A/N: This is the third part of my "Heartstrings" series. While I highly recommend that you read the first two parts if you haven't yet, here's a (very!) quick recap. This is a divergence AU spinning out of the end of 4A. After being banished from Storybrooke, instead of seeking out Ursula, Rumple called Belle and told her about his heart attack. Belle, Emma, and an aged-up August went to New York to find him. After a series of events, when the dust cleared, Rumple was no longer the Dark One; he and Belle were trying to rebuild their relationship, and things were finally starting to look for him…

…Until Lily arrived in town with Ursula and Cruella.

…And Belle became pregnant.

…And the Black Fairy showed up and kidnapped both Belle, and Robin and Zelena's newborn daughter Lyncoln.

Now Rumple, Emma, and Tia Malone/Castaway are in London tracking down the one person who can safely get them to the Dark Realm and back, while the others in Storybrooke are working on perfecting the spell that will let him. We're crossing over with both Witch Mountain and Bedknobs and Broomsticks, but if you aren't familiar with those canons, worry not! Everything you need to know about them has been revealed in-series, or will be!

I had to sift through a few quotations about "darkness" on Goodreads before I found the one that gave me this fic's title. Thank you, Goodreads tag search!

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT, Witch Mountain, or Bedknobs and Broomsticks.

Different Darknesses

"There are different kinds of darkness," Rhys said… "There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful…There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. It becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good."
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

Chapter One

Portobello Road/Notting Hill, West London, UK

Emma Swan had never been outside the continental US in her life—though she had lived in, or passed through, nearly forty states in some thirty-odd years. (Things got confusing around DC and New England. She wasn't entirely sure whether she'd ever driven through West Virginia, or just western Virginia. Rhode Island was another one she wasn't clear on; she knew she'd once pursued a fugitive on foot along a hiking trail that—at least, according to her map—hit the CT-MA-RI Tri-Point, where the three state borders met, but she wasn't positive if she'd actually crossed into the Ocean State or merely skirted it.)

At almost any other time, she would have been thrilled to be in another country—even Canada—for the first time. But this was no sight-seeing trip. And hurrying through the Notting Hill district of London at just past five in the morning, when the sun wouldn't be up for almost another two hours, it wasn't as though she could take in much of the sights, anyway.

No passport, no record of entry, and Gold's the only one of us who kinda sounds like he belongs here, she thought. Better not do anything to arouse suspicion. Like run through the streets of London in the wee hours of morning or something. She started to trot faster, but then she remembered that Gold wouldn't be able to keep up if she did. And anyway, Tia was the only one who knew where they were actually going, so there was no point trying to charge ahead of her.

Gold hadn't complained, even though his ankle was probably killing him, Emma realized, noticing that his limp was a bit more pronounced. Actually, the fact that she was noticing his limp at all was a sign of his distress; mostly, he handled his cane so adroitly that half the time, she forgot that he needed it. Especially since there had been all those weeks when—thanks to magic—he hadn't.

"Don't dawdle, Emma," he said crisply, as he shouldered past her. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get back."

But though the good cheer in his tone was clearly meant to be encouraging, his mask wasn't nearly as firmly in place as usual and she could hear the pain he was doing his best to hide. She doubted that it was solely physical pain that he was trying to conceal either.

She quickened her pace once more, this time to match step with her companions and asked the question she knew Gold wouldn't, even though he probably needed the answer more than she did, the way he was hobbling now. "How much… further?" she puffed, trying to make it sound like she was having a hard time keeping up.

Tia threw her a quick look and, in the brief illumination provided by a streetlamp they were passing, Emma saw a gentle smile that told her that Tia knew exactly why she'd asked. "It's just another block and a half or so," she said reassuringly. "I don't think it'll be more than ten minutes, if that."

Rumple sighed, as much from relief as from exhaustion. "Well," he murmured, "I think we can all manage that. Emma?" He extended his arm to her in what could either have been taken as a gallant gesture or as a request for support. Emma slid her hand into the crook of his elbow.

"I guess so," she agreed, feigning reluctance.

She doubted she was fooling him, but she didn't mind letting him think that he might be fooling her. He couldn't afford to look—or feel—vulnerable at any time, especially now. If Emma had anything to say about it, he wouldn't have to. She locked her steps with Gold's and followed Tia.

Storybrooke

"Shouldn't they be back by now?" Snow asked worriedly.

David sighed. "They've only been gone about half an hour."

