's quiet as a mouse." He slides me a glass of rum and asks, "Am I forgiven, then?"

I frown down into my glass, remembering our parting argument, and how he kept the secret of Zoso's relation to me. "Did you know his name was Balthazar?" I ask, looking up to track his reaction.

"Balthazar, huh?" He says, chewing on the name. "It doesn't suit 'em."

I let out a huff of a laugh. "Guess not. And you're off the hook for now. I've got bigger things going on."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Well, I'm a noble now. Titled and all."

"Oh-ho! Movin' up in the world. Do ya expect bows and m'lady's now?"

"Oh, come off it." I say with a small smile. "That's our next stop, actually. I'm hoping Graham will like it there."

"Here's hoping." He says, and lifts his glass in cheers. I clink my glass against his, and we down our drinks.

"Here's hoping." I recite like a prayer.

I introduce Graham to the family in steps, and start by bringing him to my morning training session and introducing him to Aedan, Bethany, Phelan, and Tara. I hope that the smaller number of people, and having a task for them all to focus on, will help keep him from feeling overwhelmed. Aedan, as a boy only a few years older than him, instantly latches onto Graham, and when I start to bring him to breakfast as well, Aedan makes sure to sit by him. As the days pass and Graham slowly unglues himself from my side, it's often for the company of his newfound friend.

As each day passes, I let Graham spend longer and longer at the castle, and he seems to slowly acclimatize to it. His is still far quieter than the other children, and prefers to spend much of his time in the library with me or with Bethanny, who had begun to devour books on history and natural philosophy and is happy to read aloud to him. I keep a keen eye on her, beginning to suspect that she might make a fine apprentice in a few years. By the end of the week, Graham asks if he can sleep over in Aedan's room, and it's both a relief and a little melancholy to see him begin to slot into the family.

As we begin to fall into a routine, life begins to feel almost familiar, comforting. Rum pops in and out as he always has, spending long hours of the day or night keeping me company before disappearing for up to two days at a time. I didn't realize how much I could miss this, miss the meandering after-dinner walks with Graham, the easy and familiar touch of Rum's hand on my shoulder as he leans over me to read a book, or on my back as he slips past me in tight spaces. The way his touch sometimes linger when he pulls me up after sparring is… new, but for as much as I try not to think about it, it's not unwelcome.

Thanatos's words still sometimes echo in my head- What will your brother think?- and I try to ignore it. While I struggle to find a way to save Tor, and agonize over having not yet saved Ian, Graham and Rum are my lighthouse amidst the raging storm. For now, the consequences of that can wait.

A few days after Graham's first sleepover, I am once again spending the night doing research on the Curse of the Questing Beast, and sit at the center of a veritable explosion of scrolls, books, and notes strewn across the central desk of the library. The flickering firelight on small text, and two days without sleep, has my eyes aching, and I've resorted to taking occasional swigs straight from a bottle of rum to tolerate it. It's well past midnight when I grow frustrated with the dull but insistent pain and my lack of progress, and I begin to wander the castle aimlessly to stretch my legs and rest my eyes.

I'm passing through the Great Hall when I see movement through the doorway into the ballroom. I cock my head and reach out with magical and lycanthrope senses, but I detect nothing out of the ordinary, so I move to the doorway and look out into the room. The ballroom is a large, empty space with a slightly-raised dias on one end where musicians once played. One wall is dominated by tall glass windows that look out over the back gardens and, beyond them, the rolling countryside below and nearly-full moon above. Bright moonlight spills through the windows, and as I watch, the light begins to twist, to curl like smoke blown by a gentle breeze, and humanoid forms begin to take shape from it.

They form intertwined with each other, materializing with arms around shoulders and hands on waists as two, four, ten couples materialize from the light, moving in a waltz. They glow very faintly with gentle silvery light and are not quite corporeal, and as they form I suddenly hear music in my mind, as though coming from memory and not sound. The people glide around the room in the almost hypnotic pattern of a perfectly in-sync waltz, some fading away into moonlight as others seamlessly materialize to take their places. They're all immaculately dressed, but of fashions from a range of different times.

When they don't react to my presence, I lean in the doorway and watch them, curiosity overcoming any wariness. After a minute, Alastar appears next me, and we stand in silence and watch the scene playing out before us.

"What are they?" I eventually ask.

