A/N: Chapter revised 3/28/2024.

Chapter 11: On a Pale Horse

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

"Me." I repeat.

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

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

"And if I do?"

The question stops me in my tracks. "What do you mean?"

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

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

He's got me there. It's beyond my focus to complete such a complicated spell after stabbing myself in the heart, and perhaps beyond my power under that circumstance. I push down the rising urge to strangle the imp, or kick the table across the room, or strangle the imp and kick him across the room. Damn him and his clever mind. Of all the times, after a year of partnership, now is not the time for him to be obstinate. Not when the Horseman's ring is the last thing I need before I get Ian.

My heartbeat picks up as I realize that fully for the first time. I could see Ian again in a matter of days. With or without Rum, I'm finding a way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hold my hand up. "I didn't touch her. Acouple people from your town said she was Baelfire's friend, so I behaved myself. I didn't even let on that I knew you were the Dark One."

Rum calms quickly after my first few words, though there's still anger in his eyes. The tension doesn't leave his body, but he brushes past me to cross to his side of the table and half leans-on, half grips the back of his chair.

"How was she?" he asks after a moment's silence, head tilting up to look at me.

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

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

There's a tender, far-away cast to his face, nostalgic and reminiscent and melancholy. It makes me feel awkward, like I'm intruding in this moment, and it's not a feeling I relish while in my own home.

I wait a moment before saying, "You still watch over her." It's not a question. I knew it was true, from the moment I learned who Moraine was to Rumple's son. If just for a single afternoon thirty years ago, I saw how Rum was around his boy, and if Moraine was really as close to Baelfire as people said, Rumple wouldn't forget it. I didn't forget Uncle Dorian, Pop's best friend, and checked in on him until the day he died.

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

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

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

"The Rhuel Gorm."

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

"What business did you have with the blue bug?" He snarls, voice low but sharp.

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

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

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

"Which were?"

"To destroy you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's a long story."

"We have time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It catches him off guard, which is my point. What I fail to realize immediately is that it's both because of my change in tactics and because of the position we're now in; it's dangerously close to an embrace. He blinks owlishly, suddenly uncertain, and the expression makes me realize what I didn't a second ago. My heart rate spikes, thunders in my chest, and for a moment we just stand there, me leaning against his chest, both of us staring at the other with slight alarm and a mix of other emotions.

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

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

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

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

The minute the words are out of my mouth, he's gone.

I don't question the sudden disappearance. In the year we've been working together, I've quickly realized that he comes and goes as he pleases, often suddenly and with no explanation. I rarely ask him where he disappears to; if he wanted me to know about it, then he would tell me.

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

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

"Circles are supposed to be round, dearie."

"Do you wanna come down here and draw it yourself? 'Cause I'd be happy to switch you jobs."

Rumple makes a hmph of annoyance from behind me, but the sound of herbs and ingredients being ground doesn't stop, so I take that as his answer to the proposal. I am secretly relieved to finally hear him quipping; he's been uncharacteristically quiet all day.

After several more minutes I stand and cross the room to set the bowl and brush on the study's table; we've had to push it to the side to make room for the six-foot-diameter pentacle painted in blood on the floor. I lean against the table, surveying my work- the circle, pentagram, and Aesir symbols- and trying not to dread the moments ahead. Rumplestiltskin completes his work preparing the ingredients, something I know only because I feel his eyes shift to me.

"Everything ready?" Rum nods. His quietness is starting to unsettle me. I try to ignore it, to write it off as pouting. "Good. Let's get this over with." I toss him my bone-handled knife, push off the table, and cross to the pentagram. Rumple follows, his magic levitating the bowls of ingredients and the black spellbook through the air beside him. "Cheer up, Rum. You're finally getting to kill me."

He shoots me a grin with all it's usual predatory amusement, though there's a tightness to it now. "A shame it will only happen once."

That earns him a smile. I settle on the ground and lie back, stretching out so that my fingertips and toes come within a few inches of where the pentagram's points meet the circle. A large bowl sets itself on the ground above my head, over the apex of the five-pointed star. I close my eyes and try to relax.

Rum starts by pouring magic into the pentacle, and I feel the half-dried blood heat up. At first it's barely enough to feel through my clothes; within a few seconds, it verges on painful. Then Rumple's voice starts in, lower than it usually is as it slides over Asgardian words. His pronunciation is impeccable for someone who learned it less than four hours ago.