"Well, yes, but if they're coming back at the same moment they left… and they aren't here yet…" She frowned. "How exactly does that work? I mean, when they do get back, will we even have had this conversation, or…?"

David shook his head. "I'm not sure, exactly. I… guess we'll have to wait and see. Or not see, if it turns out that they come back before we started discussing this." He was frowning now, too. "In which case, I guess we won't know that we're supposed to be waiting and seeing anything."

There was a loud knock on the front door. Snow and David looked at one another, and then in the direction of the Apprentice's workroom. When that door failed to open, David got up and made his way toward the foyer. Snow heard his crepe-soled shoes scuff on the hardwood floor. They stopped and she recognized the metal-on-metal slide of what was probably a curtain being pulled along its rod. That was right, she thought. There had been a curtain—a gauzy one—blocking the square glass panes set at the top of the front door. Then she heard David sigh, not out of annoyance, but resignation, as he pulled it open.

A moment later, she heard two new male voices speaking almost in unison.

"You should have called, mate; I'd've gone with her!"

"Now that I've made sure Roland's safe, could you—or anyone, really—kindly explain to me what's happened to my daughter?"

David's reply was apologetic, but firm. "You'd both better come in and sit down and I'll tell you as much as we know. When Emma comes back, she can tell you the rest." He sighed. "At least now I understand why the Apprentice left out so many cookies…"

Despite the early hour, there were several joggers out and about already. A few cars and vans passed as well—and Emma tried to mask her discomfiture and reminded herself that they weren't actually driving on the 'wrong' side of the road; more like in this country, there was a different 'right' side of it.

"Is that house actually… green?" she asked Tia. Green it was, and come to think of it, the other townhouses in the row were painted from roof to foundation in pastel hues of pink, yellow, blue, and more green. Here and there, she could make out houses painted in bolder, brighter tones than pastels too.

Tia nodded. "The neighborhood's famous for it. We turn here," she added, indicating a narrow lane, and they followed her into a cobbled mews. The sun might not have risen yet, but in the dawn light, Emma could see that the row houses on this street were no less colorful. Tia didn't hesitate. Instead, she led them to a house painted the same pale gold as the sand on the Storybrooke beach, up half a dozen cement steps, and rang the bell.

The three waited, Tia patiently, the others tersely. A minute dragged by. Then another. "Maybe you should ring again," Emma suggested.

"He's not as quick as he used to b—" Tia stopped mid-word as the door opened a crack and a pair of bright eyes peered out suspiciously through gold-rimmed eyeglasses.

"Huh," a voice from slightly below the eyes snorted. "I was wondering how long it'd take you to get here." The door opened wide enough to allow them to pass through single file. "Well, don't just stand there in the street gawking," he snapped impatiently. "Come in, come in."

Tia obeyed at once, not looking to see if the others were following. Emma and Rumple exchanged a nonplussed look before proceeding on her heels.

Paul Wilson probably would have been an inch or two taller than Rumple if he were standing up straight instead of bent slightly over a serviceable-but-far-from-stylish wooden cane. He was wearing a faded gray cardigan sweater over a cotton button-down of pale blue and dark slacks. The top of his head was shiny, surrounded by a mane of thick white hair that had just enough wave in it to make Emma think it likely would have been curly, had it been a bit shorter. He regarded his visitors silently for a moment, taking their measure as they did his. Finally, he snorted and his face relaxed in a wary smile.

"I suppose you people want coffee at this hour," he grumbled. "I keep some. Mostly for when my granddaughter deigns to come home from New York for a visit. Though if you were hoping to get the full English fry-up, you'd best find a caff; if they're not open yet, they will be soon. I can offer you beans on toast, dippy eggs and soldiers, or perhaps a bowl of cereal, though." His smile grew marginally friendlier. "And then you can give me those details you told me you didn't want to go into over the phone."

Emma realized that, in all the past evening's excitement, she hadn't actually eaten supper and she was rather hungry. "Uh… whatever you're having sounds fine," she mumbled, wondering what the heck a 'dippy egg' was or what it might be dipped into. And as for 'soldiers'… She remembered the looks she'd gotten back in the Enchanted Forest when she'd asked if chimera was anything like turducken and decided she'd wait to see what Paul put on the table instead of embarrassing herself this time.

Tia nodded. "No need to go to any trouble on our account; I… don't actually care much for coffee anyway."

