Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1480402.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Once_Upon_a_Time_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Belle/Rumplestiltskin_|_Mr._Gold
  Character:
      Belle_(Once_Upon_a_Time), Rumplestiltskin_|_Mr._Gold
  Additional Tags:
      Spinner_Rumplestiltskin_|_Mr._Gold, Alternate_Universe_-_No_Curse,
      Underage_Sex, First_Time, Physical_Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/
      Referenced_Rape/Non-con, Angst_and_Fluff_and_Smut, Angst_with_a_Happy
      Ending, Rumbelle_Secret_Santa
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-17 Updated: 2014-06-15 Chapters: 3/? Words: 19760
****** Finding Beauty ******
by Mrs_Stiltskin_(Lady_Belles_Teacup)
Summary
     Spinner AU: Young Rumplestiltskin has fallen in love with his new
     apprentice, but she is forbidden to him. A princess who must wed as
     dictated by the crown, Belle has no desire to marry into another
     noble house. Can she and her spinner ever find their happy ending?
     Warning: This work does contain references to spousal abuse and rape.
Notes
     Part of Rumbelle Secret Santa 2013
***** Finding Beauty, Part 1 *****
“Rumplestiltskin!” Elsinore’s rusty voice grated on him from the other room,
“Rumplestiltskin, a new apprentice has arrived, we’d like you to get started
with her right away.” He frowned, hearing the shuffle of footsteps as someone
was ushered unwillingly into the spinning room, “Come along now, lassie,
everything will be fine.”
A young child? Rumplestiltskin clenched his jaw, but his hands remained steady
as he spun, letting out just the right amount of wool with each twist of the
whorl. His productive time would be severely limited by the time it would take
to teach a young girl to spin competently and he would have to work extra to
make his quotas. Anyone could learn the technique, but either you had the knack
of it or you didn’t. He didn’t look up when they entered the room, his lips
pressed together in a taut line the only evidence of his displeasure.
Elsinore herded the girl into the comfortably furnished room with a firm hand
upon her shoulder. The child was tiny, but dressed in clothing that was finely
made from rich cloth. Her head was bowed, hiding her face behind a curtain of
chestnut curls, and her shoulders shook silently. She was crying. An unwilling
student was even worse than a young one, but Rumplestiltskin had no choice, he
must do as the spinsters bid.
“Isobel, this is Rumplestiltskin, to whom you will be apprenticed,” Elsinore’s
creaking voice did nothing to calm the girl, who, if anything, curled further
into herself. It was the creak of an old wheel, rusted from long disuse.
“Rumplestiltskin, this is Isobel, she has come to us from Avonlea. She,”
Elsinore hesitated, as if not knowing exactly what to say, “was a princess
there. She will learn to make fine threads for needlepoint and tapestry.”
Rumple knew from rumours that Avonlea had been utterly destroyed in the Ogre’s
War, one of the first kingdoms to fall to this new menace from the north. She
must be one of only a handful of survivors.
"Over there,” Rumplestiltskin gestured in an offhand way without looking up to
a small wheel that sat in the corner of the room. “Sit at the wheel, and I will
be there as soon as I’m finished.” He heard Elsinore turn and leave the room in
a rustle of skirts and the hollow clap of her heels against the worn, old, wood
floor.
The wheel creaked and spun as he pumped the treadle in a steady rhythm, playing
out the last of the wool he held in his hand, each bit of carefully carded
fibre following the next until it joined the twisting, growing strand as it
slipped hypnotically through the flyer to wind around the bobbin.
Rumplestiltskin’s deft fingers worked fibres of any kind like magic. The
luxurious threads and yarns he produced were in constant demand as much amongst
the craftspeople and artisans patronized by the royals of King George’s court
as in the market stalls of the villages scattered throughout the countryside.
As young man, now in his early twenties, he had already been spinning for more
than half his life.
He was a quiet boy, shy and solitary, but polite and friendly when required; he
spent his days working at the wheel or the distaff or carding fibres to be
spun. Sometimes he could be found working with quiet patience, drawing and
smoothing precious gold foils for a special thread he himself had developed. He
spoke little unless urged or drawn out, preferring to keep to himself and his
work, his hands and mind constantly occupied. He had rarely socialized with the
other children of the village, and that changed little as he grew into
adulthood. Long past was the time when his caretakers would have married him
off to some butcher or weaver’s daughter, but his worth as a spinner was far
greater to them than any dowry a common wife would bring.
Rumplestiltskin was best known for the exceptionally perfect and lustrous gold
thread he produced by spinning the finest silk with delicate gold foil, beaten
and drawn until it was nearly invisible. His skill with the technique was
unsurpassed and his threads were worked into fine tapestries and gowns of great
beauty that graced the walls and ballrooms of royal courts across the land.
Courtesans, princesses and queens wore cloth of gold embellished with the
product of his labours, though he did not know it at the time.
The spinsters who had taken him in as an orphan would exclaim, “I’d swear the
lad could spin even straw into gold!” whenever they watched him at his craft,
but Rumplestiltskin never knew the extent to which his work was coveted and
admired. As a boy of just nine, he had found himself alone in the world with no
family to speak of, and the spinsters had taken him in and put him to work for
his room and board. Though they weren’t cruel or harsh with him, neither did
they let on the value of his work or how much it had benefitted the spinsters’
now finely appointed home.
The women were not cruel, not really, but practical. When they took in
children, which was rare, they were expected to work long but fair hours for
their keep. They did all manner of chores about the house, from the raising of
the livestock to the cooking, cleaning and washing. A choice few throughout the
years were trained to spin or dye the wool if they demonstrated their
suitability to the task, one or two in a generation chose to dedicate their
lives to the craft and join the spinsterhood.
By the king’s law, they owned any orphans they accepted into their care and
their work until their twenty-fifth birthday or until the women found them a
suitable match. Rumplestiltskin’s value was never in his worth as a husband,
but in the gift of his clever mind and nimble fingers, as well as the almost
magical gold thread he had developed and mastered. They took in boys rarely,
Rumplestiltskin was the only one in living memory. More often they took in
girls to be reared to young adulthood and then bundled off to marry some minor
lord or merchant in exchange for their promised patronage.
This one was a princess, a rare prize indeed. Her political worth to the king
immense, hidden here in this little-known village, to be brought out as a pearl
of great price when the time was ripe. She would be intended for marriage to a
noble or perhaps even a royal house, he supposed it depended on just how badly
the ogres had razed her lands, and whether or not they could be run off again
to reclaim workable farmland. When he looked up, she was still standing where
Elsinore had left her, head bowed, white-knuckled hands clenched tightly,
fisted in her skirts. Rumplestiltskin suddenly felt bad for the frightened
child who stood before him trembling.
"Isobel, come and sit at the wheel,” Rumplestiltskin stood to show her, and she
looked up at him. Blue eyes the color of a winter sky stopped him in his
tracks, his voice catching in his throat. She was no child, she was perhaps
fourteen, her alabaster skin smooth and flawless, the bow of her lips a
delicate pink. Thick chestnut curls framed a face that was both lovely and wise
beyond the appearance of her years. Rumplestiltskin’s heart was lost in that
moment, his hand shaking as he stilled the creaking wheel; he stood dumb,
staring at the girl with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, finding no words as they
rattled about, just out of reach in his head.
“Please call me Belle,” her voice was warm, even through it quivered with her
fear.
“What’s that?” Rumplestilskin started, his brogue thick in his distraction. He
shook his head to clear it, to wipe away the vision that suddenly came to him,
of her, wrapped in his embrace. The days of his life until this moment had been
filled with his craft and his mentoring, he had hardly even given thought to
notions of a carnal nature. Those notions blossomed in him now, though he knew
that her station was far above his, and that in her youth and her rank, she was
most certainly forbidden to him.
"My name, Rumplestiltskin,” she said, her voice a little stronger, her chin
lifted as if to defy her fate. She unclenched her hands, smoothing down her
skirts and took a breath that seemed to calm her, “My name is Belle. No one has
ever called me Isobel, though it is my given name.”
“Well then, Belle,” he’d finally got hold of himself, and he smiled at her,
giving her a little half bow from the waist, “please call me Rumple, if you
don’t mind. Rumplestiltskin is quite a mouthful.”
Belle smiled and curtseyed, “Lovely to meet you, Rumple.”
*******
Rumplestiltskin treated her always with the utmost respect. He knew his
purpose, to teach her the skills of spinning and weaving without thinking about
how much her companionship wrenched his heart into thoughts of becoming a man
and to whom he would eventually be married. His thoughts had never really led
there before, as he had never considered himself worth much more than the straw
on which the animals he kept bedded, how would he ever win a wife? And surely
never Belle, patient, kind, and lovely Belle; his heart’s desire and completely
out of reach.
So he kept dutifully to his task, and taught her his most intricate skills,
watching over her always, protecting her from a distance, being sure the men
and boys of the village kept respectful tongues as well as respectful distance
in their dealings with her. Though he thought she didn’t know it, and to his
own surprise, Rumple held his own in more than a few fights with village boys
who had less than pure notions about Belle.
He gave fierce lickings to any he discovered to be eyeing her or speaking of
her to the other boys, disabusing them quickly of such thoughts of a girl so
far above any of them. A few times he’d ended up on the bloodier end of such
encounters, especially with a number of the older men he’d caught leering at
her, speaking in hushed tones to their compatriots and laughing suggestively.
But he never failed to get his point across, in one way or another, and soon
Belle found herself given a wide and respectable berth by all the males of the
village. And for the first time in his life, Rumplestiltskin found himself
feared and did not dislike it.
Gaston Fletcher was one of his most difficult and most obstinate opponents. The
town drunkard, the village lout, he was useless to everyone but his own over-
inflated self-worth. He was a widower, and lonely, and no nubile, unattached
girl was safe from his lecherous scrutiny. On market days he would lurk among
the stalls and harass the the young women sellers with his foul breath and his
even fouler jokes.
Rumplestiltskin had seen Gaston’s eyes light up when he caught sight of Belle
for the first time. Practically licking his lips as he watched them bring their
wares to market, and Rumple resolved to put an end to his fruitless suit
posthaste. Dark rumours circulated now and then about him, about his rough
handling of the tavern wenches and village prostitutes, and even darker ones
about what exactly had befallen his late wife. It made him see red to think of
Gaston’s meaty hamfists anywhere near Belle, and he had no doubt what would
happen if Gaston found her out alone and unescorted.
Gaston was a trained fighter, and he was big, and strong. But Rumple was small
and lithe and for a blow to injure, it had first to land. Rumple frustrated
him, especially when Gaston was drunk and stumbling, which was nearly always.
Rumple had hit him more than once when he’d been particularly crass in his
dealings with Belle, usually when Gaston was at his most inebriated, warning
shots across the bow as it were. When Gaston hadn’t relented after several
market days, continuing to pester Belle, teasing her and making suggestive
comments to her, Rumple caught the miserable sot out one night and used his
wits to thrash him.
The fight was legendary amongst the tavern patrons who witnessed it.
Rumplestiltskin waited until evening fell and Gaston was three sheets to the
wind, he called out to Gaston, goading him into throwing the first punch. That
punch never landed, infuriating Gaston and sending him into a blind rage.
Rumple ducked several clumsy, overwrought punches as Gaston staggered about,
determined to land a knockout blow all at once on this insolent, pestering fly.
But, Rumple was quick, and though Gaston managed to get in a couple of blows
that would have been staggering had they truly landed, they were only glancing
instead. A cut above the eye that trickled blood and a split lip hardly
troubled him. Rumple laughed and shook them off, taunting Gaston even further,
his blood high and pumping furiously in his ears. Gaston charged like an angry
bull, determined to take Rumplestiltskin out. Rumple saw the glint of a hidden
blade, and shaking his head, knew it was time to end this. He let Gaston get
close, and in the moment before impact, stepped into the blow, using Gaston’s
own momentum against him, twisting and flipping the larger man over to land in
a heap.
