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im-not-a-what · 7 years ago

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Fic: Uncovered, Undone

Title: Uncovered, Undone

Summary: Canon divergence from season 2. Belle and Rumplestiltskin have a tumultuous start after they find each other again in Storybrooke, but it’s nothing compared to the bombshell Rumple drops in the wake of rescuing Belle from Moe. Belle, reeling and hurt, grapples with this revelation. Nothing will be the same, but can anything be salvaged?

Rating: T (brief sexual references)

Genre: angst, oh boy the angst

Characters/relationships: Belle, Rumplestiltskin, Rumbelle (sort of)

Notes: Prompted by @ofdragon0wls who wanted an ace/aro Rumple fic. Written from Belle’s perspective.

It was known by allies and enemies that Rumplestiltskin was a man loaded with secrets. In the Dark Castle, Belle anticipated that early on. He wasn’t entirely inscrutable. Just enough that she was tugged by temptation to peel back his layers. Although her fear dwindled in the following weeks, she paced herself in how much she poked and pestered him, pushing his limits only to the brink of the familiarity they were fostering. But she’d felt the give in his façade. He’d started to show honesty. Something warm and good, if no less mysterious, finally bloomed. That was love, she gradually realized between meeting the Queen and kissing Rumplestiltskin.

Maybe she had tried to solve the mystery of that love before she was ready for it. Being cast out of her love’s castle, then imprisoned by his rival, then trapped in an asylum for ageless decades had eroded Belle’s patience. So, the moment she woke up and laid eyes on him—another surprise, another mystery solved (what did he look like as an ordinary man?)—she jumped at the chance to make her feelings unquestionably clear. And he seemed happy. That wasn’t ambiguous to her. They hugged. They kissed—did she move in first, or did he? That wasn’t a mystery so much as a whirlwind of confusion. It felt right and true. True Love. It was never meant to be easy, but that made it worth fighting for, right?

Now the greatest mystery Belle was busy piecing together was how she ended up at Granny’s diner nursing an iced tea and a plate of pancakes, alone, so despondent that pancakes couldn’t raise her spirits.

Ruby kept passing her table and offering a few words of interest or assistance: “You want a refill? You sure you’re okay?” Then finally, “You

sure

you don’t want to talk?”

Maybe Ruby’s insistence dissolved her desire for solitude. Or maybe it was due to the anxiety bubbling like a sour carbonated drink, eating away at her silent self-pity. Belle pulled in enough air to let out the words. “I don’t know if it would do any good, but … I just don’t know how to feel. Except stupid.”

Ruby’s brilliant eyes sharpened to silver-blue blades. “Is this about Gold?”

Belle frowned. Her drooping gaze answered for her.

“I knew it.” Ruby took the opposite seat in Belle’s booth. The diner was slow at this hour. Even if it hadn’t been, she would’ve risked a reprimand from Granny and some cranky customers. “What did he do?”

The moment Belle started thinking about that question, a swell of sympathy splashed her. Sympathy for Rumple. Was that pathetic and misguided? It had become a habit to look for the good and pitiable so as to fight the grim impression he left on everyone else.

“Oh, Ruby, it’s not like that. He didn’t . . . I know he wasn’t trying to hurt me.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

Belle sighed. “I know. He did hurt me, but—”

“If you need me to wolf out on him, I will.” The waitress was half-smiling. Half-kidding.

“No. Trust me, if he’d done something to warrant that, I’d tell you. This is . . . this is complicated. I’m madder at myself than him.”

The crease in Ruby’s brow spoke her skepticism. Belle could guess her worry: that she was blaming herself when Rumple was at fault. Taking another breath, slower this time, Belle arranged her words before setting them out in to create a more comprehensible picture.

“Rumple told me he’s . . . he said we can’t stay together.”

Eyebrows jumped up. Ruby flinched like she’d had a shock or been lightly smack. “What? He broke up with you?”

Belle stared at her half-drunk iced tea. “Essentially.”

“Why the hell did he do that?”

She was still dissecting the answer. Oh, Rumple’s reasoning had been transparent. That is, transparent to him. He must’ve wrestled with it for a while, perhaps from the moment of their reunion by the well. Since their second kiss.