It was clear to both women that Rumple wanted nothing more than to be on their way back, but it was equally apparent to all three of them that their host—Paul—was in no hurry. Rumple pressed his lips together. "Well. I suppose a bit of breakfast won't go amiss, but I'd prefer we didn't tarry too long."

Paul turned to face them then, blue eyes very bright behind his eyeglasses. "You know best, I'm sure," he said. "But as I understand it, while you lot are here, you've others back in that town of yours working out how to turn my old knob into a… I think you called it a realm-crossing device?"

"Correct," Rumple nodded warily.

"And then, before we all head back there, you're going to have them send us all their research, so when we show up at the same moment you left, you'll have their notes, so you'll be able to fix the spell to my knob right quick?"

Rumple nodded once more.

Paul smiled. "Well then. Shouldn't we take a bit more time over breakfast and give that lot a chance to break some real ground?" He chuckled at their expressions. "So," he continued nonchalantly, "how many was that for tea and how many for coffee?"

Killian and Robin had no sooner sat down in the Apprentice's living room when there came another knock on the door.

"My turn," Snow sighed, getting up. She returned a moment later with August in tow. The younger man was apologizing for not having come sooner. "I was helping my father with a job on the outskirts, and I missed hearing my phone over the hammering," he said. "When I got home, I was just about to put it to charge for the night, when I realized I had a message and, once I heard it, I came straight over." He looked around. "Where's Gold? What's going on?"

David sighed. "We were just about to bring Robin and Killian up to speed. Long story short? Earlier tonight, someone Astrid and Merryweather called the 'Black Fairy' showed up in town and abducted both Robin and Zelena's daughter and Belle, and carried them off to another realm. Right now, the Apprentice, his nephew, Zelena, and the fairies are in the other room working on a way to follow them, while Rumpelstiltskin, Emma, and Tia went to England to pick up someone else they need for the trip."

August blinked. Then he grabbed two biscuits off the tray on the coffee table and lowered his lanky frame into one of the empty chairs. "I think I'm ready for 'short story long' now," he said, looking a bit dazed. "Wait." He got up again. "There any clean cups? Pretty sure I'm going to need something caffeinated while I'm listening."

"Aye," Robin said quickly, "I'll want the same."

"Me too, mate," Killian interjected. Something about the look David shot him made him add defensively, "There's a time for rum, and there's a time when a man needs his wits about him, and this? Is definitely one of those latter times."

'Dippy eggs and soldiers' turned out to be soft-boiled eggs served with narrow strips of buttered toast for dunking—or dipping—into the yolks. Once Emma realized it, she dug in with gusto, noticing that Rumple followed suit with a touch more enthusiasm than he'd demonstrated earlier at the idea of breakfast.

"It's not quite eggs in a basket," he murmured, "but it's similar."

Paul's eyebrows shot up. "If you'd rather that, it's no trouble to fix," he offered. When Rumple shook his head, he shrugged. "All right. Tell me more about where it is we're going."

"You mean, Storybrooke?" Emma asked.

Paul shook his head. "From what this young lady told me," he nodded in Tia's direction, "I'll just be passing through there long enough to get into shape for the real journey. So, let's talk about that. What is this other realm? Who is it we'll be facing? What can she do, what does she want?"

Rumple dipped a toast soldier into his egg yolk. "Reasonable questions, all," he admitted. "And while I'm afraid there's not much I can say about the Dark Realm beyond what Dr. Malone told you earlier—"

"Just Tia, if you don't mind," Tia murmured and Rumple ducked his head slightly in acknowledgment, though he didn't correct himself.

"—as for the Black Fairy, a bit of history won't go amiss." He looked at Emma. "Savior, take heed; you need to hear this, too."

"Savior?" Paul asked sharply.

"Uh…" Emma lowered her eyes. "Maybe we ought to stick to one long story at a time."

Rumple hesitated. "While I'd normally agree that that's sound advice, in this circumstance, I'm afraid it's all somewhat interconnected. You see, if the Black Fairy has chosen to make her presence known now, it can only be because the time for the Final Battle draws nigh."

"Which means?" Emma demanded, her face hardening as she lifted a toast soldier without dunking it.

Rumple shook his head as she bit into it. "It means, Savior, that matters of Dark and Light are coming to a head. And they're all about to be swirling around you."

Emma winced. "Again?" she demanded.