Gaston managed to stab himself in the thigh with the dagger he had concealed in
his hand and nearly bled to death behind the tavern. If it weren’t for his
cronies finding and tending him, he probably would have, and perhaps it would
have served him right to do so. It wasn’t for Rumple to say. He was only glad
that Gaston accepted his exile from Belle’s presence with sullen ill-humour and
did not dare even look in Belle’s direction when she was in town, or Rumple’s
direction either for that matter. Rumple was sure he would someday pay for
Gaston’s humiliation, but it was a price he was willing to pay for Belle’s
comfort and safety.
Rumple shrugged off his own wounds after these encounters, chalking most of the
injuries up to being generally disliked by the others. He hid behind the mask
of the shy and bullied coward whenever Belle asked him how he had acquired the
various cuts and black eyes that occasionally decorated his features. “I guess
I’m a difficult man to love,” he would tease her with a shrug and a flippant
smirk as he ducked away from her clucking, motherly concern whenever she saw
blood or bruises.
She would look after him, her brows knit and her lovely mouth drawn into a pout
as he danced lithely away from her scrutiny as well as her damp handkerchief.
Tossing his long hair forward and hiding behind a curtain of sandy strands and
a rapidly spinning wheel while Belle frowned and protested, “Rumple! Let me
tend that before it festers. Please. If you don’t, I’ll tell Elsinore or
Margarethe.” But he would only chuckle and feel a little better knowing that
she was safe from the cretins of this backwater village.
But Rumple found he could not protect her from one thing, the demons that
haunted her dreams. He heard her in her room at night, crying out and sobbing
in her sleep, endlessly fleeing the monsters who had destroyed her home and
family. Once, Rumple got up the nerve to ask her what had happened, but she
only shook her head and fled from him, sobbing into her hand. When she had
returned to her wheel, her tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes had been
enough to keep him from asking again.
Over the course of the year, Belle flourished as a spinner of fine threads, she
was well schooled, being of royal blood, and learned things quickly. She was
particularly adroit with the finest threads and Rumple looked forward to
showing her his technique for spinning gold thread. She would be the envy of
her sewing circle someday.
Belle spent much of her free time roaming the village and making friends with
the women and girls there. But most often she could be found sitting by the
creek that ran beyond the fields and reading the one book of stories that she
had managed to bring with her. It was her most precious and prized possession.
Belle was far more gregarious than he and her easy chatter once she had come
out of her shell had somewhat overwhelmed him, though Rumple never complained.
One afternoon, she was chatting away as they spun side by side. She was telling
him one of the stories in her book, it was one of adventure and intrigue in a
far off land, of Agrabah beyond the sea, and one that Rumple had heard many
times already. Rumple nodded, not really listening, but absorbed with his
spinning and his own thoughts of her soft hands when they had happened to touch
him while they were oiling the spinning wheels and winding hanks of yarn before
breakfast.
Belle had stopped spinning. “You would?” She exclaimed, smiling, a satisfied
look on her face, “Oh, that’s wonderful, I can’t wait, we should start straight
away, tonight after supper. We might have to sneak, I’m not sure how the old
ladies will feel about it.”
Belle finished the skein she was working on and busied herself winding it with
careful patience. Not so loose as to allow the strands to tangle, nor so tight
as to stretch the fibres, but just as Rumple had shown her, crisscrossed
lightly and without tension. “I’ll even help you feed the animals so we can get
started earlier.” She bustled out of the room, humming to herself.
Rumple’s heart squeezed in his chest, tightening in panic, he had no idea what
he had just agreed to. He closed his eyes, well, whatever it was he was
committed now. He sighed to himself and hoped to the gods it was nothing he
would regret too badly. Though knowing Belle…
After a supper where he was more withdrawn than usual, hiding behind his
curtain of sandy hair and making no eye-contact, Rumple slunk away to quickly
tend the sheep and the chickens. He was hoping to hide amongst the haystacks
until Belle forgot what it was that she wanted from him, but she was already
there and working when he arrived at the pens.
Belle’s hair was caught up in a pair of blue ribbons that just matched the
color of her eyes. Her skirts were hitched high and tucked so that he could see
the curve of her calves and her slender ankles. He almost turned away, but
Belle turned first and he was caught out, his face flushed crimson, staring
like one of the letchers he had been trouncing regularly on her behalf.
Rumple looked away, his mouth working, though not his voice, but not before he
saw Belle’s smile. “I’m finished with the sheep, all we have to do is feed the
chickens and we can go,” Belle said. She was measuring grain into two cloth-
lined baskets, she handed one to Rumple as she passed by. “Where do you think
we should do it?” Belle asked, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully.
Rumplestiltskin nearly tripped over a branch that had no earthly substance,
catching himself and the basket of grain at the moment just before all passed
the point of recovery. “Um, I’m not sure, Belle, what were you thinking?” he
stammered over the words, feeling like a fool. They reached the chicken yard
and began to scatter grain for the feisty birds as they pecked and scratched
around their feet.
“I was thinking in your room or mine, but if we get caught, the old ladies
might pitch a fit,” Belle said thoughtfully. She paused a moment, her hand in
the grain basket. “There’s the barn or the hayloft, but we’d need to pinch a
lantern and that might be difficult.”
Belle turned at the sound of uproarious cackling and the beating wings of
startled chickens, and her eyes widened in surprise before she stifled an
unladylike snigger behind her hand, her eyes sparkling with laughter, “Rumple!
What happened? We’ll probably get only a few eggs tomorrow!”
Rumple was sitting in the dirt and chicken feed, without a clear thought in his
head, trying for his life to figure out what in the heavens she was talking
about. It couldn’t possibly be what he was thinking! He waved off Belle’s
attempt to help him up, so she stooped instead to pick up his empty basket and
kicked around the pile of feed. “Belle, I’m not sure this is a good idea,
perhaps another time…” he tried to gather his wits as he gathered himself up
off the ground, brushing down his tunic and leggings.
“Of course it’s a good idea, Rumple. I think everyone should know how to read
and write, no matter what their class or station in life.” Belle shook her
head, becoming serious. “I know it’s frowned upon, and most of the common folk
have no time for proper schooling, but I truly believe everyone should have the
opportunity to learn the basics if they wish to. Reading, writing and
ciphering.”
Belle’s blue eyes shone and her cheeks flushed a vivid pink, her conviction and
sincere feeling in every word. “I know Elsie and Mags taught you basic
ciphering to keep tallies and records of your production,” Belle put her hand
on his arm and he turned to look at her, “but what about your letters? Think of
how your world will expand, Rumple. Please let me teach you.”
"Elsie and Mags?” Rumple laughed. “I think they would fall over stone dead if
they ever heard you call them by such names.”
“It’s what they call each other, in private,” Belle said, giggling. “Of course,
I would never speak them within earshot of the old bats,” she clarified with a
vehement shake of her head.
Rumple laughed and she looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with expectation,
and his heart beat a strange tattoo against his ribs, “Well? Will you let me
teach you?”
“Ah, I dunno, Belle,” Rumple gave his head a helpless shake, “if you think you
can teach an old sheepdog like me a trick like that, we’ll give it a try I
suppose.” He looked away, towards the now lit windows of the house, “Though
you’re right, Elsie and Mags won’t cotton to it at all, I’ve a notion they want
to keep me for themselves as long as they can, so we’d best keep out of sight.
I’m thinking the hayloft.”
“I can do it,” Belle assured him. “The hayloft it is, we should stagger our
times, so no one wonders where we are, I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”
Belle trotted off, letting her skirts fall and brushing them down as she
disappeared into the house. Rumple watched after her for long minutes wondering
what he’d gotten himself in for.
He wanted desperately to ask the spinsters if there was any possibility of
Belle being granted permission to marry him, but he knew the answer already.
Nor could he seriously consider taking Belle from the privileged, comfortable
life she was born to, to one of hard work and struggle. It was unthinkable to
him. Only his most selfish heart wanted her for his own. The heart that loved
her wanted her to have all the luxury and ease that the promise of her royal
life could provide
Rumple kicked stones about the yard as he waited for her. Finally getting up
the nerve to climb up into the hayloft and settle himself to wait. He hadn’t
been sitting long, idly twisting pieces of straw into a length of golden twine,
when Belle’s scrubbed and smiling face appeared at the top of the ladder.
“You’re so talented, Rumple. I hope you don’t waste your life here in this
backwater village,” Belle sighed watching him with rapt attention as his
fingers twisted the straw with deft economy. “You could go to one of the larger
towns and make a good living.”
He motioned for her to give him her wrist and she held her arm out to him, “I
dunno, Belle. I’ve never known any place but this.” He hesitated, shaking his
head, “I had always hoped my father would come back to get me.” He worked in
silence for a few minutes, and when he let go of her hand, she was wearing a
delicate bracelet of straw braids that looked almost like gold. A neat bow
decorated one side.
Belle put her hands in her lap, chewing her bottom lip, her features clouded,
“I thought you were an orphan, like me.”
"I don’t really know, Belle. The last time I saw my father, he was very much
alive," Rumple looked away. He didn’t want Belle to see the tears that gathered
in his eyes whenever he thought of his father. A dark chuckle broke from his
lips, "But who knows now, it’s been too many years, and my father was nae very
good at making friends. He was much better at making enemies," he observed.
Rumple waved his hand, "But enough of that, you were were going to teach me my
letters."
They settled into the straw side by side with Belle’s beloved book and a few
scraps of stolen parchment spread before them, and by that and many other
afternoons and evenings of dim lantern light, Rumplestiltskin learned his
letters. His mind was as quick and clever as his hands, and Belle was an
excellent teacher. Soon enough she had Rumple reading aloud to her from her
book of stories.
As his facility increased, he took to reading with more feeling and emotion, to
play-acting the different voices and parts for her. Belle would laugh at him,
her eyes shining as she lay in the straw, her chin propped in her hand and
looking at him as though he were the only other person in existence.
Rumplestiltskin could not think of anything in the whole world that was more
beautiful to him than the sound of Belle’s laughter if it were not the sight of
her lying beside him, tousled in the hay.
One evening at the height of summer, when the crickets were chirping and Elsie
and Mags believed Belle to be tucked safely in her bed, Rumple was reading to
her of the far shores of Agrabah. Belle sat with unwavering attention, her eyes
closed as he read to her. She had told him the story a thousand times while
they spun, but she never seemed to tire of it. He read to her of the rich
marketplaces, of bazaars filled with fine silks and exotic delicacies, of evil
genies bottled by great sorcerers - slaves to their lamps and the masters who
were granted three wishes to use for good or for ill. He read to her of the
lush tropical seacoasts and the vast fiery deserts, of fertile oases of date
palms and blue springs of clear water. When he closed the book, Belle opened
her eyes and looked at him, her steady blue gaze pinning him.
"Why couldn’t we take ship for such a place, Rumple?"
He looked sharply at her, “What?” Surely his ears had not heard her correctly.
Belle sat on her knees, placing her hands on Rumple’s thighs. He flinched away
from her, but Belle held him fast. He felt her fingers brush his cheek, softly,
and he closed his eyes, “Belle,” the word was choked. His throat too tight to
speak.
"I want the same thing as you, Rumple," Belle’s face was so close to his now,
he could feel her breath on his skin. She smelled of strawberries and summer
wheat. "I want you to ask for my hand." She pressed her lips to his, and he
opened his eyes, startled. Hers were closed, she parted her lips and he felt
the soft warmth of her tongue brush gently against his lips. His startled
intake of breath granted her the access she needed and suddenly she had filled
his mouth with the warm wetness of her tongue.