The Dark One's voice continues for nearly a minute, punctuated by occasional flashes of sound and heat above my head as ingredients are mixed in the bowl. The pentagram I've drawn is burning hot now, and I breathe tightly through it. The only thing keeping me from a full fight-or-flight reaction is that it's Rum's voice, familiar and calm, and not some black-robed Hel worshiper.

More ingredients are added to the bowl, and Rumple nears the end of the spoken spell. I shouldn't have closed my eyes; without my sight to tell me what's about to happen, I have no way to prepare when the knife plunges into my chest. I gasp at the sudden pain, eyes flying open.

In the few seconds I have before darkness swallows me, I see the look on Rum's face, and hope I don't remember it when I wake.

For some reason, I expect what comes next to begin with waking up. It's not.

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

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

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

I look him up and down. He's slight of build and only a few inches taller than me, with brown hair of medium length and sharp features that give him a raven-like appearance. His eyes are completely black, two expanses of onyx that seem to glow where the light glints off them; his pale face is wrinkled, and I'd estimate him to be my age, though he actually looks that age. He wears a black tunic under an equally black vest, with pants of the same color. He's nothing like I expected, but even so, the man matches his world. I stare at him for a long moment, unsure of how to play this, caught off guard by how normal he looks.

Finally, I nod to the glowing fog and say, "What is it?"

The man smiles slightly; though his lips twitch, it's an action seen more in the wrinkles around his eyes than on his face. When he speaks, his voice is a deep baritone. "I'm surprised you don't recognize it. Do you know where you are?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, the fault is clearly yours." He cuts in, voice as cold as his smile was, but then his face softens- or at least calms. "Fear not, I won't touch the imp. What the future has in store for him is punishment enough."

I cross my arms. "Then I'm sure you're going to try and scare me with my punishment." My voice is steadier than my heartbeat.

"That depends on you, Ellyn. It will come either way, but whether I try to 'scare' you with it will be decided entirely by your behavior."

"How cheery. You never answered me." I nod to the glowing sphere of mist. "What is it?"

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

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

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

"What in the bloody hell was that?!" I snap, on the verge of shouting.

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

The world is distant and fuzzy, but I hear a familiar voice singing softly as we rock gently with the tune. All I know in the moment is warmth, and familiarity, and safety. I drift into sleep, at peace.

I'm stunned, unable to move. I know the tune to that song; a lullaby, from somewhere deep in my past. I'd held onto it, the only thing I had of the people I was born to, but time had taken everything but the rhythm of the song. And now I have it back.

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

"Do not," I growl, "Do that again."

The Horseman regards me for a long moment. "My apologies. I had hoped that that would bring back your memories of this place. Your lack of them will become an annoyance."

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

"Let's call it a… representation."

"So it's an illusion."

"Most things are." The man concedes, then adds, "But this one is slightly more interactive."

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

"You're surprisingly close. Your soul. Or, close to what you would know as a soul."

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

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

"No representation is as perfect as the real thing." His tone is matter-of-factly, but with an echo of defensiveness. "I chose to give your curse a silver hue, and so a majority of your soul appears grey."

"The curse is part of my soul?" I ask, slightly horrified by the idea. It has it's uses, but I have no love of the magic that brings me back from the dead, and the thought that it's a literal part of me is far from comforting.

The Horseman hums contemplatively. "Not quite. Bond to would be a more accurate way to phrase it."

"Great." I huff under my breathe, and my companion's eyes smile.

"I'm well aware of your dislike for the curse, Ellyn. We discussed it at length during your last visit." I arch an eyebrow, and he continues, "Our conversation revolved largely about it's uniqueness."

"I guess that's true, whatever else it may be." I agree grudgingly. "I've never seen another spell that can break one of the Rules of Magic."

I doubt anyone has. The dead can't be brought back, because even the most powerful necromancy can only imitate life, not return it; time travel has never been done, and has only ever been attempted with disastrous effects; and creating or destroying magic is just plain impossible.

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

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

"In your question, the answer: because it does not break them. You see me and disregard where we stand. This is a Netherworld, between life and the afterlives. You have come here several times, and several times you have been allowed to return because you were not truly dead."

"Well, that explains some of it." I mutter, mostly to myself.

He shakes his head derisively. "That you have lived nearly four decades with this magic tied to your being, and have taken only minimal efforts to understand it, continues to baffle me. You don't lack the training or intelligence to come to the answers on your own, yet you choose not to."

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

"Why would Baba Yaga choose to give you a curse that grants you immortality, that brings you back from Death's door?" He counters.