"To answer your questions," Rumple continued, turning back to Paul, "I suppose you're familiar with tales of magical beings who steal children from out their cradles. At least, I'd hope so, considering that you're dipping bread with one at the moment," he added with a faint smile. "But before I took up that trade, there was another…"

Zelena sucked her breath in between her teeth as the tendril of magic she directed at the model on the worktable ricocheted back in her direction. She whirled about furiously and snarled at her sister, "Don't say it!"

Regina raised her hands in a placating gesture as one eyebrow shot up of its own accord. "I wasn't going to say a word," she replied calmly.

Zelena glared at her for a moment. Then she started pacing the workroom irritably. "They could be on their way back at any moment and we'll have nothing to show for any of it!"

"It took Rumple over two hundred years to find a way to cross over to this realm," Regina reminded her. "It's not unreasonable to think that it might take us more than two hours to find a way to cross to another one. Here. May I?"

Zelena reached the bookcase at the far wall and turned around. "I thought we'd established long ago that my magic was superior to yours."

"We did," Regina nodded, still keeping her tone pleasant. "I'm not trying to match your raw power, Sis. But a bit more finesse might be called for. Earlier, Rumple referred to the enchantments surrounding that knob as a 'tangle'."

"Well, they're a mess," Zelena agreed huffily. "I suppose 'tangle' is as good a word as any. So?"

Regina was silent for a moment. "When I was about five or six," she said slowly then, "Mother decided that it was appropriate for me to learn embroidery. Not that I had any interest or aptitude, mind you, but it was the sort of thing young girls of the nobility were supposed to do. Or, at least, young girls of Mother's generation," she added, making a face. "But, since I was only about five or six, and since I wasn't very good at it, most of my offerings were," she rolled her eyes ceiling-ward, "a tangled mess. Which Mother made me begin each day untangling before allowing me to partake of breakfast." She heaved a sigh. "Some days, I barely got done in time for lunch. Maybe…" She circled the spherical model on the table, studying it with narrowed eyes. "If I got a bit more hands-on…" she murmured, more to herself than to her sister. A faint glow sprang to her fingertips, but instead of leaping toward the model, it slowly arced backward, coating her fingers, palms, and wrists with gloves of Light magic.

"What are you doing?" Zelena asked, with more interest than hostility.

Regina reached for the model, probing first with her eyes and then with her magic-encased fingertips. "Unknotting a bit of floss," she said with some satisfaction.

Zelena's eyes widened. "Show me," she ordered.

"Here." She guided her sister through the process with a second spell. "Don't tug too hard," she cautioned. "It'll make things worse. Once you separate out the first few, the rest will come more easily."

Zelena nodded. "I see it now," she said, sending her own power toward the model. Then she bit back a curse.

Regina shook her head. "You can't stop thinking about her any more than I'd be able to stop thinking about Henry in these circumstances."

The witch took a breath and Regina braced herself for another angry retort. But after a moment, Zelena exhaled, shoulders slumping. "My emotions don't usually get the better of me; not like this," she admitted.

"I know." Regina heaved a sigh of her own. "When Pan had Henry kidnapped, I spent the entire voyage to Neverland feeling like I was going to fly apart. At least, when we were attacked by mermaids, I had something to vent on."

One corner of Zelena's mouth pulled upwards in a smile. "I don't suppose you could conjure one up now?"

"Not since Poseidon's promised to put up a barrier to keep his people from crossing over, no."

Zelena sighed. "All right. Show me again."

Regina took a step forward. "By the way," she said, "I don't suppose you have any idea how some self-taught witchcraft novice managed to craft a time-travel spell in the first place?"

Zelena shook her head. "Believe me, I tried to find out," she groaned. She edged a bit closer to her sister, who whirled abruptly to face her.

"Wait. You knew about this."

"About Eglantine Jones?" Zelena snapped. "Of course. I even thought it was worth reaching out to her at one point, more fool I…"

London, 1671

Even after five years in Restoration England, there were some things that Eglantine simply could not get used to. The filth in the streets, for example. She'd grown accustomed to the stench of it, but not the sight of it. She'd thought she knew what to expect. In her girlhood, horse-drawn wagons had been the norm and she'd learned early to watch where she walked. Somehow, she'd let herself believe that London in 1666 would be similar—perhaps with a few more horses. She hadn't expected that chamber pot contents would also be flung to the cobbles with barely a scant second between the shouted 'Gardeeloo!' warning and the deluge.

