Chapter Five: Deal...?
"The Fields of Asphodel"
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If there was one place Rumplestiltskin had hoped to avoid for the rest of eternity, the Underworld was it. He hated seeing so many of his victims in one place, sneering at him for their pathetically stupid decisions in trusting dark magic to solve their problems, and he hated the gloomy dismality that purveyed the realm. He hated the persistent sulfuric smell and he hated the black dust that seemed to settle over everything.
He hated most of all that this was a realm over which he had no control.
He wanted to spend as little time in this place as possible. Let Emma Swan and her band of do-gooders chase after the pirate; it was no concern of his what happened to the man he loathed more than any other. The only good thing that could come from being here would be seeing Baelfire one last time. Rumplestiltskin, having arrived at his shop, opened the door and observed the changes. Most everything was the same as it had been the last time he’d been here, stuck in limbo with nothing to do but await his judgment from Hades. Only that hadn’t come; instead, he had been whisked back to the Enchanted Forest only to lose both his only beloved son and his freedom in the same instance.
There were a few new objects, things which had been lost as the owners’ passed into this realm from the Land of the Living. But Rumple wasn’t interested in those. He didn’t plan on staying here long enough to deal with them. He locked the door and headed to the back room. He gave another glance around to make sure no one was there, and he stepped up to his workbench.
He set to work collecting his ingredients, including an eyeball, from the stockpile he had saved here. He created a potion, using the eyeball to guide the magic, and once the potion was ready, took up a crystal ball and dipped it into the potion. Once a sufficient amount of time had passed, he took the crystal ball out and used his own magic to dry it. Satisfied, he placed it onto the stand and stared at it, his hands flat on the table to support him as he leaned against it.
Rumple considered the crystal ball for several moments, pondering how to word his command. Finally, he said to it, “Show me my son.”
The crystal ball filled with smoke that swirled and churned for a moment before solidifying into shapes. Finally, the shapes formed a picture. It showed him Belle, eating at Granny’s back in Storybrooke.
Rumple frowned. Why was the crystal ball showing him Belle? He said again, more forcefully this time, “Show me my son.”
The picture turned back into smoke and swirled again. For the second time, it solidified into a picture of Belle.
Rumple was very confused. The crystal ball was imbibed with magic that should be capable of showing him what he sought, so why wasn’t it showing him Baelfire? He watched as Belle shifted in her sleep. It didn’t make any sense. Unless…
Could it be? Could the reason the crystal ball kept showing him his wife be that she…? Rumple’s heart stopped and his blood ran cold at the implication. He had left her back in Storybrooke alone, and he was now the Dark One again unbeknownst to her. He could only imagine what kind of hell he would face if she found out. Whatever he did, he would have to make sure she never found out that he had stolen the Darkness back. And to do that would mean that he would have to return as soon as possible to his wife's side. It looked like he would have to assist in finding the pirate after all. He really, really didn’t want to have to help them.
He waved his hand to clear the detritus away with magic, resulting in the mess instantly vanishing. The crystal ball remained where it was. He took it and placed it on a shelf just in case he would need it later. Perhaps he could use it to keep an eye on his wife during his absence. Rumple was just ruminating on a plan to get them all out of the Underworld as fast as possible when the bell from the front of the shop rang and the sound of the door closing echoed to the back room.
Rumple left the room and stepped into the shop area and stopped in the doorway.
“Hello, Rumple,” said Peter Pan, who was standing in the middle of the room in a black suit, his hands clasped in front of him.
Rumple blinked. “I had hoped I wouldn’t see you here,” he said.
“Is that any way to greet your long lost papa?” Peter Pan said.
“You’re no father of mine,” Rumple retorted. “After all you’ve done, you’re lucky I’m not sending you to the depths of Tarturus. After Bae? After Henry? That’s more than you deserve.”
Pan rolled his eyes. “Don’t pretend you cared for Henry any more than I cared for you. You and I both know the only reason you have any familial affection for that boy is because of Baelfire. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t give Henry the time of day.”
“What do you want?” Rumple asked, tired of his father’s needling.
Pan grinned. “Well that is the question, isn’t it? I do want so many things.”
“Get on with it,” Rumple hissed.
“I want to be brought back to life.”
Rumple rolled his eyes. “That’s impossible.”
“Isn’t it? Aren’t you down here so Emma Swan can find a way to bring back Captain Hook?” Pan tilted his head in puzzlement.
Rumple scoffed. “A fool’s errand if there was one. We all know she’s not going to succeed in doing anything but wasting our time.”
Pan smirked and replied, “Well, be that as it may, I have a deal for you.”
Rumple stepped closer to Pan until they were nearly nose to nose. “Not. Interested,” Rumple hissed. He had enough problems without adding on those of his father.
“Oh, I think you will be,” Pan insisted. “Especially when it involves your son.”
Rumple’s face froze. Pan couldn’t know about this unborn child, could he? His blood felt like ice in his veins at the thought that, somehow, Pan could reach into their world and harm Belle and their unborn child.