Instinct brought his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against him while
her fingers carded through his long hair, playing gently with the ends. Shivers
ran down his spine, and Rumple trembled from head to toe. He felt every curve
of her body and his own begin to react as he held her and kissed her, their
tongues and lips finding a sweet rhythm together. It was everything he’d ever
imagined, having her in his arms, her body fitted perfectly with his. Belle’s
mouth every bit as intoxicating as his most fevered dreams had promised.
He pulled away first, breathing hard, and pressed his forehead to hers. Rumple
could barely speak, every word a breathy struggle, “Belle, you know as well as
I do that they will never allow us to marry. Your lands are still held in title
to you, and if they are recovered, would be returned to your rule, and your
husband’s. King George is not going to allow the blood of an orphan peasant to
ascend rank to a noble house. My father was a criminal, a swindler, it’s widely
known.”
"Then let’s run away, take ship and sail across the sea," Belle gripped his
hair tight in her fists, tugging him toward her. "We can make a life together.
I’m not afraid."
"Belle, I’ll not take you from the life that you were born to. You deserve all
of the comforts and privileges that I can never provide you," his face was
pinched with pain and he could not look at her. He tried to turn away, he
wanted to flee, down the ladder and into the night, but Belle held tight and
would not let him escape her.
"I don’t care about living a life of privilege with someone I do not love,
Rumple. I have lived that life, I’ve had every material thing my heart desired,
and it means nothing to me," Belle’s fingers dug hard against his scalp, but he
welcomed the small hurt, it grounded him, kept him from simply floating away.
"Everyone else I’ve ever loved is dead. What does wealth mean in the face of
that?"
"You can’t eat love, Belle," Rumple said, a note of bitter sadness coloring his
voice. Rising and turning away at last, his hands balled into fists so tight he
could feel the sharp crescents of pain where his nails bit hard into the flesh
of his palms, he struggled for control. His heart was tight in his chest and it
hurt to draw a breath. Belle’s hands came around his waist and she pressed her
face between his shoulders, her breaths as ragged and barely controlled as his.
"I cannot make you into a criminal, an outcast, because that is what we’d
always be," Rumple shook his head, trapping her small hands beneath his own. "I
have nothing, I own nothing. If we leave here, it will be with nothing. Except
the clothes on our backs and the law at our heels. I cannot, Belle. I love you
too much."
"You love me?" Belle asked, her voice small. "I knew you cared for me, that you
have protected me and watched over me. That some of the cuts and bruises and
black eyes you’ve suffered were received in defense of my honor. But you do
love me?”
“From the moment I first set eyes on you, Belle,” Rumple breathed, “I’ve loved
you.” He laughed through the tears that had pooled in his eyes, he had never
dreamed of having this conversation with her. His lips tingling from kisses he
could still taste. “You knew about the fights? I couldn’t stand to see them
look at you or talk about you like that.”
“I figured it out a while ago, Rumple,” Belle laughed softly. “It became
evident when no one would speak to or even look at me when I walked by. When
Gaston stopped harassing me and wouldn’t even look at you, I knew. I wanted to
tell you I could take care of myself, but it made me feel safe to know you were
always there watching out for me. ”
He stroked the back of her hand, pushing back the sleeves of her dress to run
his fingers softly up her arms. On the wrist upon which he had fastened it
months ago, he found the little straw bracelet still tied with its neat bow. He
lifted her arm to look at it, running his thumb over the delicate loops. “You
kept it. Why?”
"Because I love you as well,” Belle’s muffled whisper ran through his body like
a blow to the gut. He nearly doubled over, the urge to flee even stronger than
before. Only the shock of her revelation rooted him to the spot. How could he
reject her love? The thing he had longed for since the moment he saw her,
beautiful and strong and trembling with loss and fear. He must. He must! No
matter the cost to himself.
“Belle, I can’t.” His mouth was so dry, why couldn’t he swallow? Breathe?
“I know.” They stood there like that for a long while without speaking, tears
slipping silently down each of their faces. His landing on their joined hands,
hers leaving damp patches on the back of his tunic.
“If I must do my duty and marry someone I do not love,” Belle spoke fiercely,
squeezing him with her arms, “then there is one thing I would ask of you,
Rumple.”
“Anything I have to offer is yours, Belle.” Rumple turned and held her by the
waist. He tried not to shake, to be steady for her, though his own heart was
torn in two.
“A memory,” Belle whispered, reaching up on tiptoes to pull him down to her. He
resisted, closing his eyes and shaking his head, but she did not relent. “If I
am to spend my life as a broodmare to some noble house, I want to know what it
is to lie with the man I love at least once in my life and to take that with me
as a cherished memory.”
“You’re too young!” Rumple protested, trying to disengage, but Belle did not
back away. She didn’t even know what she was asking!
“I’m not. I know how it works. My mother made certain my governess taught me
well what to expect when my husband lay between my thighs. The only reason I am
still here in this no-name village is so King George can use me to his best
political advantage when the time is right. I know that, Rumple.” Belle’s
temper flared, her words were contained but hot.
“I would be married and with child already if it were to King George’s
advantage. Believe me, I know that. Please, Rumple, don’t deny me this. If you
love me as you say you do. Please,” a single tear slid down her cheek and she
gripped his arms as though she were falling. “Please.” The last was barely a
whisper.
Rumplestiltskin was lost. He barely knew the basics of what she was asking and
fear took his heart, both of what he was about to do and the consequences to
her if anyone ever found out. By the king’s law and long-held tradition, her
virginity was the property of her father, to be passed to her husband, and of
the king himself, since she was of noble birth.
But Belle put her arms around his shoulders and her fingers in his long hair
and tugged him down to lie with her in the sweet-smelling hay. His body and his
heart could not refuse even though his mind wanted to, for her sake, and for
the sake of his own bursting joy at the thought of her wrapped in his arms as
he’d dreamed from that very first day.
Belle lay on her back, her head pillowed in drifts of summer straw, and Rumple
lay next to her on his side, half covering her, one hand gripping her waist
like a lifeline, knuckles white, as he lowered his face to kiss her. His moan
was soft as their lips met, though every nerve in his body was on fire for her
already, his kiss was still hesitant where hers was not.
“Belle, oh,” he whispered into her mouth as she parted her lips and their
tongues met once again. He had seen men and women kissing in the dark corners
of the tavern and had felt his blood rise, but nothing prepared him for the
sheer feeling of her warm sweetness filling his senses. For the taste of her
mouth and the way she bit at his bottom lip in her desire and impatience for
his touch.
As a young lad, he’d sometimes encountered pairs of revelers coupling behind
the tavern under cover of darkness. Politeness and discretion had wanted him to
turn away, but curiosity had won out and he had watched with both fascination
and arousal at the obvious pleasure of the participants. He’d slunk away when
they were finished, a mix of emotions tangled inside him. Aroused, but also
shamefaced for spying on such private moments and fearful of the day when he
might perform such acts himself. Now Rumplestiltskin understood the urgency he
had witnessed as Belle’s desire stoked and drove his own, his body reacting in
earnest as he pressed himself against the soft flesh of her hips.
Rumple’s heart beat like a trapped bird as he ran his hand over the bodice of
her dress, tracing the delicate piping with his fingertips and plucking gently
at the ribbon that laced it tight. His hand trembling as he moved his fingers
with butterfly lightness over the bare skin just above the soft, cerulean
fabric, the gentle swell of her breasts tugging at something primal, deep
within. He felt his belly tighten when Belle arched up into him, gasping for
breath as he dragged his clumsy kisses down her neck to the small mounds of her
breasts. He ran his lips and tongue across the rise and fall, dipping his nose
into the space between and inhaling deeply while Belle keened with pleasure,
her limbs shaking as she clutched at him.
He hesitated there, but Belle’s quiet moans and her grasping hands reassured
him that she wanted his mouth to explore as much of her soft, soap-scented skin
as he desired. Rumple moved to kneel between her thighs, her dress hitched up
to expose more creamy, porcelain skin than he’d ever seen in his life. He ran
his hands from her ankles, over her shapely calves, to her knees and over
cotton covered thighs to her waist, teasing open the ribbons that held up her
knickers at the waist and knee as well as the one that laced her bodice.
Belle made a frustrated sound, tugging at Rumple’s tunic and he hesitated for
just a moment before allowing her to pull it over his head, tossing it aside,
fully conscious of the gauntness of his frame. He was small, though he towered
over Belle by a full four inches. But he was shy about the way his ribs jutted,
clearly visible beneath his skin, and the hollowness of his belly, though Belle
seemed not to be troubled by these things in the least.
“I want to feel the heat of your skin against mine,” she whispered, her voice
husky but with a slight tremble, “I want to know all of you. To remember
everything, the way you look, the way you smell, the way you taste…everything.”
Belle pulled herself up and pressed her lips to his shoulder.
Belle kissed across his chest and up his neck, her mouth warm silk as it
explored his chin and jaw before finding his mouth again and claiming it
hungrily while her hands stroked his back, his waist, his ribs. He loved the
way she wrapped her tongue around his when they kissed. He felt like he could
kiss her until time stood still, delving into every corner of her mouth,
flicking his tongue across her palate, feeling her shiver against him when his
teeth plucked greedily at her lips.
Rumple ran his fingers gently through her hair, brushing lightly against her
jaw, trailing down her neck and across her shoulders while they breathed each
others kisses. His fingers hesitated at the first loop of ribbon that tied her
bodice, but Belle reached down and with a quick tug, pulled it through. A moan
escaped him as she tugged through three more turns before he stayed her hands,
taking them between his own and kissing them. He took the next turn himself,
and Rumple’s breathing quickened with each tug of his fingers until he pulled
the pink satin free and held it in his trembling hands as though it were made
of glass.
“I want you to look at me, touch me. I want you to remember me forever,” Belle
whispered, trying to catch his eyes.
He met Belle’s gaze, her smile shy but welcoming, her blue eyes dancing, and
Rumple took a deep breath, somehow managing to stand gracefully and offer his
hands, lifting her up to stand before him. He held her face in his hands and
kissed her, her hands resting lightly on his hips.
“Belle, of course I’ll not forget you, love, never. Even before … this.” His
mind could not conceive that he was about to undress and lie with her, his
vision of beauty that had danced naked in summer meadows only in his dreams.
His palms skimmed lightly over her neck and collarbone, he closed his eyes and
swallowed hard as his hands moved under fabric and stroked her naked shoulders,
his fingertips on fire. Rumplestiltskin began to tremble as her dress and
chemise fell away together to pool around her feet, taking with them her half-
tied drawers. All of her was bare and beautiful and his eyes devoured her with
a hunger he hadn’t known he possessed.
He wanted to gaze at Belle forever, the graceful curve of her neck, the gentle
slope of her shoulders, the perfect rondure of her rose-tipped breasts, the
soft mound of her belly that led his eyes to the dark thatch of chestnut curls
that nestled between her thighs. His heart clenched. He had no right to such
perfection, such loveliness. A sob escaped him and he lowered his head,
“Belle…”
Belle pressed herself to him and his thoughts scattered like dry leaves. She
lifted her face to kiss him, her soft lips distracting him from her hands at
his waist as they untied his leggings and pushed them down over his slim hips.
He flushed from head to toe in his naked state of arousal, hiding his face
behind his curtain of hair, eyes cast down and away.
"You’re beautiful," Belle murmured against his neck.
A sound somewhere between a sob and a snort erupted from him, “I don’t think
anyone has ever considered me beautiful before.” His hands skimmed up her back
and he curled his fingers over her shoulders, trying to look at her and smile.
“In fact, I’m sure of it.”
"You are to me," she insisted, her eyes taking him in. Her breath hitched when
her eyes found his erect cock, standing proud against his belly, a breathy
"Oh!" escaping her lips even as her eyes widened. Belle slowly lifted her eyes
to his and they were alight with desire and mischief.