"The Castle remembers." He says. "It keeps an echo of us."

I glance over at him at the word us. "Are they all d'Corbins, then?"

"Many are, but some were only guests."

"Are they ghosts, like you?"

A bemused look crosses his face. "I am not a true ghost, and they certainly aren't. Some of them appeared while the people they represent still lived.

"Huh. That's interesting. Do you know why it happens?"

He shrugs. "Corbin is a castle steeped in magic. I believe that in such a place, moments that brand themselves into people may also brand themselves into the place." He looks out at the Echoes, expression turning melancholy. "My father and mother sometimes appear amongst them, dancing as they did on their wedding day."

As I take in the open grief in his voice and expression, I am hit with the realization that Alastar is living my worst nightmare. He- or at least, his consciousness- has outlived every person he ever loved. And there was a long time, centuries worth, where he had only his brother left, and would go decades at a time without seeing even him, without knowing if his brother was alive or dead. Dread skitters across the back of my mind. His brother was dead for years before he knew it. Could mine be?

When I break from my thoughts, Alastar has once again disappeared without a word, and I look back out at the Echoes. After a moment's contemplation, I say Rumple's name and wait for the pull of magic to alert him to it.

"Don't you sleep?" Rum asks with theatrical annoyance when he appears beside me, a small teasing smile playing across his face. I simply nod to the Echoes, and he looks over as well, taking in the strange, ethereal, beautiful sight of their mesmerizing dance. I, in turn, can't help but watch him, seeing the way awe and curiosity make him seem younger, lighter. "Well, isn't that a sight."

Now it's my turn to smile at him. "Do you hear the music too?"

He nods, and glances from me to the Echoes. "Is this why you called me, little wolf?"

"Yeah, I thought you'd like to see it. Everyone else would be creeped out."

"Fair enough." He settles an evaluating gaze on me, expression turning sympathetic. "There's worlds between you, isn't there?"

A dull ache shoots through my chest at the idea that the distance between my family and I is so obvious, but with it comes the small comfort that at least Rum recognizes that. After all, if anyone knows what it is to be isolated in a crowd of people, it's the Dark One.

"Aye. Bigger or smaller by the day, but it's always there." On impulse, I look out at the Echoes and add, "Wanna know a secret? I sometimes felt it with my brothers, too."

Rum puts a comforting hand on my arm. "I know the feeling."

"Yeah, I bet you do." I agree, flashing him a small, appreciative smile. I think for a long second before continuing, "A week ago, I told you I would try to answer any questions you have about me. I can't guarantee anything, but…"

He smiles, a small, warm thing that tries to look less eager than he is. "Let's sit down for this." Rum leads me back to the library, and I pull another chair up beside the one behind my desk and turn the two to face each other. Rumple, meanwhile, grabs two crystal tumblers from a shelf, pouring one finger of rum into his glass and two into mine. I raise an eyebrow at that, having really only seen him drink once before, but I take the glass without questioning it. We settle into our chairs, the fireplace to my left dancing brightly against half of my companion's face.

"Alright," I say. "Ask away."

I know what he must be most curious about. He asked about it once already, that night we first brought Graham home.

"What happened between you and your brother?" He begins gently, gingerly; he knows it's a painful subject. When I don't respond, he prompts, "The children of Neverland share a feeling of…" Here he hesitates, trying to find a way to dance around asking it.

"I know what the name Lost Boys means, Rum." I shoot back. All of the Lost Boys felt abandoned or unloved, and since I've never done anything to dissuade the idea that Ian is a Lost Boy, Rum wants to know what I did to drive my brother to that point.

He might not be a real Lost Boy, but I'm sure he could've been, I think. I take a sip of my drink and glance back up to Rum. "Almost a year ago, I gave you my price for that information. I still want to know what happened between you and Baelfire-" His body stiffens, expression shutting down, and I continue, "-But I don't want it to be a transaction anymore. Maybe someday I'll be ready to tell you the whole story. For now, though… We had a fight. Worst one of our lives. He, uh… he disowned me and took off. That was the last I saw of him." Lighter, I add, "Told ya I was no good at raising him."

"No." Rum interjects, quiet but insistent. "Having teenagers is the most difficult thing in all the realms. Curses and politics and gods, they don't hold a candle to raising a fourteen year old."