“Yes, that’s right. I know where Bae is down here,” Pan continued.
Rumple’s heart lurched a grateful beat. So Peter Pan didn’t know about what Rumple had just seen in the crystal ball. “And where is he?”
Pan smiled. “Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? You have to make a deal to get that information.”
“I’ll not make any deals with you,” Rumple retorted slowly, emphasizing each word.
“Not yet, but you will,” Pan reiterated, very confident in the course of events and how they were going to go. “Tell you what,” he continued, “I’ll give you a freebie. You see, everyone down here is here in this section of the Underworld for a reason: we’re being punished.”
“Punished?” Rumple asked, intrigued in spite of himself.
“Yes. You see this suit I have to wear?” Pan held out his arms as if to gesture to them. “I have to push around papers in some boring, ridiculous office. It’s my punishment for never wanting to grow up.”
“You mean not wanting to face your responsibilities as a father,” Rumple retorted, disgusted with the man who had sired him.
“Call it what you like,” Pan said breezily. “I have to be saddled down with adult responsibilities as my penance. Baelfire has a penance he must pay as well.”
“And you know what that is?” Rumple questioned.
“Yes. So my deal is: when Emma Swan finds a way to bring back the pirate, you get me some of whatever it is, too. In exchange, I’ll tell you where Bae is.”
Rumple stared at Pan suspiciously. “And if I refuse?”
Pan chuckled. “Well, let’s just say I have some friends in high places that can prevent you from ever seeing Baelfire again.”
Rumple didn’t respond. After a moment of tense silence, Pan continued. “Meet me in the library tomorrow at 7 o’clock in the evening if you agree to my terms.” Pan turned to go, but paused. “Oh, and Rumple? I’d heed my warning about never seeing Bae again. There are many forces at work down here that would easily make sure of that.” With that, Pan walked out the door and onto the street, disappearing into the crowd of milling souls.
Rumple let out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding. So this world punished people for their sins? All he had to do was work out what Bae would be punished for, and he could find his son. He didn’t need Pan to accomplish what he wanted, but wouldn’t it be sweeter to make sure his father couldn’t hurt his loved ones any further? All Rumple had to do was make sure Pan didn’t get what he wanted even while Pan thought they were in on this together. The only question was how to convince Pan of Rumple’s sincerity?
Pain and Panic clambered down the torch-lit hallway towards Hades’ throne room as carefully as they could, balancing the nearly full jar of lost hope between them. The jar’s lid was slightly askew, and with every step they took, droplets of the liquidized substance fell out, hissing and evaporating as they fell. Such was the toxicity of the Underworld; hope didn’t stand much chance of lasting down here for long.
Pain and Panic’s snickers of glee echoed down the stone chamber until they came upon the door to the throne room. They shoved open the doors, nearly dropping the jar as they did so, and stumbled into the chamber. Hades was lounging on his throne, nursing a glass of red wine, and he watched them with a lazy, almost disinterested consideration as they climbed up to the large cylinder in one corner or the room, removed the lid, and poured its contents inside.
“You’re late,” Hades called out. “And you’ve spilled almost as much as you’ve collected.”
“Our apologies, milord. We thought it prudent to bring the spoils to you as fast as we could,” panted Pain.
“W-we didn’t w-want the S-savior interrupting our c-collections,” stuttered Panic.
They both clutched their tails and cowered before the god. Hades rubbed at his temples with his free hand.
“Memo to me,” Hades muttered, “maim you after we plot out the next part of our plan.”
“Do you want us to go after the Savior?” asked Pain.
“Yeah, she’s such a delicious aura. Full of pain and misery just waiting to go into panic-mode,” added Panic who began to grin maniacally and was practically salivating at the thought of making Emma his next victim.
“No, she is going to require a more delicate touch. She’ll see us coming a mile away if we go after her now.” Hades laziest waved his hand and Emma’s image appeared in the mirror, her son beside her, as they made their way to the docks where the Underworld version of the Jolly Roger was berthed.
Hades absentmindedly summoned a stalk of asphodel flowers and twirled it in his hand as he watched the blonde and her son arrive at their destination. His heart sank as he thought of the crown of asphodèles his darling had worn upon her head, her Titian hair shimmering under the sun. It had been eons since he had last seen her. He missed the way her Aegean blue eyes danced with laughter as she looked at him. If only he could have stopped what happened in time…
But there was nothing he could have done, and now there was nothing he would not do to make those responsible for her suffering pay for his loss. He would make sure that the gods of Olympus would rue the day they harmed her. He felt that age-old feeling of anger simmer deep in his gut at recalling the day he lost her, and he hardened his resolve even further to avenge her loss. Once he had enough power, he would storm Olympus and raze it to the ground. Hades glanced at the cylinder for a moment, taking stock of how far he had come collecting the lost hopes of the souls who pervaded his realm and simultaneously acknowledging just how much further he still had to go to gain his revenge. It pleased him to see how much the lost hope of Snow White had bolstered the reserves, and he knew that causing the Savior and the rest of her friends to lose hope would fulfill the last of his needs. Then he could begin forging the weapon he would need.