“I’m not sure I can talk about it. It’s personal. To him.”

That assuaged some of Ruby’s indignant disbelief. “Ah. It’s an ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ excuse?”

“It’s pretty legitimate,” Belle said. She granted him that, based on what he’d told her.

After a longer pause than necessary, Ruby tilted her head. “Is he gay?”

Belle’s eyebrow twitched. She came close to smiling. “I almost wish it were that. But maybe I’d feel the same, anyway.”

Even if she didn’t understand what exactly Belle meant, Ruby grasped enough to wince and say, “Aww, man. I’m sorry, Belle.”

Belle nodded. And, surprisingly, she did give a tiny smile. Talking was helping. It felt like baby steps, like learning to walk again. “I’ll be okay. Eventually.”

“Hey, how about I help you take your mind off it? Maybe tonight at the Rabbit Hole? Drink fancy cocktails, shoot some pool, flirt with guys way beneath us?”

The chuckle that wanted to escape Belle’s chest hurt, yet her smile widened. “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

After Belle paid her bill at the diner and headed out, she returned her thoughts to memories and what brought about this situation. One of Ruby’s questions kept coming back. It brought unexpected illumination. She stepped back and watched her last few conversations with Rumple as an outsider. Maybe that would help her untangle this knot. Another mystery to peel away like a layer of dead skin.

*~*

Rarely had she woken in the morning and found him in bed. Sometimes he was up making her breakfast, an effective blind that she mistook as romantic. Other times, she would wake up in the early hours when darkness still covered the world to find a chill on the side he was supposed to be lying in. One morning, as she tracked him down to the basement, to his spinning wheel, she remembered how he’d spun at the Dark Castle at all hours. Did the Dark One truly sleep? As he was immortal, it made sense that sleep wouldn’t be necessary for survival (although lack of sleep might drive him mad). Her other thought was that he was performing magic beyond his gold-spinning. Given his habits, that made sense, too. She decided to talk to him after the sun was up. It was time for the mysteries between them to be solved. Rumple deserved some privacy, but she didn’t want him sneaking around all the time, as though to hide himself from her.

The first talk didn’t help much. Rumple kept mostly mum when she told what she saw, how he needed to trust her if they were going to be together. She interpreted the downcast look as a sign that he didn’t have the courage, or he preferred having his magical secrets to himself.

She decided to vent her brewing frustration out in town, turning the uncomfortable lump in her stomach into a kindled desire for exploration. Maybe it was unwise to leave Rumple ignorant about her plan. Armed with stubbornness, she told herself it was fair play. If he could sneak around at his pleasure, so could she. Just give him a taste of how it felt; then maybe he’d see sense.

If only she had shaken off the bad luck that came with independent adventuring. A short man in a red cap nabbed her at the shuttered-up library. Her father, disapproving of her relationship with Rumple, tried to send her over the town line to erase her memories. Against all expectation, Rumple saved her just as she’d secretly dreamed he would in the Enchanted Forest. The moment of elation sunk as she remembered why she’d left the house in a huff. Grateful as she was for his intervention, she was not Rumple’s reward for a good deed. She was angrier at him than she could admit to herself before.

She went off to be alone again, though not before grabbing some clothes and renting a room at Granny’s. Yes, she was mad at Rumple, but hope simmered. She waited for a new chance, just as she had during her time away from the Dark Castle, prior to her capture at the Evil Queen’s hands.

A day later, hope came in a box. The key to the apartment above the library. A note told her to be at the library at 3.

Then there they were, face to face, like boats navigating a choppy sea, either to pass one another or make contact for a fruitful exchange. Or an exchange of fire. Belle’s stomach was a bird all heated and flapping about.

The light from a high window above the bookshelves encased Rumple in a glow that turned his hair divinely radiant, but his face was shadowed.

“Look,” she forced herself to begin while holding up the key, “if you thought this would win me back—”

Rumple raised a hand. “No, no, Belle, that’s not it. I came here to tell you the truth. All of it.”