These were not stupid people. Not in the slightest. But they were ignorant of all save the very basics of hygiene and not open to education. In fact, Emelius had warned her not to display her knowledge too openly. It wasn't just that female education generally began and ended with the 'petty school'—an institution that, to Eglantine's mind, seemed little more than a glorified day nursery where, if a child was fortunate, they might acquire some rudimentary reading and writing skills, but whose main purpose seemed to be geared toward the acquisition of some basic grounding in weaving or some other trade. Yes, with such constraints, it would be difficult for her to explain more than half the things she knew. But this was also a time and place where many people believed in witchcraft and necromancy as a matter of course, and it would be unwise to come to the attention of those authorities as investigated such matters.

Emelius himself had narrowly escaped being burned at the stake when a search of his previous lodgings had turned up some musty old tomes taken as 'evidence' that he'd been practicing necromancy. Worry that his wife might face similar peril was no irrational fear.

Eglantine sighed wearily and fetched her basket and shawl for shopping at the market three streets over. The irony wasn't lost on her. She'd turned her back on real magic, considering it too dangerous for casual experimentation. Instead, she'd chosen to make her home here, in the past, with Emelius. Miss Eglantine Price, erstwhile student witch, vanished from twentieth-century Bedfordshire and stood reborn as Mrs. Emelius Jones, instructor of music and voice, of seventeenth-century London. She sometimes thought about her previous life with a sort of wistful nostalgia, but she knew that those days were gone and there was no returning to them. And truthfully, for all the relative ease of twentieth century life and all its modern conveniences, she still had few regrets about leaving that time behind her. No, she was quite happy with the choices that had brought her here. And magic was more trouble than it was worth, so she was quite thankful that there was none of the real kind here.

She pulled out her hand mirror to give her appearance one final going-over before she went out. And then, she nearly dropped it. The reflection in the glass was not her own. It was at least twenty years younger, with wildly curling red hair, vivid blue eyes… and flesh the color of an emerald. Its lips parted. And then, a voice with cadences that wouldn't have been out of place in Cambridgeshire exclaimed merrily, "Well, hello, there!"

Oz, years ago…

Since taking over the Emerald City, Zelena had been dividing her time between terrorizing her new subjects and tracking down every snip or scrap of magical research pertaining to time travel. Some way, somehow, she was going to rewrite her past and have it come out her way.

She wasn't restricting her search to Oz, either. She'd made several trips to the Enchanted Forest already—always making sure that she steered clear of both Rumple and her sister. One day, she would have her vengeance on them both, but she wasn't about to do anything to attract their attention now.

Oddly enough, Zelena's first real break hadn't come from either Rumple or Regina, but from a realm-hopping thief she'd caught in her treasure room. It hadn't taken much persuasion to get him to confess who he was and who had hired him. Not that she should have been surprised.

"So," she'd hissed. "Rumple's still keeping tabs on me, is he?" She was gripping a pearl the size of a grapefruit in one hand and she reeled back as though preparing to fling it at him.

"N-not you," the man named Jefferson whimpered in his chains. "Your slippers. He wants your slippers." His head drooped toward his chest, his eyes—already swollen from the beating she'd had her monkeys administer to him—were glazed and nearly closed.

A cruel smile came to the witch's face as she lowered her hand and held the pearl casually before her once more. "Assuming I let you live to return to him—and right now, that is quite the assumption, be sure to tell him that I sent those slippers off to another land, so he's wasting his time trying to steal them from me now." Her eyes narrowed. "How did you get here, anyway? Did he transport you?"

Jefferson started to nod, not noticing that the pearl in her hand had changed from lustrous white to obsidian black.

"Liar!" Zelena shouted, using a bolt of magic to punctuate her displeasure. Jefferson screamed and twisted, but his restraints held.

"Okay," Jefferson said feebly. "Okay. It wasn't the Dark One. It was my hat."

Automatically, her gaze slid to the article in question, now sitting innocently on a table to one side. "Explain," she ordered.

He did. At length. And when he was done, Zelena realized that she'd just discovered the first key to unlocking her someday vengeance.

"But the hat's not a time machine," Regina said, confusion plain on her face, even as she kept her focus on the model before her.

Zelena snorted. "Well, it can't bring anyone to the past, but it can let you touch it. And I'm surprised you haven't figured that part out," she added. "I mean, I spent a great deal of time watching you, in this land as well as in the Enchanted Forest. You held the answer in your hand—and you never realized what it meant."