It catches me off guard, though I can't say it's a question I've never thought of. I eye him distrustfully for a long, long moment before I ask, "You know how I can break my curse, I'm assuming?"

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

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

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

It's never really been my thing.

"Why do you ask?" I say when I'm done simmering in my own thoughts.

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

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

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

"Promethean? As in Prometheus?"

"Yes. It was created from the magic in Prometheus's blood, recovered from the rock where he was chained."

I flash a rueful smile. "Bound to the blood of a god. Should I feel special?"

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

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

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

I blink at the suddenness of the memory. The Horsemen watches me closely, obsidian eyes knowing, and I'm surprised that he now seems familiar.

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

"You called it the Promethean Curse. And insulted the Olympians." He watches me patiently, waiting for me to say more, and I add, "I called you Thanatos. Is that your name, then?"

The Horseman- Thanatos- smiles with his eyes. "One of many. It is what the Olympians and their kin call me." Thanatos falls silent for a moment, watching me for long enough that I shift my weight uncomfortably.

"Do you remember anything else?"

"No." I say flatly.

Thanatos sighs dramatically, frustration threading through his voice when he says, "You have tried to make deals with me before. Once you remember that, it shall simplify things, and allow us both to leave quickly." True anger enters his words as he adds, "I do not enjoy being summoned and bound like a dog, Ellyn."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'd beg to differ."

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

Killian is standing behind the wheel, looking down at me on the deck, his eyes red-rimmed and full of rage. I keep glancing to the stump where his hand should be, drowning in guilt, unable to entirely process the events I've learned of.

I say I'm sorry, that I should have been there. He brushes my apology aside, his hands- hand- gripping the railing as he says that he's going to kill the Dark One. And there's something in his eyes when he says that I don't like, that scares me, because it's rage and pain and something dark and cold. Because it reminds me of myself in my worst moments.

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

I vividly remember the way he went dead-quiet, the way we glared at each other, my breath coming in hard puffs from shouting so much, Ian's knuckles white on the railing.

"Brother-" I begin.

"I'm not your brother!" He snaps. "My brother is dead. You're an orphan my father took pity on." He takes a deep breath that does nothing to calm his anger. "Get off my ship."

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

"Ian-" The word is barely out of my mouth when he steps to the top of the stairs and draws his sword with his good hand.

"Every time I needed you, you weren't there. Liam." He takes a step down. "Milah." Another step. Tears come to his eyes as he names his love, but he blinks them away and takes the final step to stand on the dock. "Now you'd let that scaley coward get away with this. Get off. My. Ship!"

You weren't there. It punches the breath out of me. All I've done for him, and I wasn't there?

"Ian, think for once in your-" My words are cut off as he swings at me, sword flashing through the air. Durendal appears in my hand, my magic acting on instinct, and our blades clang off each other.

"You swung at me." I'm dumbfounded, sword hanging loosely at my side.

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

"Make a choice?" Magic crackles the air around me with an almost electric charge, anger rising in response to pain. "Well, here it is, then: if you want to get yourself killed, fine, but don't expect me to watch."

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

"If you do that again," I say calmly, "I will drag this process out for as long as possible." Thanatos watches me passively, his indifference broken only by the slight downward twitch of his lips when I issue my ultimatum. "You don't like being 'summoned and bound like a dog', and I don't like you playing with my memories."

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

"Nice to know we have an understanding. Now can we be finished talking about this?"

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

"For some reason I keep hearing that repeated, so let me make myself clear: Killian is my brother, and I am his sister, blood or not. People say things they don't mean when they're in that kind of pain.."

"Ah, so if it were the other way around, you could do the same? If Ru-" He cuts off whatever name he was going to say, pivoting instead to, "If Vali had died while you were still together, would you have been upset enough to disown your brother?"

"No." I answer automatically, and internally curse the reaction.

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

The comment cuts as it was meant to, and I shoot back, "It's not my job to be loved. It is my job to protect him."

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

Even if I'm terrified of paying it.

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

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

I swallow my anger at the pointed pause. "Pick a subject."

"Vali Lokison."

"Pick something else."

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

That one stings, and I look down. "I had to. The only way he'd accept a breakup was if it was his idea."

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

"You know her?" I'm not sure why I'm surprised anymore.

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

I flash a grin. "I have a talent for that."

"There you are correct. Tell me, have you ever even used the Candle? It would be a shame to exchange a true love for a paperweight."