She wished and willed her belly to be iron so it could calm down, reining in the frantic optimism and gnawing cynicism that both threatened to make her queasy. He hardly looked much better. The wrinkles in his forehead said as much. Somehow, he held her gaze.

“I’ve been a coward for most of my life. Now I’ve come to rely on magic to cover for it, allowing me to gather power. But doing so has always cost the people that mean the most to me.”

“Your son,” Belle whispered.

“Yes. Baelfire.” A gentle puff came out with the name, like a protective cloud. Warmth filled in the spaces between the consonants and hung on the end. Did he say her name like that?

“What happened to him?” she asked. “You said you lost him.”

“I did. I lost him to my blind need for power. I’ve spent the last few centuries venturing down so many paths back to him. Eventually, there was only one: a curse.”

“The curse that brought us to Storybrooke.” A door opened. A mystery pulled apart like the wrapping on a Yuletide present. Some of Belle’s harshness at his earlier behavior melted. He’d done all this for his son. It was still a lot of dark magic and dark deeds, but at least his heart was in the right place.

“And yet, even now, so close to finding him and making things right, I brought magic to Storybrooke. It’s my crutch, Belle. I can’t let it go.”

She listened as she walked toward him. Not the best answer. No less the truth, which was what mattered.

“There’s more,” Rumple said, his already trembling voice dropping lower.

“It’s all right,” she said, her voice also shaky. “Please, tell me.”

“You had a right to be angry and walk away. In a way, I hope that makes it easier for you to hear what I need to tell you.”

She couldn’t see how what he’d said was easier to hear because of her anger. Besides, she wasn’t as angry. Not angry at all, really.

“Rumple, I just wanted you to be honest with me. Now you have.”

He folded in his lips. “Does that mean you want us to be together?”

She swallowed some air. Her chest rose, ready to speak.

“No,” Rumple jumped in, “don’t answer. That will make things worse.”

Her eyes widened. What did he mean?

“There’s something else I wasn’t honest about. Our relationship.”

Belle pressed her back against a bookcase and waited, as wide-eyed and still as a nervous rabbit.

Rumple prudently made the effort to look her in the eye, but without moving closer. “Please understand that my love for you is true. You brought light into my life. You helped me want to be my best self. Nothing in this world can make me want to lose that.”

She was conscious of the distance, the way he leaned on his cane, facing her but with the support between them. He watched her tenderly with the same gaze as when she’d asked him to hold her in bed, and after she’d climaxed from his fingers and he’d resumed cradling her.

“It’s just . . . I’ve come to realize that certain things most people want—romance, sex—aren’t things I want.”

It was a silent detonation. She must have misheard him. “W-what?”

“I know, I know,” he rushed to say. “That’s not the impression I gave you when we first reunited. Or the days that followed. The truth is it wasn’t hard for me to play that part. I’ve played it before. For different reasons.”

“Wait a minute.” Belle held up her hand. Her voice was a sharp, shuddering icicle. “Played a part? You mean you pretended to want me?”

Rumple’s darting eyes and reaffirmed grip on his cane struck her as the signs of a man desperate to run but is bound to the floor by leg shackles. “I pretended to desire you as most men would desire someone like you, Belle.”

Ice enveloped her. She dangled, on the cusp of falling and smashing to pieces. “Why? Why, Rumple?”

“I don’t know!” His voice cracked like wet firewood set ablaze. “All my life I’ve felt that it’s the way I should be, to feel those fires and longings. I told myself I felt them for my first wife. I convinced myself the same a couple times after, but I believed it less and less as the years passed. When I became the Dark One, I didn’t need to pretend. Let the populace think I ravish women or men for my deviant pleasure. I didn’t need to do anything to perpetuate those rumors. All I needed was my magic and my quest. Except . . . except it wasn’t enough. I didn’t want to bed anyone, and friends seemed as unreliable as lovers. Yet I found myself . . . lonely. The castle felt soulless. I started to think if just one other person lived there—no one special, just a servant—I’d be satisfied.

“And then . . . and then I saw you. When you first called me to help you stop the ogres, remember?”

Belle barely knew anything about the present, let alone the past. She blinked and, like a weary fisherman, cast her mind to the past as accurately as she could with low expectations. She remembered the first time she saw him in the war room. That was her earliest recollection. She shook her head.