I flash him a small smile. "Thanks for trying, Rum."

He hesitates in indecision for a long second, before pressing, "What was the fight about?"

I immediately grimace, and Rum watches me carefully, expression uncertain of if he's pushing too far. I knock back the rest of my drink as I try to think of how to answer, and reach for the bottle. Rumple takes it before I can and pours a few more shot's worth into my glass. I nod a thanks and take a small sip.

"It was about a girl he was in love with, and…" How to word this? "And how much he should be willing to sacrifice for her."

He nods, face sympathetic. I know, can sense more than see, how curious he is to have more details, but he holds back from asking, and I have nothing but appreciation for his restraint. I may already have screwed myself by involving him so heavily in my life, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to be an open book.

My hand tightens around my glass as I think again of Ian. Will I ever be able to tell Rum who my brother is? If he doesn't find out until I actually bring Ian back, I can only imagine the hurt, the betrayal. But if I did tell him, he would leave, and I might never get Ian back. The idea of having neither of them is nothing short of hellish.

"How do you plan to get to Neverland?" Rum asks, drawing my attention back to the present.

"There's a people called the Venedotians from a realm named Annwn. They had teleportation circles to this world and probably beyond. They shut the ones here down a long time ago. Based on some things Alastar has said, it sounds like one of their kings tangled with Zoso and didn't like the outcome. Anyway, I found one near the Listenoise-Camelot border when I was here last. If you can jumpstart it, I can modify it to send me to Neverland."

He takes all this in for a second. "You couldn't do that yourself?" He asks, surprised and perhaps a little suspicious, though he hides the latter well.

"I tried, trust me. The energy it takes is fatal for me."

Rum lets out a derisive snort. "And when has that ever stopped you?" He asks. Then he pauses, because he realizes that I mean it was fatal for me. "You didn't."

"Of course I did. You think I woulda come to you if there was any way to do it myself?"

His eyes dart over my face. "How many times?"

I wince, anticipating his reaction. "You'd think third time's the charm, right?"

"Ellyn." He says, aghast. "Three times?!"

"I know."

"What, did you think the first two were a coincidence?"

"I know, alright? Lay off it."

Rum lets out a huffy sigh, and silence stretches for a few seconds before his eyes wander across my face. "You said this happens after you die?"

"What happens?"

He leans forward, and before I can react, he reaches out a hand, fingertips grazing my forehead as he captures a lock of hair between thumb and forefinger. My heart jumps to my throat.

"This." He says, referring to the grey at the roots, and then his eyes dart down to meet my wide-eyed expression, and he suddenly recoils, a flush creeping over him. That same bashful nervousness I saw in him that night he traced the scars on my back flashes across his face. Though my heart is pounding, I flash a small, nervous smile to show that I don't take offense to the touch.

"Yeah. It's why I scar so bad, too."

The nervousness hasn't entirely left his face, but he asks, "How many times?"

"Well, let's see. That first time with Baba Yaga, the sea dragon in Karth, once in the Ogre Wars, once off the coast of the West Isles," Horror starts to crawl over Rum's face as I continue, "That deal with the Oracle's kid, Avalon's dungeon… The three times at the Standing Stones, then Avalon's dungeon again with you… What are we up to?"

"Ten." He responds with distaste, "Eleven, with the time in your study."

"Right. Eleven, then." A grim look settles over his face, and I cock my head, mulling over whether to ask this question, and Rum raises an eyebrow at me. "Look, there's something I'm curious about, but it's kinda rude to ask."

"And 'rude' is where you draw the line, is it?" He asks with that familiar teasing twinkle in his eyes.

"Alright. What happened to your leg?" I watch his face shutter, and add, "I tried to warn you."

"All that snooping around in my village, and you haven't heard?" He asks bitterly.

"I heard what other people say." That he shattered it himself to avoid going to battle, instead of fighting 'like a man'. "I want to hear your side."

He swirls the liquid around his glass, eyes far away as he sinks into memory. For a long second, I don't know if he'll answer.

"My unit was pushed through training to get us to the front lines. The night before our first battle, I met a Seer. She told me that I was going to be a father. I… I was never afraid of dying before I had a son. I couldn't leave him without a father."

Of course he made that decision. I'd expect nothing less from him.