Regina shook her head irritably, her glance landing on the corner of the workshop where Tony and the Apprentice huddled with the fairies, still working on crafting the spell that would allow the bedknob to cross realms once they'd untangled the other enchantments enough to weave it in. "What are you talking about?"

Zelena smirked. "Really, Sis, do you have any idea what state an apple would be in after thirty-some days, never mind years? Especially one that someone'd already taken a bite out of?" She shook her head dolefully at her sister's consternation.

"Anyway, time-travel spells have been attempted before. Never successfully, or so I believed, but there were certain commonalities among those that came close. Imagine my surprise when I found such a signature swirling about an object in a realm that wasn't supposed to have magic. Naturally, I reached out to its owner, hoping to procure it for myself…

An hour later, Eglantine was still trembling, the morning errands forgotten. That… woman! That woman. Eglantine sank onto her bed and hugged herself.

She'd started studying magic as a lark, taking almost childish delight when her spells worked, however badly. She'd daydreamed about offering her assistance to the War Office, doing her part to turn back the German advance, being lauded for her accomplishments, perhaps receiving the George Cross or the Order of the British Empire… Somehow it had never felt quite real. And she really hadn't been very good at witchcraft, though her skills had been slowly improving. At best, she realized, she'd been a glorified dabbler; a hobbyist who might be able to eke out a career performing parlour tricks at children's parties.

The woman who had appeared in her mirror a short while ago had been a different sort altogether. Oh, she'd acted friendly enough, but Eglantine didn't doubt that there were talons in those velvet gloves.

And she wanted the knob. She claimed that she was a collector of magical curiosities, but Eglantine's instincts told her that there had to be more.

"I'll pay you well," Zelena had smiled. "Gold, jewels, a house in a," she'd wrinkled her nose, "cleaner part of the city. Perhaps, a child?"

"I'm nearly fifty years old!" Eglantine had protested.

"I can fix that, too, if you'd like," had been the cheerful rejoinder.

"I-I'll need to think it over," she'd whispered, and the witch had beamed.

"Of course. I'll look in on you in a day or so, and you can name your price then."

She had to admit that it was tempting. A house in the country. A child. To be young again… But if Zelena wanted the knob that badly, Eglantine wanted to know why. She'd learned to trust her instincts and her instincts told her that the woman was dangerous. And that she would keep coming back until she got what she wanted.

Eglantine sat on the bed and chewed on the inside of her lower lip. And then, she stretched out her hand and unscrewed the knob from the base of the footboard. Zelena might need the knob, but she didn't. Not here, not really.

Her decision made, she slid the knob into her handbag, donned her shawl, and set out—not toward the market, but toward London Bridge. When she'd come to this time, she'd wanted no second-guessing, no chance at return to the twentieth century. Now that she was parting with the knob that had carried her here, once again, she intended to leave no option for reversing her decision at some later point. Zelena could tempt or threaten as she liked; Eglantine couldn't hand over what she no longer possessed and could not retrieve.

Let the Thames carry the knob where it would—out to sea or down to its depths; she would look upon it no more from this day forward.

Paul reached for Emma's empty plate. Rumple and Tia passed theirs over as well.

"I can dry," Tia offered.

"You can sit," Paul retorted. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm six again the way everyone tries to do for me." He snorted a bit, though, and there was a twinkle in his eye that told them that he wasn't nearly as cranky as he was acting. Instead of getting up at once, however, he stayed seated with the stack of dirty plates before him.

"All right," he said after a moment. "You've told me why we're going to this realm and who this Black Fairy character is…

Except, Emma added in her mind, for the part about her being Gold's mother. She didn't blame him for keeping a few secrets, especially from someone he'd only just met, but she knew that if Paul wasn't told soon, it would probably complicate matters down the road. She'd have to discuss that with Gold later.

"Also," Paul continued, "I understand why you need the knob to get there; or, from what Tia was saying, why you're hoping the knob will get you there." He smiled a bit. "Bené usually knows what he's doing, I think, so I'm not overly pessimistic. But I do believe you've left a few things out about this… Final Battle. I mean, folks don't just get up and put on armor one day because they've got nothing better to do. So, what's the reason for the battle? Your wife, that child… I know they're important to you, but it sounded to me like they're means to an end. So, what is that end? What is it you've got? What is it she wants?"

Rumple's smile was thin and touched by sadness, and though his voice was gentle, there was something deadly serious in his eyes. "The Black Fairy," he said, "is the champion of Darkness. And Darkness wants what it always wants." He took another breath. "It wants to snuff out the light."