"Is that beautiful, too?" Rumple’s nervous laugh was as shaky as he felt.
Belle’s laugh was a little shaky as well, the tremble in her voice betraying
the truth of her innocence. “It is, Rumple. I think all of you is lovely.” She
lowered her eyes, “I’m just a jangle of nerves.”
He lifted her chin with a finger until their eyes met, “We can stop right now,
if you want.” He was proud of the way his voice shook only slightly. “Just
seeing you like this is something I will never forget.”
She gripped his arms and pressed herself against him. Rumple felt her belly
slide against his hard length, and he hissed, biting his lip as his cock
twitched, caught tightly between their bodies. She lifted herself on tiptoes
and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck and shaking her head, “I want
this with you,” she breathed into his mouth.
Rumple nodded. He released her and picked up their scattered clothing,
spreading out his tunic and her chemise over a deep drift of hay. Belle smiled
as he drew her down once again to lie with him. She on her back with Rumple
nestled between her thighs, belly to belly and his cock hard against her damp
curls.
He could hear her quickened breathing as he considered what he should do, he
knew he would place himself inside her, but he had only the faintest idea of
where. So he leaned in to kiss her lips, propped on an elbow and the other hand
tangling in her hair, tracing down her cheek and neck and with a deep sigh,
brushing a taut nipple. She gasped into his mouth and he lingered there,
teasing the firm bud with the palm of his hand, cupping her breast and
massaging it while she held her breath and watched him with wide eyes.
A gasping little cry escaped her lips and he grinned, flushing. “That feels
good, then?”
Belle nodded, panting. Without words, but with her fingers buried in his hair,
she led him down her neck to kiss at her shoulder and the hollow of her neck.
She urged him lower, and he shook as he traced the upper contours of her
breasts with his lips and Belle groaned with pleasure. He couldn’t believe
himself as he mouthed lower, surely she would stop him. But Belle only arched
herself into him, lifting her nipple to to his mouth, tugging him lower until
his lips brushed one firm, pink bud. He ground his hips and his hardness into
her folds, gasping just as she thrust her chest upward. Before he could think,
his lips were around her hardened nipple and Belle cried out, burying her
fingers in his hair and holding him there.
His mouth was filled with the softness of her breast, and he let his tongue
press forward to taste her sweetness, circling the hard nub of her nipple. His
own shock was tempered by Belle’s rapture and he began to kiss her breast as he
had her neck and shoulders, mouthing and suckling and enjoying thoroughly both
the sensation of not only her hard nipple against his tongue but her shudders
and moans as she writhed and panted beneath him.
"Gods, Rumple, don’t stop," Belle begged clutching her fingers in his scalp and
kissing the top of his head. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he could
feel her slick, hot center where his cock nestled in her folds, coating him in
a silky moisture.
He couldn’t stop suckling at her breast, mouthing and licking and even nipping
her with his teeth as he lost himself in her pleasure. Rumple moved his hand
down over her ribs, her hip, pressing his thumb into the crease of her thigh.
Belle lifted her hips and rolled herself against him, his cock slipping easily
through the slick wetness that surrounded him. He had to breathe through his
nose as his hips began to buck against her involuntarily, his cock so hard it
was painful. If he wasn’t careful, he would spill himself before he even
discovered how to be inside her.
He lifted his face to look at her, her face and chest were flushed a deep, rosy
pink, her pupils blown wide in her pale blue eyes, her chestnut curls tossed
back and spread around her in the hay. Stray tendrils of her hair were stuck in
the sheen of sweat that had coated her forehead and chest. She had never looked
more lovely. Her mouth was puffed and crimson from the friction of their kisses
and her disarray was utterly arousing to him.
Urgency overcame him, and he groaned into the hollow place between her breasts,
flicking out his tongue to taste the drops of sweat that gathered there, every
ounce of self control brought to bear against the tightness building in his
groin. He slipped his hand between them and slid his fingers through her thick,
damp curls, rubbing and teasing until he found her entrance. Rumple slipped a
finger inside her and Belle bucked hard against his hand, “Rumple, please…” she
begged, shuddering.
Rumple took his cock in hand and guided the tip of it to line up with her. He
searched her eyes for the least reluctance but found only the flush of desire
in her face. He pressed into her and Belle lifted her hips to take him in. She
breathed deep as he met the resistance within her.
"You’re certain?" he breathed.
"Be inside me, Rumple," she keened.
Rumple thrust his hips forward and sheathed himself within her. Belle closed
her eyes and a quiet sob wracked her slight frame, her fingers digging
painfully into his shoulders. Fear washed over him that he had done something
wrong, that he was hurting her. He cupped her face, “Belle…Belle, are you all
right? Have I hurt you? Please.” His voice shook, his hair falling around his
face as he trembled inside her.
But Belle shook her head, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him
deeper inside. A single tear caught in her lashes, “No, no, it only hurt for a
moment, and now it is the most wonderful feeling in the whole world. It’s
wonderful, and now I’m truly yours. I will always be yours.”
Rumple drew himself out, gazing down at where their bodies joined. His arousal
nearly overcame him as he watched his cock sink back into her and Belle thrust
her hips up to meet him and bury him deep with a sharp cry.
Rumple had known only the rough pull of his own hand to accompany his lustful
thoughts of her in the lonely, dark hours of the night, and nothing in the
world compared to being inside Belle. He’d had no idea what a woman would feel
like, but she was a marvel of silk and warmth wrapped around his cock and
moving inside her was like breathing again after being underwater until his
lungs felt like they would burst. Rumple thrust his hips, lust and love mingled
with a primal instinct that seemed to come from nowhere, ruled his brain and
body.
Belle sought his mouth at the nadir of his thrust, clutching his body close. He
covered her, propped on his elbows with his arms tucked under hers and his
hands curled up over her shoulders, pulling her down onto his cock even as he
thrust up into her. Her fingers dug crimson furrows into the flesh of his
shoulder blades as his rhythm built and her high-pitched, musical cries quickly
turned to deep, guttural moans.
Belle reached one hand down between them and pressed her fingers into her own
folds, and in a moment threw her head back, her sweat slicked breasts arched
into him and she began to convulse around him. The muscles of her thighs went
rigid and then trembled violently as her inner walls milked his cock, massaging
him with the contractions of her climax. Belle didn’t breathe or cry out for a
long moment, her mouth a silent ‘oh’ as he continued to thrust into her, her
delightful, little breasts bouncing vigorously against his chest. Belle writhed
silently, until all at once the tension left her body and she gasped his name
while she clutched at him, running her hands over his back and shoulders.
Rumple was undone, her shuddering cries as the last of her orgasm wrung her
pushed him over the edge. He buried his face in her neck, his nose in her hair,
his fingers pressing bruises into her pale shoulders. She kissed his shoulder
as he came inside her, his entire body convulsing, three, four, five times as
he spilled himself.
“Belle!” he gasped as the last of his seed flowed into her. They lay there,
joined and sticky with sweat, their breaths coming in great heaving gulps.
Belle’s fingers tangled in his hair and she held on to him, shivering when his
softening cock slipped out of her.
Rumple collapsed to the side, rolling onto his back, his breathing still heavy
and ragged, choked with the enormity of what they had just done. Belle curled
up against his side, bits of straw clinging to her arms and tangled in her
hair, and her beauty overwhelmed him. He reached out to draw her over him,
cradled in his arms, her head pillowed on his chest, their legs intertwined.
Belle kissed his chest, running her hand over his stomach. He pulled his tunic
over their cooling bodies when she shivered a second time, “You’re cold.” he
murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head. He didn’t want to let her
go. Rumple couldn’t imagine ever letting her go.
Belle shook her head, squeezing him around the middle, “No, not cold, sleepy,”
she smiled, wriggling against his side, snuggling into him. She sighed the most
contented sigh he’d ever heard and he just held her, one hand rubbing lazy
circles on her arm, the other stroking her soft curls. Idly plucking out bits
of straw.
Rumple heard Belle’s breathing slow, becoming soft and even, and he just lay
there holding her while she slept. He half expected her to wake, startled and
crying as she usually did in the night, but she slept like a babe, ensconced in
the loving comfort of his arms.
He lay there, his mind a confusion of joy, love, longing, and overwhelming
sadness that her fate and his would take her from him. He had wild thoughts of
spiriting her away, running as she wished. They could take ship and, what? Beg,
try to find work in a country whose language they did not speak, starve?
Rumplestiltskin warred with himself, an internal struggle that felt like it
would pull him asunder. Belle rolled over, nudging her plush bottom against his
thigh and murmuring contentedly in her sleep. How could his bursting heart deny
that they should spend their days and nights like this, together and happy?
Rumple soothed himself by spinning with his fingers while Belle lay sleeping.
He didn’t have the heart to wake her from her peaceful slumber, knowing how she
lacked. And as long as she lay warm and soft against his side, he could dream
that it would always be so.
When Belle woke, it was too soon, a couple of peaceful hours at most. Belle
stretched luxuriously against his side, turning on her belly and kissing his
chest, her fingers spread against his hip. She brought her hands up to prop her
chin on her fist and smile at him like a cat that had just eaten a plump pet
canary. “Hello,” she said cheerfully, “I hope you weren’t bored while I slept.
I haven’t slept like that for…” she paused, her brow furrowing.
“Two years would be my guess,” Rumple offered, “and I how could I ever be bored
with such a beautiful woman nestled at my side?” He chucked under her chin with
a crooked finger and she lowered her eyes.
Belle blushed, “How did you know that?”
“I’ve heard you every night since you’ve been here. It’s why I asked what
happened to you,” Rumple said quietly. “I’ve lain awake more nights than I can
count, listening to you and wishing I could comfort you.” He touched her hair,
his fingers playing with her soft ringlets.
“I’m sorry,” Belle said, abashed.
“No need to be. I only ever wanted to protect you from the moment we met,” he
brushed her cheek and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes with a soft,
“hmmmm” of contentment.
Belle looked up at him, “I don’t want to sully this perfect night with such
black memories.” The set of her jaw was firm, and he could see the pain in her
eyes, “But I will tell you everything one day. I would have you know
everything.” The muscle in her jaw clenched and released, and she closed her
eyes again, “I am going to hold on to my hope that we will be together
somehow.”
"I made you something while you slept," Rumple changed the subject, avoiding
her eyes. He put his hand on her wrist. Her eyes widened in surprise at the
delicate gold wristlet that now adorned her arm.
"Where is my straw bracelet?" she asked, a note of panic creeping into her
voice.
He held up his own wrist, and she relaxed into him, “Straw for me, gold for my
Lady,” he said and heard his voice crack slightly. “You can have it back.”
"No!" Belle stayed his hand with her own, "No, now we each have one, it’s
fitting." She held up her arm to study the cleverly braided gold band that
encircled her wrist, Tiny strands of gold glistened in the lamplight as she
turned her hand. "It’s astonishing, Rumple, you made this while I slept?"
"Yes, I needed a distraction," he touched it gently, reverently. "I had a bit
of the foil, but no silk, so I spun the threads from strands of our hair. One
of the threads is spun from your hair, one from mine and the third from ours
together. Then I wove the strands into…this." Rumple shrugged, turning the
bracelet on her wrist. "Consider it an early Yule gift," he smiled shyly. "Do
you like it?"
Belle touched it to her lips, “I love it. I love you.” A single tear slipped
down her cheek to splash on his chest and he hugged her close, kissing the top
of her head.
"And I love you. I did not imagine that you would ever feel about me the way I
have felt about you since the moment our eyes first met," he whispered into her
hair, his voice breathy and choked with the emotion that burned in his chest.
Her fingertips dug into his sides, but she was silent. "I promise, if there is
a way for us to be together, I will find it." Rumple’s arms held her tight.