"For what it's worth, Rum, I think you made the right call. If it meant getting to watch Graham grow up, I'd hack off any limb asked of me."

His smile is grateful, if slightly tense. "Oh, I don't doubt you would."

I flash a small smile and nod to his glass. "I've only seen you drink the one time."

"I'm not in the habit of it, no."

I raise an eyebrow and ask, only half teasing, "So you're not actually gonna drink anything, but you'll refill my glass? Trying to make me more talkative?"

Rum winces and glances down at his own tumbler. "I… didn't consider how it would look. I thought it would be more comfortable for you than drinking alone."

"Ah. A real gentleman." I return, finding the explanation genuine. "Do you mind my asking why you don't drink?"

His face darkens immediately. "My ex-wife drank enough for the both of us."

She certainly did. A look at Rumple's face, though, has me curious about his side of the story. Milah almost never spoke of her son to me, but she had no problem complaining about an ex who had shackled her with a hard life and a bad reputation by proxy.

"Baelfire's mother?" I ask, and he nods. "What happened to her?"

Rum makes a flippant motion with his hand. "She ran off with a man she found in a tavern when Baelfire was still young."

"Damn. Leaving your kid behind for a man… I can't imagine someone worth that." No offense, Ian.

He nods again, a hard, bitter glint in his eyes. "She resented being a mother. Or at least being the mother of my son. She would have rather I died in the war, and didn't hesitate to remind me of it."

Anger thrums through my chest. "Who the fuck says that to their husband?" I mutter.

He shrugs. "She was a mean drunk."

Something about the way he says that has me searching his face, mind spiraling down dark paths. I speak softly, but there's no disguising the anger tight in my voice when I ask, "Did she put hands on you?"

He looks down into his glass, actually takes a small drink, and shrugs again. "A few times."

Rage roars through my veins, and I take a deep breath and set my glass on the table before I accidently shatter it. She's lucky she's already dead, or I'd wring her neck myself.

"Rum," I say. When he doesn't look up, I lean forward and put my hand on his, and he finally meets my eyes. "You didn't deserve that. It's not your fault she was a miserable bitch."

His face softens, and he turns his hand over to take mine. "Thank you," He says, and runs his thumb across my knuckles. My heart stutters in a way it has no right to, and I can only nod as I gently draw my hand away and lean back in my chair. Rum tracks my movements, and after a second he asks, "While we are on the subject of exes… Other than Vali, was there anyone else?"

"No, nothing more than flings, unless you count the girlfriend I had when I was sixteen. That might be for the best. I think what happened with Vali shows that my, uh, my lifestyle isn't compatible with relationships."

"You mean your curse isn't." Rum challenges keenly, and my entire body tenses. He shifts forward, a well-controlled intensity burning behind his eyes. "When we spoke of Vali, you said there were words he wanted you to say. What words, Ellie?"

Every alarm bell in my head goes off. There's no good reason for him to want to know how to break the Promethean Curse, and no good reason for me to just present him a way to kill me on a silver platter. I take a long sip of rum, trying to reign my anxiety and paranoia back in. Even if he knew the words, he can't use them against me, I remind myself, trying to bring logic to bear. I still have to be the one to say them. I focus on my breathing and remind myself that it's only a question, that he doesn't mean to be asking for a dossier on my vulnerabilities. He's never even shown a serious intent to harm me. But why does he want to know, then?

Rum has been watching my internal battle with a knowing and trepidatious gaze. If he thought he was pushing the line by asking about my brother, he realizes that he has blown past it by asking about this.

"Ellie?" I distantly hear him prompt, and when I don't really register the word, he leans forward and gently knocks against my kneecap as though he's knocking on a door. I jolt at the touch, and then process that he spoke. I look into his amber eyes and hesitate, completely torn. Am I really going to do this?

"You haven't put it together already?" I challenge, shying away at the last moment, voice tense and strained but managing to be non-accusatory. When I first let this detail about the Promethean Curse slip out, I was expecting him to have an educated guess of what the words are almost immediately.

"I'd like to hear it from you."

"You won't hear it from me." I snarl back. "That's the point. Not being able to say that to the people you care about." He draws back at being snapped at, and I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. "Why do you need to know, huh?"

The intensity behind his gaze dies down at that, replaced by an almost abashed looked.