“I guess I never told you,” he said, trying to make it sound off-handed, as though he were his callous impish self again. “You scoured books upon books for a ritual that could summon the Dark One. What you didn’t realize was that repeating my name three times was enough to get my attention if I felt it worth my time. I peeked in on you, watched you argue with your father about the ogres, and decided that you’d be suitable. I didn’t expect it to be a permanent arrangement; you’d amuse me for a time, then I’d find an excuse to send you back to your family. But you were there back-talking and poking your nose in my things. You became a beloved nuisance. The castle wasn’t so quiet, except when you were reading. And I . . . I found myself loving you. But what kind of love, I don’t quite know. I do know it’s the truest kind I’ve ever known. Just not the kind that you might be looking for.”

She couldn’t stop trembling. No, she wouldn’t make herself stop. How could anyone expect her to?

“You’re—” Her throat burned when she swallowed. She forced the muscles to push down a mouthful of saliva, anyway. “You’re not making any sense.”

His gaze drooped. She’d nicked him unintentionally, yet he didn’t look surprised. His thumb brushed over the cane’s golden head. Belle watched that thumb until tears blurred her vision.

“I know,” he whispered, high and so quiet he was barely audible.

She hated not understanding. As the first tears fell, she rubbed them away and demanded her lungs to keep taking steady breaths. “Rumple, if you just want us to be friends, then just—just say so. I don’t understand why you let me think you wanted more.”

“I don’t really know.” His voice gained a little strength. “Perhaps . . . when you kissed me, I remembered how I failed in the past with …”

“With your first wife? Baelfire’s mother?” Her voice crackled with caged sobs. It amazed her she had a voice at all.

A short nod, eyes still down.

Belle clenched her hands. She bit her lip. If she had more words, they might make things worse. But, oh, she wanted to yell. About what? About … about all the wasted time, the secrecy, her own stupid heart—the same heart that boiled with pain yet shrank back from hurting Rumple. It still didn’t make sense. Why become lovers with someone, much less marry them, if you didn’t desire them? The memory of Gaston niggled her. That wasn’t the same, but—but perhaps—

“I wanted a family.” He was all but whispering. “I still do. I’ll find a way to Bae, even though the magic I summoned is stopping me from leaving town. But that is my journey to make, my price to pay. I wouldn’t expect you to make any more sacrifices.”

Silence came and dug into her skin like a thousand nettles. He was trying to be truthful and kind, and that hurt worse. Maybe it was a front. Maybe he was pushing her away for other reasons. He wouldn’t be the first man in her life to attempt protecting her without respecting her intelligence. But he looked pained, too. With one glimpse at that raw vulnerability when he at last met her eye, her lungs clenched shut.

“I’m so sorry, Belle.” Her name still sounded sweet and dangerous on his lips. “You deserve the truth, and so much more.”

Anger failed her. Heartbreak was a breaker she couldn’t flee, but only tumble into and know that any moment she would drown. Yet she was still. Both she and he watched, searched, then retreated, resigned more than satisfied. She looked down; he walked away. His eyes were still on her as he whispered, “Goodbye, Belle.”

*~*

It was still too soon to divorce herself from the feelings that clung to those memories. To be fair to herself, her grief needn’t be driven away. In time, it would molder into harmless dust. That said, after the strain Rumple put himself through explaining his feelings, she wanted to give that effort the respectful reflection it deserved. This wasn’t strictly about his desires, or lack of them, for her. He’d faced this before. Had his wife understood? It wasn’t hard to imagine the confusion and hurt she’d probably felt.

There was a son. I lost him. Like I lost his mother.

Rumple hadn’t rejected his wife. He’d lost her. Did he feel the same about Belle? Maybe he’d learned that he needed to come out as he was or risk a greater pain than having to tell someone who loves you that you don’t feel the same about them.

This reasonable, well-intended meditation felt like a cement wall withstanding the wild pummels from her no less riled emotions. The hurt didn’t subside. She was merely buffering it with what compassion and sensibility she could rake up. It didn’t make her inclined to seek out Rumple and say she could forgive him. She wasn’t ready to forgive him. Someday she would. Belle saw it like a distant horizon she had yet to reach, certain but so far away it might as well be across the universe.