Belle slid up to kiss his mouth, she gripped the back of his neck, her fingers
tangled in his hair. She simply pressed her lips to his and held them there for
a long moment, her eyes squeezed shut. When she released him, she licked her
lips and sighed. Without another word, she sat up, slipping her chemise over
her head and veiling her radiance once once again. Rumple felt as though a
candle had been snuffed out and he let out the breath he had been holding. She
smiled at him as she stood and slipped into her dress, lacing herself quickly.
She gathered her things and in a few short moments she slipped over the edge
and onto the ladder.
"I believe you, Rumple." Belle whispered just before she disappeared down the
ladder and into the night.
Rumplestiltskin lay in the straw. He knew at that moment that he would do
anything it took to make a life with her. He would find a way, scrape, save,
squirrel away anything he could find to make a start for them. Then they would
disappear one night, as though they had never been.
His heart full of Belle, and his mind whirling with plans, Rumplestiltskin
dressed quickly and slipped down the ladder and into the house, into his bed.
He took himself in hand, and recalled the last few perfect hours. His hand was
a poor substitute for her silky warmth, but he could almost feel her, and he
could imagine her as she lay beneath him, lovely in her throes and in her
dishabille. He slept sound, dreaming of the future.
Market day, he thought as he woke, rolling over and squinting at the sun as its
slanting, golden light fell across his eyes. He dressed quickly and made his
way to the table for breakfast. Belle’s place was empty, unusual for her, but
he thought she might be tired from the previous night’s activities.
He felt refreshed. Resolve and hope in his heart made him more open and
gregarious than his usual demeanor. He ate with gusto, noticing the taste of
the food and enjoying it. It was only as he finished that worry began to creep
into the back of his mind. Belle was never late for breakfast.
The worry grew as he did chores in the pens and he did not see her, or hear her
cheerful chatter from the open windows. He was in the barn, preparing the
basket to collect eggs, Belle’s chore, but he decided to help in case she was
ill, when he felt a shadow loom behind him.
“You must go. Now. Rumplestiltskin,” Margarethe’s voice cut through him like a
knife, fear clutched at his heart. He turned to look at her, but the bright sun
at her back kept him from seeing her face.
“Where’s Belle?” he asked, the frantic pounding in his ears was clouding his
thoughts.
“You have disgraced this house, Rumplestiltskin.” Her voice was cold,
unyielding. “You are no longer welcome here. We trusted you and you have
betrayed us. You must go, now.”
“Where is Belle!” he bared his teeth, spitting as he shouted. He stepped toward
her, his voice shaking, his whole body trembling, but she did not step back. He
stood in front of her, his fingers flexing into fists.
“She’s gone, Rumplestiltskin.” The words were like daggers, cutting into his
flesh, piercing, and letting the blood flow out of him.
“Gone where?” his breath was coming in ragged pants, the panic rising and
overtaking him.
“The king’s men came for her this morning.” Margarethe’s words were like a
sledgehammer to his gut. Cold. Final. “She was never meant for you. She’s gone.
And now you too must go.”
He collapsed there, falling to his knees on the floor in front of her, sobbing
silently while tears coursed freely down his face.
“She’s gone.” The words echoed in the hollow of his breast while he knelt
there, sobbing into his hands, fingers grasping at his own hair, unable to
fathom what he had once accepted as truth. The old spinster turned and walked
away without a word.
***** Finding Beauty, Part 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Rumbelle Secret Santa 2013 Prompt.
     Muirgen258 prompted: Spinner!Rumple x Belle
     Here is the second part of the Spinner’s Tale. Rated T.
     Spinner AU: Young Rumplestiltskin has fallen in love with his new
     apprentice, but she is forbidden to him. A princess who must wed as
     dictated by the crown, Belle has no desire to marry into another
     noble house. Can she and her spinner ever find their happy ending?
“Bae, c’mon, son,” Rumplestiltskin called to the boy as he dilly-dallied,
weaving haphazardly through the market, smelling and looking and poking his
small but highly inquisitive nose into every interesting stall, “we’ve got to
set up, so we can get selling. Then you can go look around.” The haggard man
leaned heavily on a tall walking stick, his slow steps pained and shuffling as
he pulled the small cart behind him through the busy market square. To the
crowd around him, it was as if he were invisible, bumped and jostled by faster
moving market goers with hardly so much as an “excuse me.”
“Promise, papa?” the boy bounded over to his side, a barely contained ball of
energy with a mop of brown, curly hair that Rumple ruffled up lovingly with his
fingers.
He squeezed the boy’s shoulder affectionately and there was a gentle lilt to
his voice when he spoke, “Yes, Bae, I promise you can look around.” Rumple
knelt in front of him and gripped his shoulder, looking straight into his wide,
brown eyes. “But I can nae promise you can buy anything, son. We’ll just have
to see, all right?” He brushed Bae’s cheek with his fingers and the boy looked
at him with poorly contained disappointment.
“All right, papa, I understand,” he tried to sound cheerful, as if optimism
might garner him the pennies he’d need to buy a sweet or a trinket at the
market. But Rumple could hear the tremble in his voice. It all broke Rumple’s
heart. He’d give his boy the world if he could, but fate had not been kind of
late and winter was coming too fast. They would need every penny they could
scrape together to survive the cold, snowy winter with food enough to fill
their bellies.
They set up quickly, all of their wool and flax on display, yarn and thread as
well as small bolts of carefully woven cloth that Rumple had become quite
skilled at making. He sat at the edge of the market square with his distaff and
spindle, quietly spinning and watching and hoping there were some at market
that did not know his shame and would buy his goods.
His materials were poorer these days, but his skill was no less than in his
youth, and everything he worked with his fingers he worked with all the pride
he still possessed. A sad-eyed Bae helped somewhat, for as much as they scorned
the man who’d fled from the battlefield, from the smoke and fire and certain
death of the front lines, they could not deny the child needed to eat. And so
he did sell a few bolts of cloth and almost all of his stock of fine woollen
yarn. The handful of coins that jingled in his purse was small, and so was the
number of market days left before the first snow would begin to fall.
This day felt different, Rumplestiltskin thought as he spun and watched. The
duke’s soldiers passed through the streets more often today, they were looking
more carefully at the faces that wandered through the square. Rumple would have
said that they were searching.
Rumplestiltskin was recognized, and he grimaced, hiding his face as he bore
their laughing scorn. They pushed at him with their batons and jostled him with
their horses. Ho, there, Hobblefoot! How goes it, worm? Have you heard how it
proceeds at the front? But of course, not… you pissed yourself and ran home to
your mommy. Oh, wait, you don’t even have a mommy, do you? And neither does
your boy, your wife was too disgusted to stay and look at your pitiable
face.But they soon tired of the game when he only stood quietly and took what
they gave him, and they continued on their way.
The air of the market and the town in general was even more sombre than usual.
The Ogre’s War had dragged on now for over ten years, and there were few
menfolk left but those that had returned from the front, too injured to fight
and most too injured to work as well. The womenfolk had been forced to take on
more and more of the day to day work of the farms and trades. Avonlea had
merely been the first to fall, nearly all of the northern kingdoms were now
laid waste, barren and burning.
The conscriptions were coming faster and to those that were younger than ever
to feed the eager machine of war. The soldiers came for the young men at age
sixteen now, and girls from the poorest villages as well. Fewer than ever were
coming back. Rumplestiltskin prayed silently but fervently that the war would
be over long before Baelfire came of age to be drafted. He knew the horror
firsthand and he would run and take Bae with him before he would see his son’s
life sacrificed on the front lines of this endless war.
There was a constant pallor that hung in the sky to the north, a smoke and
darkness that was never banished, even by the brightest sun. But today the
normally bustling town was smothered in an unspoken heaviness that was not
improved by the intense scrutiny of the soldiers. Rumple shrugged, putting
aside the brittle feeling, and continued to spin, watching out for Baelfire
among the crowd of children at the edges of the square. The sun was getting
low, it would be time to pack up soon for the long walk home.
"Papa, papa!" the exuberant six-year-old hopped over, playing at some silly
game, and pulled on the hem of Rumple’s tunic, "Papa, can I get a sticky bun?"
He tugged at Rumple’s heart with each tug of his small hand, his wide eyes
pleading. "Please, papa?"
Rumple started to shake his head at the boy, “Bae…” He looked down at his son’s
hopeful face and then at the coins in his palm. He picked out the smallest one,
just a worn bit of copper with King George’s crown etched on it, and handed it
to the boy, “Aye, son, go get yourself a sticky bun.”
"Do you want me to get you one, too, papa?" Baelfire asked.
Rumple shook his head, “No, Bae, just go ahead and get one for yourself.”
Baelfire looked down at the coin in his palm, his face falling in realization.
He looked up at Rumple, “I’ll bring it back, papa. We can share.”
Rumple chucked the boy under the chin. He was a good boy, and Rumple loved him
fiercely, a solitary, bright, burning flame in a hard, dark life. He smiled at
the boy’s earnest generosity, “No, Bae, papa’s not hungry.” It was a lie. “You
get yourself a sticky bun and enjoy it, and go find your friends. You can play
while I pack up. I’ll find you when it’s time to go.” He blinked back tears as
he gazed at his son, so eager, so hopeful; blissfully unaware of the struggle
that life had become.
He had gone without breakfast, a bit of herb tea had been all he had left after
making the boy a thin wheat porridge. Bae had offered some of that as well, but
he would die before he took a bite of food from his son’s mouth. All of this
was his fault, his poor choices that had led to this pass. The boy was
blameless and deserved none of this misery.
He watched fondly as Baelfire practically tumbled over himself in his
eagerness, laughing and waving his coin in triumph as he ran to find the other
children. He bent to pack his remaining stock, his heart full of warmth at
Bae’s simple joy. They would find a way to make it through the winter, they
always did.
A woman’s voice drifted over his shoulder, it was soft and melodious. Warm.
Familiar. “You couldn’t afford the coin, could you?” she said, the touch of
sadness in her voice barely dampening his irritation at being found lacking by
this stranger.
He glanced over his shoulder as he worked, her face was shadowed by the deep
hood of a dusty, green brocaded cloak. “He worked hard and walked a long way
today,” Rumple shrugged as he finished covering the cart with a cloth and tying
it securely, “he deserves a bit of sweet, and it was only a penny. Though I’m
not sure what business it is of yours.”
When Rumple straightened, she lifted her head, piercing him with her gaze. The
breath left his body when his eyes met blue the color of a winter sky. A blue
that lived in his memory, lovely and pure and belonging to only one person he
had ever known. He nearly went to his knees, and might have done had he not had
the staff to lean his sagging weight upon.
But her face, her lovely face, was hollow and her eyes deeply shadowed. Even in
the darkness of her hood he could see how thin she was, and how pale. She was
not the fresh-faced girl that he once knew so well. He could see the crushing
weight of some heavy burden in the brief glimpse of her countenance, she was
hunted and afraid.
“Belle!” Rumple managed to choke out, the breath barely moving in and out of
his body.
She shook her head, looking away, “Shhh… please. Don’t draw attention to me.”
She shrunk back into her hood, hiding her face away. “The duke’s soldiers,
they’re looking for me.”
“For you? Why?” Rumple managed, he was trembling, but he mastered himself
enough to uncover his wares, as though he were showing them to any customer. He
handed her a bolt of cloth to examine.
She shook her head, “Can you help me? I’ll tell you everything, but I need a
place to hide. Please.” Belle unrolled a few feet of the cloth, pretending to
examine it closely. “This is very nicely made, sir, how much for the bolt?” She
asked loud enough for the neighboring stalls to hear. And then softly again, “I
don’t want to put your family in danger, but I don’t know where else to turn.”
“One silver piece will buy the bolt, mistress.” Rumple answered in his best
salesman’s voice. He rewrapped the bolt, deftly tucking the end so it wouldn’t
unravel. “Of course I will help you. There is an orchard just west of the
crossroad at the King’s Highway and the old north road. East out of the
village. I will meet you there. Can you make it?”