Zeus was going to pay.
Emma and Henry arrived at the docks and stopped short at what they saw. The boats in the harbor were run-down, merely shades of their counterparts in the Land of the Living. The paint was peeling on several, there were rust stains on many, and they all had the air that their owners either weren’t there to care for them or their owners had lost interest in their maintenance. Emma supposed that was what happened when Death came into the picture.
She and Henry caught sight of the Jolly Roger at the same time. She heard his gasp of horror and shared his sentiment. The Jolly Roger (or rather its counterpart, Emma reminded herself) was a mess, to put it mildly. Her sails hung ragged in the sea breeze and her ropes looked frayed (but still intact, though Emma wondered how that could be possible). The yellow paint along the gunwale was cracked and peeling, the white paint along the side of her hull was weathered and mostly worn away to the point where the white only existed in splotches. It looked like barnacles had decided to make the hull their home. The ship’s name was all but erased from the space on which it was once written.
Emma’s heart broke at the sight. Killian would have had a conniption if he could see his beloved ship in this state. She shared a glance with Henry and they both made their way to the gangway. When they reached it, Emma gestured to Henry to go up ahead of her. He sprinted up the steps to the deck and she followed at a more sedate pace.
The deck was worse than the appearance from afar made it seem. Detritus lay everywhere; old lines littered the deck, broken hooks and other sailing tidbits were scattered everywhere, and a few cannon balls were lying about haphazardly.
Henry whistled. “It looks like she died in a battle, doesn't it?”
Emma stared at him. “Why would you say that?”
Henry gestured around him. “Look how beat up she is! She looks like I always imagined she would after an attack on another ship.”
Emma rolled her eyes, silently agreeing with her son but not wanting to admit that the state the ship was in reminded her of how Killian had died. “Yeah, well, help me look around, Kid.”
Henry nodded and bound off toward the inner levels of the ship. Emma lingered on deck a moment longer, her heart breaking at the memories she shared with Killian in this ship. She placed her hand on the gunwale, and she noticed that the magical hum that always emanated from the enchanted wood wasn’t present. Yet one more thing that’s gone from my life, she thought. Emma shook her head sadly. The Jolly Roger was so much more than just a few planks of wood and some sails. She was a symbol of hope and home, and now she was all but torn to shreds. The symbolism wasn’t lost on Emma. She took one more step in the middle of the deck, and, making up her mind, sprinted up to the helm, trailing her fingered along the wood as she ran up the steps.
The wood was rough and splintered under her hands as she took hold of the spokes. She grasped the wheel firmly, and thought about that time she desperately tried to hold the wheel straight with Killian in Neverland. If she had been told then that she would have fallen in love with the notorious Captain Hook, she’d have scoffed and ran for the hills, but now Emma couldn’t have imagined her life going any differently. How had it all crumbled to dust so fast?
Emma sighed as the familiar pain zinged through the shards of what was left of her heart once more. She would never get used to this feeling of incompleteness in her heart. Breathing in deeply to try and calm the pain, she resolved to not let their story end here. Scanning the damage of the ship, she let her magic flow through her and into the helm. Her hands glowed with golden light, and the light spread to the helm, slowly making its way through the rest of the ship.
Loose boards repaired themselves, frayed lines restored themselves to their former strength, torn sails mended together as if no damage had ever occurred, and peeling paint fell away to reveal fresh coats underneath. Once everything had been more or less restored, Emma opened her eyes and focused her magic to rewrite the Jolly Roger on its nameplates once more.
The tall ship seemed to stand up straighter in the waves. She also seemed to glow, and the magical hum Emma had always felt but never thought much about was back in full force. Emma smiled as tears streamed down her cheeks. If Emma’s magic could restore this, then surely it could help her restore Killian to her side?
Emma’s heart beat faster as hope surged through her body. For the first time, she felt confident in her ability to get Killian back. She resolved, in that moment, to not let anything or anyone stand in her way.
Satisfied with her restoration of the ship her love had adored, she went down to the entrance to the captain’s quarters and made her way down the ladder. She was disappointed to see that Killian wasn’t there; indeed, it looked like no one had been there for some time. There were sheets covering the furniture and there was a layer of thick dust on the shelves and window sills. Huffing a disappointed sigh, she turned and made her way to the door that she knew led to the galley and the crew’s quarters. She wrenched the door open and was about to step through, only to startle backwards. A brunette woman was on the other side, looking just as startled as Emma felt.
“Who are you?” asked the woman, her accented voice filled with accusation, suspicion, and curiosity.
Emma’s heart stopped. She knew this woman, had seen her face in drawings, but never in a million years did she think she’d come face to face with her.
Milah.