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

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

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

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

"Perhaps that is by design, Ellyn. We must have something to talk about whilst we wait for your memory to return." He says, in answer to my first statement. In answer to the second, he says, "True love is often called 'once in a lifetime'. For the quasi-immortal, like yourself or the Dark Ones, two or three may come and go. As for resonance… that is harder to explain. It is nearly impossible to describe to one who has not seen it. Perchance you have heard the term soul mates in place of true loves? They are nearly synonymous. When two people are each other's true loves, one can see it in the soul."

I take a minute to absorb all that, trying to equate it to what I think of as true love. "You said Vali was a possible true love, but that we had too many differences. What does that mean?"

"Love takes more than pure compatibility, and it seems your differences were too great. You felt that he loved you only in your good moments, that he wanted you to be someone are are not and could never be. You believe that his condemnation of your quest is an extension of that."

Thanatos is looking at the silver mist as he speaks, eyes darting over it as though he's reading a book. It makes me mildly uncomfortable and reasonably annoyed.

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

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

"Rum or Zoso?"

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

I wish I remembered the earlier conversation he claims we've had; I get the feeling he's pressing buttons that he knows will get a reaction. I've spent hours thinking about exactly that question: if Zoso was the Dark One all the time I knew him, why did he bother with me? I didn't gain him anything.

Outwardly, I only shrug. "Because he was bored. Because he was lonely. The same reason gods get involved in mortals' lives."

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

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

"The mistake you made with… Ezra, was it?" I bristle at the name. "You cared for him, thought of him like the brother you lost. And he turned on you the first chance he was given." His eyes smile as he digs that in, a wicked light to them. I'm reminded that, despite his calm demeanor, I've stirred his anger by trapping him here. "Ah, but I'm getting off topic. We were talking about Zoso. Have you truly not figured it out? You have had thirty years, and the answer sitting on your shelf all that while."

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

Thanatos gives one of his fake smiles. "So it is." He says, tone smug and knowing. "But enough about dead men. I am far more intrigued by your relationship with Rum."

"And why would that be?" I ask sarcastically.

"Because you can't kill him."

I expected him to say, 'because you manage to work with him', or 'because you have no reason to help each other', but no; Thanatos goes right for the throat. I spend one second stunned.

"Why in the hells would I want to kill him? I can't get to Neverland without him."

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

I open my mouth, hesitate, and close it. I haven't thought that far ahead; I've been actively avoiding thinking that far ahead, because I don't want to think about how Killian will take our reunion. What will I do if he's still set on killing Rum?

"I'll… Trying to kill the Dark One is suicide." I decide on my argument; it's the same one I used almost thirty years ago. "I won't let him throw his life away."

Thanatos flashes a wide, cold smile and taunts, "Davey Jones cannot kill the man who killed her mentor and maimed her brother!"

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

"You have made that fatal mistake again, Ellyn." Thanatos's tone is serious, but his eyes are still smiling, expression still amused. "You let him include himself in your research, be your constant companion, for over a year, and you cannot kill him now. You might be able to trap him, betray him- you may even be able to bring yourself to control him with the Kris Dagger. But there was a moment, at some point in the last year, when you became unable to do him mortal harm. And if you cannot harm him, then you must care for him, if only just." His cold smile returns. "What will your brother think?"

Ice shoots up my spine. "You're wrong." I repeat, perhaps a bit desperately. "I don't give a damn about Rumpelstiltskin, and he definitely doesn't give one about me." Even as I say it, I remember that once or twice I've called him a friend in my head, remember the long nights spent pouring over books, remember Graham laughing at his jokes.

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

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

"Completely."

The cold smile never left, but it reaches his eyes now. "I cannot decide if you are ignorant or obstinate, but denial makes immortals seem so childish nonetheless."

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

The amusement wipes from his face, a cold dark anger spasming across his face in the second before the amusement returns, a slight tightness to his smile the only indication it ever left.

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

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

"You could be of great use to me, Davey Jones-"

"Don't call me that. I barely tolerated it-"

He continues like I haven't spoken. "But, unfortunately, you will remember none of this when you wake, so the point is moot."

This time I latch on to the fading sense of deja vu, riding the coattail of one memory to dig for others. I get flashes of conversations- or debates, or arguments, depending on the topic and the mood I was in. I get only the vaguest sense of fear and confusion from our first meeting in my early twenties. A few of our conversations are even about things I rarely discuss, like Pops and Tor and Liam, and even about my mother and Pellamos, my birth father.