"I…" He trails off, looking anywhere but at me. I take in his sudden nervousness and resist the urge to cock my head. Is it personal? I wonder, and my heart beats a little faster at the implications of that.

"If you need another hint, it's three words." I say on impulse. "Three words that your fiancé gets really frustrated to have never heard, even if he knows why."

"...I see."

Some paranoid part of me instantly wants to take the words back. Giving someone the power to hurt you, and trusting that they won't… There's a name for that. I think, but my mind immediately skitters away from the answer, a new kind of nervousness fluttering in my stomach at the idea. Or you could just call it stupidity.

I shove all that out of my mind to refocus on Rum. "Is that your curiosity satisfied, then?"

"Never, little wolf." He returns with a wicked grin. "How did you end up fighting a sea dragon?"

I smile back, and the tension eases out of me as I launch into the well-recited story. Rum listens happily, interjecting quips and jabs, and when my story is done, he tells me of his own dealings with dragons. As the night wears on, and I continue sipping on my drink, the pleasant headiness of being tipsy creeps across my mind.

When the fire begins to burn low, I throw a few more logs on it, and then settle back in my chair, smiling at Rum's animated gestures as he talks. I admire the way the firelight glints just slightly off his rough skin and plays across the angles of his face, and follow the light down the side of his neck to the patch of skin visible in the V of his vest. Then I realize what I'm doing, blink, and set my glass back on the table. Alright, that's enough alcohol for tonight.

The next morning I lean against the railing of second story of the library, nursing a very mild hangover and watching Graham, Rum, and Bethanny below. I jump when Alastar speaks, and turn to find that his ghostly form has appeared beside me.

"My lady." He greets coldly, eyes tracking Rum as he searches for a particular book for Bethanny to read to Graham. He is silent for a long moment before adding, "When we first met, I underestimated your attachment to him, and this I regret. I ask that you enlighten me to the extent of your relationship."

He regrets his misconception, but not his behavior, I note, annoyed. I turn my mind away from that, contemplating my answer. Alastar is Zoso's brother and apart of my family, and for that I trust him, but there are things within that answer that I have not yet fully processed myself, much less that I want to share.

Eventually, I say, "He is my partner, and my- my dearest friend."

Alastar's eyes narrow slightly. "Would you die for him?" The tone is nearly accusatory.

I smile wryly. "I've died to fulfill a deal before. For someone I care about, I would go through it in a heartbeat."

"You know what I meant." he snaps. "Permanent death."

My whole being rebels against the idea of a permanent death, making it somehow more terrifying that I do not immediately say no. I'm so screwed, I think, half-numb to the idea by now.

"I... I don't know. I've lived too much of my life with death as just a painful inconvenience."

It's not the answer that Alastar wanted, and the words burst angrily from him the second I'm done talking. "I will not have that man as Lord-Consort of this castle, Ellyn. I will not."

"Really, Alastar?" I snap immediately, annoyance blossoming into anger. "I say that I don't know if I would literally die for him, and you take that to mean that we're getting married?"

"I take it to mean that you care for him, and Balthazar did not believe that you were capable of caring in half-measures."

"Balthazar has been dead for thirty years." I snap harshly. "I am not the person I was five years ago, much less the one he knew." I don't even know if I'm the person I was two years ago, before Rum and Graham became such a part of my life, when I carried a lifetime of scars and a heart still bleeding for Vali.

"A shame." Alastar snarls. "Perhaps that person would not parade my brother's murderer through my family's halls."

I stare, stunned, and as he is making a habit of doing, he disappears before I can reply.

Three days before my first High Council meeting as a landed noble, I once again find myself seated behind the large central desk of the library. The sun is long set, and the firelight plays odd tricks on the shadows, making them creep in and dance back with the light. Something about the still air of the night sets me on edge, and I stare down at a book, for some reason unable to comprehend or really even make out the words on the page. I toss the book across the desk with a defeated sigh, and the sound echoes far more than it should.

Every hair on the back of my neck stands up, some instinct in me suddenly screaming Danger, and I look up to find a tall, spindly male figure standing on the edge of the shadows, sharp features just barely illuminated and onyx eyes glowing like light off obsidian glass. At his side, a pair of glowing red eyes stare out at me from the darkness, the outline of a huge and lupine body just barely visible.