Belle handed him a silver coin from her purse, “Yes, of course. Thank you,
sir.” She turned and disappeared into the crowd without a backward glance.
Belle. His mind could barely process that she was here, that she was on the
run, that she needed him.
Belle needed him. He was straw, dust, the village coward, poorer than dirt and
practically invisible. But Baelfire needed him, and now Belle needed him. He
still loved her. Even after seven years apart, his heart nearly beat itself out
of his chest when her eyes had found his. That blue that haunted the dreams
that found him in the cold loneliness of his empty bed had set him on fire in
an instant. His instinct was to run from danger, fast and far. Self-
preservation ran deep in him, but love ran deeper still and far more fierce. To
protect Baelfire, to protect Belle, he would face any fear, any foe, he would
fight to the death if need be.
Rumplestiltskin repacked his cart and gathered a reluctant Bae from the group
of children playing ball at the edge of town. He bought a few provisions with
his meager coins, mostly roughly milled grains that could be turned into a
filling meal with just some hot water or warm milk from his sheep. He was
careful not to spend Belle’s silver piece in case she was in need of it. But he
made sure they would have food to eat for the next few days, thoughts of winter
would have to wait. He needed desperately to wipe away the gaunt, hunted look
of her and see her full, pink cheeks glow with life and health again.
“C’mon, son, we have to hurry home,” Rumple sat Bae on the small cart and set
his jaw. He pushed himself without rest or mercy for the pain that blossomed in
his ankle as he drove himself as hard and fast as he could. He hoped to reach
the orchard before her, to make sure she was safe and would not be waiting.
Alone and afraid.
The duke’s men were moving on the road as well. They paid him no mind as he
passed, his son and his few textiles bouncing on the rutted road as he pulled
them behind in his crude, rattletrap of a cart. His steps did become labored
toward the end, his teeth gritted and his breathing harsh with the fiery lashes
that cut through the center of his consciousness with every footfall.
When there was no one within earshot he turned and took Baelfire by the
shoulders, his face a mask of fear and pain, “Bae, son, if the soldiers ask us
if we’ve seen a woman alone on the road, if they ask us anything, don’t say a
word, son. Just shake your head no, all right?” The boy was so young, and he
was bright, but he was also honest to the core. So honest that Rumple worried
he would enthusiastically point out Belle in a heartbeat without ever an
inkling that their intentions were to take her back to whatever fate she had
run from. He pleaded, praying that his urgency would impress the boy, “Please,
no words, just shake your head no, no matter what you see, All right? For me,
son.”
Bae looked at him with wide eyes, confused and frightened by Rumple’s urgency,
and his fear, “Yes, papa. But I didn’t see a lady.” Baelfire kicked his feet
off the edge of the cart.
“Yes, but you might see a lady, and even if you do and the soldiers ask you, I
still want you to only shake your head no, understand?”
Rumplestiltskin turned and got the cart moving again. Baelfire looked
thoughtful, watching the road slip by between his swinging legs. “I should lie,
papa?”
“For this time, Bae, I just want ye to say nothing and only shake your head no.
It’s very important, Bae, very important.” Rumple felt the fluttering wings of
panic rise in his chest, he closed his eyes and begged both heaven and the boy,
“Please, son, do you understand?”
“Yes, papa,” Baelfire answered and fell silent, chewing on his bottom lip.
Belle did that. Whenever she was hard at work or puzzling out some conundrum,
she would suck in her bottom lip and worry it. It had always melted his heart,
now he just wanted to weep in the wash of overwhelming emotions that tore
through him like a tidal wave. So much, all at once, and so much fear.
Rumplestiltskin pushed himself through the pain, one foot in front of the
other, until he saw the orchard on the horizon and then he felt nothing but his
pounding heart as he closed the final distance. He pulled the cart deep into
the orchard, hiding it behind a pile of downed limbs and old, dry timbers.
He wanted to call her name, but his voice would not work, his head was too full
and his mouth simply couldn’t find the words. He didn’t think his heart was
going to stay in his chest, the way it beat itself against his breastbone.
Rumple didn’t know what to think. He was sure the soldiers would find them, and
even if they did not, Belle would surely despise him for what he had become in
these last few years. His shame would disgust her, he did not doubt it.
Belle peered from behind an apple tree, it’s limbs laden and unkempt, this
orchard had been years untended, though the apples still grew. Belle was still
shadowed in her hood, and wrapped in her cloak she was nearly invisible in the
dappled light beneath the trees. “Rumple,” she breathed.
Rumple was at her side in a moment. She threw herself into his arms, and he
staggered back, catching himself with his staff. Her hood fell back and Rumple
hugged her close, he breathed deep inhaling her scent, finally believing it was
truly her. “Belle, what’s happened to you? Why are the Duke’s soldiers after
you?”
“Rumple, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in danger, but I didn’t know where
else to turn.” Belle wept quietly, bitter tears leaving pale tracks on her
dusty cheeks. “I’ve run away, but he won’t let me go. I’m an embarrassment to
him now, he’ll not give up the search until I am returned to him.”
“Who?” Rumple asked, his voice shaking.
“My husband,” Belle’s shoulders slumped forward, she hid her face in her hair,
turning away from him, “Hordor, the Duke’s chief lieutenant.”
“Hordor!” Rumplestiltskin stumbled back in horror, “Oh, I know who Hordor is.
He was my commanding officer when I went to war. He’s your…husband?” Rumple
turned away, clutching at his staff, his fingers opening and closing
convulsively. Hordor had humiliated him, sent him away in disgrace from the
battlefield. He had spread the news far and wide that Rumplestiltskin was a
snivelling coward who’d inflicted a gruesome injury upon himself rather than
fight for his people. He was a pariah, shamed and shunned at the word of
Hordor.
No one understood or cared that he’d wished only to see his son grow up, that
throwing his life away on the frontlines when he’d never even met his own child
had been unthinkable to him. He’d seen so much death already, they did not
fight so much as throw their unskilled soldiers at the enemy like sandbags to
stem the floodwaters. They were nothing more than a blood sacrifice on the
altar of destruction.
Belle nodded, but did not look at him. “I thought you were meant for some grand
house, that you would marry a dukeling or a prince of one of the neighboring
kingdoms. Why would King George squander your beauty and inheritance on a pig
like Hordor?”
“I wasn’t sent to King George. I was sent to the clerics, Rumple.” Belle shook
her head, sinking down into the leaves with her back against the trunk of a
large apple tree. “The spinsters knew what we had done, they sent me to the
clerics to hide me, and for ‘cleansing’.” Belle shuddered and closed her eyes,
as if trying to forget some horrifying memory.
“I was there for over a year.” Belle opened her eyes, staring into space for a
few moments before turning her gaze back to him. He looked away. “But I was
ruined, no longer suitable for the king’s political purposes, so I was
punished. I suppose I was sold to the highest bidder, and that was Hordor.”
Rumple looked aghast, “Sold?” Baelfire clung to Rumple’s tunic, hiding his face
in the rough fabric. Rumple stroked the boy’s curly hair absently.
“Not literally,” Belle’s short laugh was bitter, “I suppose he made the offer
of protection and a generous donation to both the hermitage and the spinsters.”
“Is this the lady, papa?” Baelfire asked, his eyes wide as he peered around
Rumple’s hip.
“Yes, Bae, this is Mistress Belle, but you haven’t seen her, right?” Bae looked
up at him with wide eyes and shook his head, no. “She’ll be coming home with us
to stay for a while. Belle, this is my son, Baelfire.” Rumple hugged the boy
around the shoulders, smiling down at him.
“What of your wife?” Belle asked softly, “Will she not mind if you bring home a
strange woman? A fugitive?”
“I have no wife,” Rumple answered, his own voice bitter in his ears. Belle
lifted her eyes to his, startled, and he wasn’t sure what he saw there, but it
frightened him. His eyes darted away and he shifted his weight against his
staff. “We should get going, it’s a long walk yet.”
They all gathered as many apples as they could carry and brought them to the
cart, filling one of Rumple’s large thread baskets. Rumple considered tucking
Belle away in the cart, but he knew immediately that he would not be able to
bear her weight as well. They would simply have to be careful and listen for
any sounds upon the road so Belle could hide if necessary.
The trip was arduous. Rumple had already pushed himself past pain to get to the
orchard quickly and there was still a long way to go. He was in agony by the
time they were getting close to home. Darkness had fallen some time before and
they had been lucky to meet only a few travelers on the roads. Belle had
quickly found a hiding place each time Rumple had gestured her into the trees.
He and Bae had sat on the side of the road munching apples as if simply taking
a rest from the bone wearing walk.
“It’s not far now,” Rumple gritted through clenched teeth, “another half hour
or so and we’ll be home.” Belle nodded wearily. Baelfire was asleep on the
cart, through sheer exhaustion Rumple supposed as the cart bounced along the
rutted forest road. Rumple was about to speak again when he heard the swift
approach of horses, their hooves pounding a loud rhythm and their tack jangling
loudly in the otherwise quiet night.
He gestured for Belle to hide, but there was little cover close at hand, and
the horses were approaching rapidly. She gave him a frightened look and slipped
behind a downed tree, lying flat behind it in a deep drift of leaves. Rumple
was grateful that she was able to settle quickly and remain so still that she
didn’t stir the crackling leaves. He only prayed that the soldiers he knew were
approaching did not have dogs with them, or she was done for certain.
Bae stirred sleepily as the soldiers surrounded them, and Rumple was horrified
to realize that Hordor himself led them. He silently thanked the gods no dogs
came sniffing the ground before them. The pack must be following other leads.
“State your name and business,” Hordor demanded, looking down from his horse.
He stopped, “Wait, I know you,” Rumple cringed away as the butt end of a baton
was pressed into his shoulder. “Spindleshanks, isn’t it?” Hordor sneered,
spitting his name like a bitter seed. “No. Hoppafoot? No, it’s not that. I
know,” his disgust evident in every word, “It’s Cravenheart.”
The soldiers laughed along with Hordor’s joke. “Why are you on the road so
late, Rumplestiltskin?” Hordor asked, piercing him with his gaze.
“We’re returning from the market, my son was tired, it’s been a long day for
him.” Rumple stared at the ground, wringing his staff convulsively. He shook
from head to toe, his only hope that the man’s inflated ego would assume that
Rumple feared his prowess, his strength and his overwhelming presence.
“Wake him, we have questions.” The officer demanded, prodding Rumple’s shoulder
with the baton.
“Please, sir, the boy is exhausted,” he pleaded. Hordor slid from his horse. He
was large and covered from head to toe in spiky, black armour, the stuff of
nightmares, Rumple thought. A frightening spectre for a young child to awaken
to, he might be too frightened to remember Rumple’s admonition not to speak.
“I said wake him, or I shall,” Hordor seethed, taking a menacing step toward
the sleeping child. Rumple scrambled to intercept, loathe for the vile man to
touch his son, and shook Baelfire gently.
“Bae, wake up, son.” Rumple cringed as Hordor poked Baelfire’s thigh with his
baton, but moved to shield the boy. “Son, wake up, the soldiers want to ask you
some questions.”
Baelfire stirred, lifting his head and blinking sleepily. He yawned and
stretched, sitting up on the edge of the cart.
Hordor shoved Rumple aside and sent him stumbling, he caught himself with his
staff. Terror rose in his chest, they could all be killed right here and no one
would ever know or care.
“Have you seen a woman travelling alone on the road today, boy?” He demanded.
The boy simply looked up at him from beneath his mop of curly, brown hair and
shook his head. His eyes were wide with fear.
“Do you not speak, boy?” Hordor’s voice rose. “I asked you a question!”
Baelfire only shook his head, no, glancing at Rumple for encouragement.