I'm not as interested in these conversations as I am with Thanatos's mannerisms during them. I'm slowly starting to get a better idea of who he is, and that's how I know I've really pissed him off by trapping him here. In my memories, he's much friendlier- in his own way- than he is now. I also remember the deals Thanatos mentioned passingly, the ones that I've tried to make with him before, and they're not as one-sided as he implied.

I take a deep breath and refocus on Thanatos and the present. He's watching me with a patient, expectant expression. When I've gathered my thoughts, I say, "I'll take your deal."

Thanatos cocks an eyebrow. "Do you remember what I wanted?"

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

"You'll find my favor rather steep." The Horseman says. I look at him expectantly, and he says, "I am not alone in my work. There are others who harvest souls, across various realms and in league with various deities."

"There are other Deaths?" I ask, surprised and alittle unnerved; one is more than enough.

"Yes and no. I am the only firstborn of Nyx and Fourth Horseman of El, but I am not the only being to guide souls to the afterlives."

I consider this for a moment. "Are the others as strong as you?"

"No. They call themselves angels or demons or gods, but I am still the oldest, and the most powerful." He voice is calm, matter-of-fact, but I have my memories now; I know that he's not without his pride.

"So where do I come in?"

"Work for me." He says simply. I blink. "Temporarily, of course. There is a…" He takes a deep breath, and there is rage in his eyes if not his expression. "... matter that you could be of use in."

"What kind of matter?"

"A petulant king." He practically spits, before calming again, "That thinks himself above death. His name is Sisyphus. I will provide you with the means to recognize and deliver him back to me. You will meet him within the year, and send him back to me."

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

He smiles with his lips, which tells me I'm not going to like his next words. "You will find out. Do we have a deal, Davey Jones?"

I glower at him for the use of the name, and lay my coastal accent on thick to mock him for it. "Aye, we've got a bloody deal."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ellyn." Rumplestiltskin says from somewhere nearby. I barely hear him. I'm shaking like a leaf, I realize slowly, but I can't seem to stop. "Ellyn?" Rum asks, crouching next to me, hand touching my shoulder "Are you alright, little wolf?"

"No." Even my voice shakes.

"You're trembling, dearie." His voice is the gentlest I've yet heard it. I bark a laugh at the obvious statement and the intent behind it, and sound half-mad when I do.

"I can see that." I say in the same shaking voice, and silence stretches for a long moment. My mind keeps returning to the past hour, unable to tear away from the experience.

After a second, Rumple slowly puts an arm around my shoulder. The action is tentative, uncertain, but I don't care; we've been trying to annoy each other with physical touch for the past year, and now that he's actually trying- however uneasily- to be comforting, I don't turn it away.

So I lean into him, and we sit in silence until the shaking finally passes.

Thanatos was right. I realize. I can't kill him.

I've rarely been more terrified.

The 'means' that Thanatos was going to provide me to return his king are found by Rumpelstiltskin. We eventually disentangle ourselves and rise from our spot on the floor, and when he offers me a hand up and pulls me to my feet, he glances down and frowns.

Before I know it, he's pulled up my sleeve and trapped my arm in his hands, and after the day I have, I don't try to resist. I'm almost unfazed to see the words engraved into my forearms. It's only after I see the words that I feel the pain, and blood is starting to flow, but I numb the pain with a spell and pull together enough concentration to read the two lines of text.

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

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

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

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

"I'm going to turn in, Rum. It's been a long day." It's not a lie; darkness fell while we were still sitting on the floor, and I'm unusually exhausted.

I know he recognizes the hint, but he lingers anyway. "What happened, little wolf?" He means all of it; the shaking, the engraved words, my time away. I shake my head.

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

His eyes narrow a bit, and I know he wants to push more, but he slowly nods. "Goodnight, little wolf."

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

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

Have you truly not figured it out? You have had thirty years, and the answer sitting on your shelf all that while.

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

Why leave you a chest you can't open? Rumple had said.

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

But why make you his heir, if he was only bored? And why deny you the Dark Curse?

I draw the bone-handle dagger Tor made me so long ago.

Because he got attached.

I know the answer. I'm confused, baffled, frustrated, but not surprised. Perhaps some part of me always suspected it, and the rest of me just couldn't admit it.

"I don't have any of Zoso's blood, and I don't think he had any relatives, so I don't see how I can." I had replied.

I prick my thumb and smear the blood onto the triangular engraving on the lock.

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