"Thanatos." I greet cooly. I try to stand, only to find myself locked in place, unable to move. Fear shoots through my veins like ice, and I glance down at myself and then back up at him. "What is this?" I demand with more bravado than I feel.

"A friendly reminder," He says, eyes cold as ever. The hulking hound stalks forward, and in the light it's body is not quite corporeal, shifting and curling at the edges like smoke blown in the wind. Black dog, I think, remembering the creature that guarded Hel's temple. My heart beats faster for every step it takes, until it stands only an arm's length away, so tall that it's eye-to-eye with me. I once again try to stand, and once again am held fast. The hound growls in warning.

"Thanatos," I say again, voice sharper and more strained now. For all that I know I can live through, there is no escaping the primal fear of pain, and I don't relish the idea of being torn apart by a hellhound.

"You have deals to keep, Davey Jones. Remember that, and the resources I have so graciously given you."

"I haven't heard anything about your wayward king." I say, not daring to take my eyes off the creature.

"You will," He says. I can almost hear the smile in his voice when he asks, "How do you like the hound? I assigned a pair for your use, but you have not bothered to call them."

"What?" I dare a glance up from the beast.

"All it would have taken was a spell and a whistle," He continues, and with a jolt I remember the words that were carved into my arms when I returned from the Netherworld.

"I've been a little busy." I defend, and the hound snarls, revealing a mouth of unnaturally sharp, pointed teeth. My heart thunders almost deafeningly in my ears.

"I don't particularly care," Thanatos returns. "You could be of extraordinary use to me, Davey Jones. Do not disappoint me on the first task."

He lets out a sharp whistle. The hound lunges forward, and white-hot agony explodes down my arm, and-

And I sit bolt-upright in bed with a gasp, heart racing, eyes flashing around wildly. The darkness of the room seems to press in on me, and I try to ignore it as I swing my feet off the side of the bed and put my head in one hand. Was it just a dream? I wonder, and I hold my other hand up to see it splashed with blood. A second later, as it begins to fade, I realize it's only an illusion, but my hand still trembles.

"Ellyn?" Rum asks, and I flinch and look over, to where he now stands at the foot of my bed.

"Gods, Rum," I snap, voice ragged, more exhausted than annoyed, "Why are you in my room?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You called me."

"... I did?"

I don't remember doing that, and I'm sure my face must look completely lost, because realization makes his expression softer, more somber. Rum comes to sit on the bed next to me, his hip pressed into mine as he wraps an arm around me. I lean into his side and take his hand, trying not to grip it like my life depends on it. He runs his thumb across the back of my hand soothingly, and why does it have to reach so deeply into the heart to be shown such small comforts in the midst of animal fear and pain?

He rests the side of his head against mine. "Easy, Ellie." He soothes. "You're safe."

If the touch reached into my heart, the words grab it and rips. I bite a sob off into a strangled sound, because when was the last time I believed that? Perhaps I don't even believe it now, not entirely, but clinging to this terror of a man in the shadows of the night, I trust the sentiment that for this moment, I'm safe with him.

And oh, how bittersweet that realization carves itself into my mind. I trust him with my life, with my family's, with Graham's. I trust him enough to let him feel the tremble in my hands when any smart animal's instinct should be to hide away in moments of vulnerability.

I'm so screwed, I think again. I'm so damn screwed.

Moments slip by, and I am only aware of the gradual calming of my heartbeat and the warmth of the body against mine. Slowly, I start to nod off, the shadows of the room shifting and crawling as my mind teeters between consciousness and sleep.

"Ellie," Rum says again, voice distant through the haze of half-sleep, "Lay back down." I shake my head no, mumbling almost incoherently that I'd rather just get up. Rum lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Lay down. I'll stay until you fall asleep."

After a second, when I've registered the words, I nod. Rum pulls away to lift the covers as I slip under them and stretch out on my side. He slips in after me, and I reach out and put a hand on his chest. Then a spark of a thought hits me, and I look up at his face. "Can I-?"

"Oh, now we're asking?" He teases, soft smile barely discernible in the dim light, and holds an arm out in invitation. I scoot in under it, wrapping one arm around his middle to hug his body to me, resting my head on his chest so I can hear the calm and steady beat of his heart. I don't know if I'm dreaming or not when I feel his fingers running through my hair, but I hum in lazy contentment and let my mind slide into sleep.