Hordor’s stance became aggressive, and he moved toward the boy.
Rumplestiltskin’s body began to tremble, the monster would kill his son! If he
moved an inch toward Hordor, Rumple had no doubt one of these men would cut him
down with an arrow or an axe to the back.
Rumple did not care if they cut him down or ran him through, he gathered
himself to spring between his son and Hordor, but Hordor suddenly began to
laugh. “Ah, it makes sense to me now,” Hordor chuckled, “his son is as dumb as
he is, he probably can’t even speak. The idiot son of the town coward, how
fitting!” His laughter was uproarious, and his men began to laugh, as well.
Rumplestiltskin stood quietly while they taunted him, eyes downcast, his mouth
in a tight line, fingernails digging painfully into the wood of his staff. He
wanted with all his heart to react, to tell them that his son was brighter than
all of them put together, that he already knew his letters and could cipher.
But fear for Bae’s life, and Belle’s, smothered any urge he felt to defy Hordor
and his men.
Hordor mounted his horse, still chuckling to himself about the fittingness of
Rumplestiltskin’s son being less. He and his soldiers rode off in a cloud of
dust and noise, their laughter a taunt that floated back to him over the
clamour of hooves and armour. They waited for what seemed an eternity until it
seemed safe for Belle to brush the leaves from her skirts and join them. She
was trembling from head to foot, and her smudged cheeks were wet with tears of
fear and helpless anger.
Rumplestiltskin barely spoke, his eyes too ashamed to find Belle’s knowing she
had witnessed her husband make a fool and a sniveling coward of him yet again.
He despised himself in such times, and Milah had as well; his disgrace, it was
why she had left. How could Belle possibly feel otherwise?
The hovel was dark and still when they arrived, but within a few minutes,
Rumple had a warm fire glowing on the hearth. He made a small feast for the
three of them, a porridge of grains and sheep’s milk that was both warm and
filling. Especially when Belle thought to add slices of apple to sweeten the
meal.
“Welcome home, Belle, such as it is.” He still could not meet her gaze as it
took in the small, dark room and came to rest on him. “I’m sorry I cannot offer
you more, but whatever I have is yours, for as long as you need.”
“I can never thank you enough for putting yourself at risk for me,” she
whispered when he finally met her hollowed eyes after she laid her warm, soft
hand on his arm and tried a tentative smile.
He didn’t flinch from her touch, but smiled back, though he knew it was a
watery smile, at best. He was both exhausted and in pain but he was desperate
to know how Belle had come to this pass, alone and on the run.
Belle sighed and closed her eyes, her fingers digging a bit into his arm as she
squeezed just a little tighter for courage, “I’m so glad I found you Rumple. I
needed you to come to market, I didn’t know how else to find you. I need your
help.”
“Of course, Belle. Whatever it is, we’ll find a way,” Rumple assured her,
though he trembled a little at the urgency of her tone.
Belle looked at him, anguish sharp in her over-bright eyes, “I need you to help
me return to the spinsters. They have something I need to get back.”
Rumple shook his head slightly, his gaze questioning. He clearly didn’t
understand.
“They have our hope, Rumple.” Belle was trying not to cry. He put his hand over
hers, and she smiled through that thin mist of tears, “they took our hope.
“I don’t understand, Belle.” He was truly at a loss.
Belle took a deep, steadying breath, “The spinsters, Rumple. They have our
Hope. They have our daughter.”
***** Part 3 *****
Rumplestiltskin leapt to his feet, stumbling backward, pain lancing through his
twisted leg. He gritted his teeth, and sat down hard again as the breath
whooshed out through his nose. He massaged the ruined muscles as best he could,
his mind racing, turning over Belle’s words again and again. Our daughter. Our
daughter! They had made a child together. A child...He nearly burst into tears.
“Let me tend you,” Belle came off the rough bench and knelt beside him, “you
pushed yourself past pain today, and on my account. Let me help.” She reached
for his leg where he was rubbing it, but Rumplestiltskin flinched and turned
away from her, shaking his head and keeping his bad leg out of reach. Oh, how
it ached.
He shook his head again, his long hair falling over his eyes. A curtain of
sandy brown to hide behind once again, just as in their youth. His voice was
more harsh than he meant it to be, “No. There’s no need, Belle. I’ll be fine.”
Belle leaned forward to try and catch his eyes in the firelight, but he evaded
her, choosing instead to stare at the dancing flames. “But Rumple, I have some
skill in healing. I can help,” she pleaded with him, but he only shrunk further
away.
He did not want her to see his shame, his disgrace, the physical manifestation
of his cowardice. If she did, how could she do anything but despise him just as
Milah had?  He laughed, but it was like acid and bitter to the taste, “It’s
long past healing, Belle. There’s nothing you can do on that account, I assure
you.” They were silent for a long moment, and he wilted further under Belle’s
curious scrutiny. She tilted her head, staring too hard, her gaze stripping
away the layers that hid him.
“What happened to your wife?” Belle asked, there was no accusation in her tone,
only curiosity. But he closed his eyes and swallowed hard against the question
he knew was next. “Did she die?”
“No, she left us,” his voice as hollow and weak as he felt.Just as everyone
leaves. Everyone.
Belle was silent, letting him decide how much to say. He took a deep breath and
decided to do the brave thing, to tell her the truth. It would most likely
drive her away, but better to do it now, like taking the dressing off a wound,
than to fall for her all over again only to have her leave when she learned the
truth.Just as everyone leaves. Everyone. That he had been branded a coward for
turning from battle. That his name was reviled far and wide in the countryside,
at her husband’s word. That he was surely dust.
“I thought you’d gone with the king’s men to start the life you were born to,”
Rumple began, searching for the words to tell her everything, all at once. “The
spinsters were so angry with me, they threw me out the next morning. I wasn’t
even allowed to pack my few possessions.Just go, Margarethe said. You have
shamed us. I was suddenly alone and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was
driving me mad. I had truly resolved to take you away, to start a life with
you, Belle,” Rumple shook his head sadly, his fingers playing idly with the rim
of his clay teacup.
“I wanted to go after you. But I knew it was useless to try.” He stared at the
floor, “I came here to Fairholt, after a few weeks of wandering, and found a
place to work on this sheep farm, I worked for farmer Sherer for nigh on half a
year before he came to me with a proposition.
“Milah was the farmer’s daughter. The old man was dying and he wanted her to
marry so she could inherit the farm. He chose me because of my skill at
spinning and weaving and my experience with the animals. But Milah always
wanted more than what I could ever hope to give her, she only agreed to appease
her dying father.” He was desperate that Belle not pity him, but the truth was
the truth.
“I tried to be a good husband to her. Truly I did. I worked hard, I taught her
to weave, and we made a good living.” He swallowed hard again, trying to
relieve the dry lump that wouldn’t quite go away, “Or I thought we did. But she
never saw me as good enough for her, and she always wanted more than what we
had. She certainly never loved me. We consummated the marriage of course, but
we were never lovers.” He shook his head and sighed, he still couldn’t meet
Belle’s eyes, “Perhaps she knew my heart already belonged tae another.”
Belle looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. Was that a glimmer of hope he saw
there? But Rumplestiltskin took a sip of cold tea that failed to wash away the
knot of fear and self-loathing that was making it difficult to speak or
breathe. He still would not look at her. He couldn’t bear to look into those
familiar blue eyes and see disdain, the revulsion he so expected. “I must have
got Baelfire on her the shortly before I was called to war. I thought she was
taking pity on me, but I realized later why she was so willing those nights and
not unhappy to be rid of me when the day came. If she was a single mother and a
widow, she could petition King George for a double stipend to keep the farm
going.”
“I dunno, Belle,” his laugh was a bitter bark, his brogue thick with emotion,
“but she was quite disappointed when I returned. She practically threw Baelfire
at me on her way out the door and made it crystal clear it would ha’ been
better if I’d just been a good soldier and died on the field. She came home the
next morning at dawn, and most mornings after that. If I couldn’t find her, I
knew to try the tavern in the neighboring town, or the inn on the highway.”
Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and his face was a grim mask of pain,
“Or most likely, at the taverns by the docks. I understood she dinnae love me,
that she utterly despised being bound to a disgraced coward. But how could she
neglect that beautiful boy?” He did cry then, gesturing toward the boy sleeping
in the loft, buried in a drift of straw for warmth.
“A seer had told me my son would grow up fatherless!” he was babbling,
desperate to show Belle he wasn’t a coward. “I didn’t even know Milah was with
child when I left. How could I go to my death without ever meeting my son? How?
It dinnae seem right, Belle!” He slammed his fist on the table.
Belle reached out to try and soothe him, but he pulled away from her, crouching
in on himself. Just tell her! “I took the sledgehammer to my own leg, so I
could go home and meet my boy rather than be a sacrifice! A sandbag a’gin the
rising tide of blood and bodies!” He was shouting now. The anger spilling out
of him in torrents. “And Hordor had me branded. Branded! Spread the news far
and wide so I would nae be able to feed my family. Rumplestiltskin is a coward,
a turncoat, a traitor!”
Rumple put his face in his palms, carding his fingers through his hair, hands
shaking with fear and rage. But he was calm when he spoke again, sorry that he
had shouted and perhaps frightened Belle. But she merely listened quietly, her
hands folded in her lap where she still knelt at his side, so careful not to
push him, to frighten him, and send him skittering away to hide in a dark
corner. There, now she knew the truth of him, and she could leave if she
wished. “Then one day, about a year ago, she just left. Our neighbor told me
that the pirates had kidnapped her, but when I went to the docks to rescue her,
I found instead that she had chosen to leave with them of her own accord. That
she could no longer stand the sight of me. That she preferred the company of
real men.”
Belle put her hand over her mouth in horror at the thought of being willing
prey to an entire ship full of pirates. “Rumple! I don’t understand how a
mother could just leave her child for...for...that!”
“I told Bae his mother had died,” he sighed bitterly, “I thought it kinder than
the truth.”
“I can’t imagine,” Belle shook her head in disbelief, “there were times when I
thought I might die, but I couldn’t conceive of leaving our sweet Hope, even in
death. I just kept thinking of finding her again. Of finding you, I knew you
would help me get her back. That you would never stop fighting for us, once you
knew.”
“Of course I will help you, Belle,” he ran his hands through his hair again, a
nervous habit, like rubbing his thumb and finger together the same way he spun
his fibres. “And I will help you get someplace safe, but I’m not the man you
knew so long ago. I’m the village coward. I’ll understand if you do not want to
be associated with a scarred cripple, an outcast who will never be any more
than...than...this...” he waved his hand to encompass the darkened room. He saw
only poverty and dishonor. He couldn’t imagine Belle saw anything different. “I
will only disappoint you.”
“We all have scars, Rumple,” Belle said quietly. She studied her hands that sat
clasped on her thighs, “Only some of them are visible.” Silence stretched
between them, each lost in their own memories. Rumple’s ragged breathing and
Baelfire’s quiet snoring filling the room until Belle finally whispered, “I
have both.”
Rumplestiltskin watched her as she rose, standing between him and the glow of
the hearth. Belle unclasped her cloak, laying it gently across the end of the
table, and began to unlace her bodice. Rumple’s eyes darted away, and he
gripped the clay cup until his knuckles whitened, “Belle, what are you doing?”
Her fingers did not stop her deft work with the laces of her dress, “I must
show you something.” He could hear the tremor in her voice now, “I need you,
Rumple, I care nothing for what you think my husband’s lies have made you. You
are still a better man than he will ever be.”
Belle turned her back to him, “I told you, I almost died. There were times when
death would have been a mercy.” She let her bodice and chemise fall down around
her waist, exposing her shoulders and upper back. “Only thoughts of our
daughter, of finding her and keeping her safe, kept me from tumbling into the
abyss. Or leaping.”
Rumple gasped, bile rising in his throat as the firelight glinted red and gold
over a network of  scars that covered her back. They ran this way and that,
some fine and straight, some wide and jagged. Rumple stood, his own pain
forgotten as he limped to stand behind her. His voice, when he found it, was a
ragged croak, “Belle…”
He reached out to touch her skin, her once beautiful porcelain skin, now an
angry map of red and white, and stopped just shy; his fingertips hovering, “Oh,
sweet Belle…”
“It’s ok, Rumple,” Belle’s voice had stopped quivering, though he could see her
shoulders tremble, “you may touch them.”
He did. His fingers ghosting over so many criss-crossed lines he lost count.
Tears slid down his cheeks and Belle leaned into his touch, “So many, Belle.
How? Who did this to you?” He could hardly speak, his voice breaking as his
fingertips found each new divot, each horrifying welt. “Why?”
He could see that some were years old, those were paler and flatter. But then
there were others, angry and red and far more fresh. He touched each one with a
quiet sorrow that lanced through him. He wished he could take them all from her
one by one, to absorb the pain and memory of each and leave her whole again. He
wished it so hard he could barely breathe. “Why, Belle?”
She laughed softly, “I was neither a willing, nor obedient wife.”
“Your husband did this to you?” Rumple sagged, catching himself on the edge of
the rough wooden table, imagining the years of abuse and suffering she must
have endured. “I don’t understand. You are the kindest, most gentle person I
have ever known.”
“Ah, but you forgot stubbornest as well,” Rumple could hear her small smile.
“There is that,” he agreed, letting his hands drop to his sides.
“The clerics were first, though.” Belle sank to the floor in front of the fire,
and Rumple followed her, his leg stretched out at an awkward angle, but he felt
nothing of his own pain while Belle spoke of hers. He sat behind her, and she
settled back against him with a soft sigh. He closed his eyes and for just a
moment, time had stood still, he was the same man she had loved and wanted all
those years ago and they were nestled together in the hayloft.
The glamour lifted when she began to speak. Long gone were those fresh-faced
youths, bright-eyed and full of ambition; the two that sat here now, clinging
in the dark, were broken, damaged ghosts of what once was. “They cleansed me.
Scourges and flame, while they chanted the laws day and night. King George was
furious that I had ruined his plans for me. It was days or weeks, months
perhaps, it’s all so distant now. I don’t know how I didn’t lose the baby.”
Rumple’s hands closed into fists. Fists so tight, he began to shake. “They beat
you while you were with child?” His voice trembled, “And they call that
justice? It’s reprehensible.”
Belle took his hands and wrapped his arms around her like a cloak. She shook
her head, “When they realized I was with child, they left me alone. Truly
alone. I was isolated until well after I gave birth.” His arms tightened around
her involuntarily, and she ran her nails lightly against his skin, making him
shiver. He closed his eyes. “She’s beautiful, Rumple.”
Tears slipped down his cheeks. “I named her Arianwen,” Belle whispered.
“A name of my people,” he sobbed into her hair. “It means silver-grey.” He
rocked her against him, and she nodded. He felt her tears fall on his arms and
they burned his skin.
“I named her Arianwen, because her eyes were as grey as the sea near Avonlea on
a stormswept day, But from the first moment I held her, I called her my Hope.”
Belle said a little apologetically. Rumple squeezed her tight to show his
understanding. “She was my light in the darkness.”
“I was allowed to keep her with me, to hold her and feed her,” Belle started to
tremble again, “but at one year, they forced me to wean her. At eighteen
months, she was taken from me and given to the spinsters. Payment, I suppose
for losing you and me.” Belle leaned forward, out of his embrace, he let her go
and she sobbed quietly for a few minutes, her face in her hands. It was only a
few moments before she sniffled, composing herself and wiping her tears away.
“I couldn’t eat or sleep, all I did was cry for her. I begged them, but there
was no mercy. If I would not comply with their wishes and that of the King, the
cleansing would begin again.”
“I was damaged goods, soiled in the eyes of cleric and king. They did something
to me when the babe came, to make it seem as though I could be a maiden still.
My shame was hidden, but my maidenhead could not truly be restored.” Belle
shuddered. “A woman’s body is not her own in these lands. Am I less a person
than any man?” She sighed, “I wish I could change that, though I cannot see
how. Regardless, once I was tamed, negotiations for my hand began again, and
within a few months it was decreed I would marry Hordor, Lieutenant of the
Duke’s armies.”
“There was barely even a ceremony. Just the king and clerics declaring we were
married.” Belle closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. “He is a
cruel man, though I suppose you know that from the war.”
“I do, I’ve seen him take delight in the pain of others,” Rumple sighed. He sat
behind her but didn’t touch her.
Belle nodded. “Yes. And when I didn’t conceive him a son or any child, he began
blaming me.  With each passing month, he treated me with more and more cruelty.
I won’t speak of it, but he was most vile in his desires. I tried to run away.
“I didn’t make it off the grounds before I was caught, many of the scars you
see were from that awful night.” Belle shivered, and scooted back into Rumple’s
embrace once again. “I didn’t think I would survive to see the dawn. But I
thought of Hope, and of you and I kept my sanity.”
“Belle, I’m so sorry!” He folded himself around her, as though he could protect
her now from the demons of the past. She was as strong as a branch of yew, but
the fierceness of his love for her made him bold. Like Bae, he knew he would
gladly lay his life down for her safety, and for his daughter. His heart
pounded a little stronger when he realized his life was not completely
worthless to not one person now, but three.
“He left me alone more and more often after that,” Belle said, “One of his many
mistresses bore him a son, and he made sure to rub it in my face every time he
came to me. He made sure to inform me that I was a worthless whore who refused
to bear him a son.”
“But if he conceived a child with his mistress and we conceived a child
together…” Rumple trailed off.
Belle turned and gave him a wry look, “There are herbs to stop a child from
starting. I took them in secret. I would rather have been beaten bloody every
day than to bring a child into that place, I would never call it a home.”
Rumple was silent as continued her story, “After several escape attempts and
fruitless beatings, he finally decided to just be rid of me.” She bowed her
head, “But he was not content to let me slip away, he wants to marry the
mistress who bore him the son and make him his legitimate heir.”
Belle wrung at her skirts, her hands worrying at the fabric, tangling in the
laces of her forgotten bodice, “He informed me that worthless whores should be
treated as such, that I was to be given to one of his companies as a…” she
hesitated, she could barely say the word, “aplaything. And that afterward he
would have me brought up on charges of prostitution and infidelity. That I
would be executed for my crimes and he would be free to marry again. I made
sure I was not caught when I slipped away that night. I went out through the
sewers. All that mattered was that I got away.”
Rumple’s was miserable thinking of her suffering, knowing she would blame him
for it, that she should, “I wish so much that I had not failed you, that we had
left that night, after. Just run anywhere.”
“It’s not your fault.” Belle insisted. “It was my fate, and I survived it. Just
as I survived the ogres as a child. For two days I lay trapped beneath the
bodies of my parents before they found me. If I opened my eyes, I could see my
mother’s face, only…” Belle choked back a sob.
Rumple held her tight in silence for a moment, “No wonder you wouldn’t speak of
it when we were younger. I should never have asked you.”
“How could you know, Rumple?” Belle shrugged. “It was so long ago, but I will
never forget their sacrifice as they shielded me from the attack. “My mother’s
last words were, ‘I love you,’ before she lay on top of me.” She turned and
took Rumple’s hands in hers, sitting cross-legged with her back to the fire,
her breasts were bare, and she didn’t move to cover them. Her blue eyes shone
bright as diamonds in the dim firelight, and he did not look away, “I love our
daughter just as fiercely as my mother loved me. I will not rest until I have
her with me again.”
“Nor will I, Belle,” he squeezed her hands and she gave him a little half
smile. “I don’t even know her yet, and yet I love her just as much as I love
Baelfire. I would give my life for Bae, could I do any less for our child? For
our Hope?”
“Thank you.” She lifted his hands to her lips and kissed them. “I never stopped
loving you, Rumple. I never hoped for rescue, because you had no way of knowing
what happened, but I never gave up wondering if I could find you if I got away.
If you would still love me, in spite of everything.”
“Oh, Belle,” he sobbed, the pitch of his voice rising as he forced out the
words, “of course I still love you. I never stopped loving you. It is I who am
no longer worthy of your love.” His whole body was shaking with the storm of
emotions that boiled inside him, fear and loathing warred with love and desire
and he was the battleground. He made a silent vow in that moment, one he would
never speak to the gentle Belle, but one he meant with every fibre of his
being.I will kill that despicable bastard one day, I promise you, Belle.
Somehow, I will find a way to kill him. And I will end that cult of fools who
call themselves clerics and torture in the name of the gods.
“Belle..” he choked out past everything that threatened to suffocate him where
he sat.
Belle silenced him by leaning forward and brushing her lips against his. There
was no demand, no violent rush of pleasure, just a warm glow that spread slowly
from his tingling lips to the ends of his hair as they danced about in the
electric crackle of magic. He felt it in his bones, and the tangy spice of
lightning tickled his nostrils. Her simple kiss had broken him out of the curse
of his own making, complacency and fear. Somehow, miraculously, she still loved
him, and he could not fail her again.
“What was that?” Belle asked as she pulled back. Rumple shook his head, his
hands rubbing her bare arms. Noticing for the first time that her bracelet was
gone. Of course it was. How could she have kept hold of it through all that she
suffered? He traced the line where it would have been on her too thin arm. She
looked up at him, as if reading his thoughts. “I put it around around Hope’s
wrist, before she was taken from me, fashioned so that it would grow with her.
Elsinore herself took Hope from my arms. I looked her in the eye and begged her
not to take it off. She promised me with tears in her eyes, Rumple.” Belle
smiled, and gripped his arms, “I hope it is still with her.”
Rumple opened his leather pouch, and pulled out a carefully folded parcel of
vellum. He untied the meticulous bow and unfolded it, holding the contents out
for her to see. She gasped as she opened the folded parchment, her original
straw bracelet lay carefully preserved, so delicate, but still whole. She
touched it with a gentle reverence.
“You kept it?” Tears rolled down her cheeks once again, “my straw bracelet.”
“It’s the only object I truly cherish,” he whispered. “If everything burned
around my ears I wouldn’t have cared, so long as I still had Bae, and this.”
“I won’t lose you again, Rumplestiltskin. I am yours and you are mine.” She
took his face in the palms of her hands and would not let him look away. “In
the morning, we are going to find a way to get our daughter back, and we are
going to find a safe place where we can be together, a family. I won’t lose you
again. I won’t.”
Her kiss this time was fire and ferocity, her fingers tangled in his hair,
pulling him towards her. Rumplestiltskin wrapped his arms around his lovely
Belle and held her close, her bare torso pressed to his chest, and they kissed
until the world stopped turning, stopped threatening to upend him.
“Papa?” A sleepy voice called down from the loft. Belle scrambled to cover
herself, blushes coloring her pale skin even redder in the firelight. “I’m
thirsty.”
“I’ll bring you a cup of water, son,” Rumple called back, trying his best to
keep his voice level and even. He smiled shyly at Belle, shrugging when she
giggled quietly into her hand, and took Bae his promised cup of water. He was
gone for a few minutes, soothing Baelfire back to sleep in his nest of straw
and blankets with quiet words and a softly sung tune.
When he returned, the fire was blazing merrily in the hearth, a couple of large
logs having been added to the grate, and Belle was snuggled under the pile of
soft woolen blankets and sheepskins that covered his modest bed. Her clothing
was draped neatly over the footboard, everything, down to her knickers and
woolen hose was there.
Rumplestiltskin blushed to the roots of his hair, “Belle…”
But Belle only smiled at him, both shy and alluring, opening her arms and
beckoning him to join her under the covers. “Come, warm my feet…”
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