What followed were weeks of cocooning herself in her library work, venting to Archie, and making herself enjoy life a bit with Ruby, Ashely and Leroy. It took all that and more for Belle to feel any sense of wellness. She settled into life in Storybrooke and slowly rebuilt her relationship with her father. But the nights caught her in morose thoughts. Was Rumple doing well? They’d not spoken. He was avoiding her as much as she was him. What short, wordless encounters they’d had at the pharmacy or on the street offered no insight into his emotional state. He remained as skilled as ever in masking himself from the world. She tasted bitterness knowing that she’d returned to being part of “the world” to him. So much for being friends. So much for all the love and light she’d allegedly brought into his life when they could barely look at each other now.

Was he suffering? Was he relieved? Did she have any right to ask? Was he worth the risk of asking?

In the depths of one of those sleepless nights, she remembered Mulan, their adventure, and what she’d learned from them. Rumple had said she deserved more than he could give. That might’ve been true. Should that undo the friendship they had started? Did that make it worth less than a romantic relationship? No, her heart insisted.

And what might become of Rumple, even with his quest and his son, if he had no one else to care for? He’d been at his worst in their early days, so quick to hurt people. Maybe he’d hidden his bad behavior better when he’d started to like her. Even so, he was not quite as dark now as he had been. If her friendship had something to do with that, and if she wasn’t compromising herself by maintaining that friendship, it couldn’t be wrong.

All the same, she felt hard thumpings against her sternum at the hinted reminder of what had become of old hopes for her future with him.

It wouldn’t be any different if he’d rejected me for someone else, she thought with only an inkling of sardonic tartness.

Maybe that made this situation more bearable. She’d take it over total hopelessness.

*~*

Blood rushed to her ears as Belle stepped into the pawnshop. The bell above startled her. She’d forgotten it. It had been over a month since she had been inside.

She had meant to visit when he was working behind the counter, as she’d noticed a few times lately when passing by the door. Best to start on a Monday, she’d decided over the weekend, as a new routine. From there they could set whatever pace they mutually found comfortable, assuming they’d find mutual comfort at all.

He was not here. It was tempting to return to the library or head to Granny’s for lunch, and the temptation nearly pulled her out of the shop. Almost to spite it, for the cowardice it betrayed, she checked that the door was unlocked. The Open sign faced out, so feeling the knob turn for her and seeing the door move for her shouldn’t have been a shock. She winced. No, she wasn’t afraid. It just felt intrusive entering his shop when he wasn’t around. She couldn’t let him think she was ambushing him.

To buy some time and an excuse to linger, Belle surveyed the merchandise cluttering his shop. There was so much of it—a chess set, tea sets, a ship in a bottle, incongruent toys and instruments amidst more valuable ash trays and watches. She couldn’t help recalling the random assortment of odds and ends ranging in quality that he’d stocked up in his castle. She even spied a long, flat case that could’ve held a sword. About a month ago, she’d marveled upon beholding the shop’s interior for the first time, but she never found the chance to explore it more. After the disaster with the wraith, Belle took some time adjusting to this world in the safety of Rumple’s house (and parsing through his horde there). How much of this stuff had he acquired through pawning or purchasing? How much came by the curse? So many questions wallowed like dust on an untended mantle.

Her mood was taking a melancholy turn. Belle straightened from her hunched posture to catch hide or tail of Rumple. A few seconds later, the bell again chimed. Belle whipped toward the door, as quick as a banner on a windy day.

Rumplestiltskin was backlit and aglow, like in the library, but only for the time it took him to close the door and move further into the shop. Shadows gathered around like loving cats. “Belle? I wasn’t expecting you. How are you?”

The selfless concern behind the pleasantry sounded real, but it was burdened by nerves. Maybe he feared she screwed up the courage to tell him off for his actions. The idea had its attractions, but no. Her anger and confusion had ebbed enough that making a scene lost all allure.

“I’m all right. About as well as anyone can expect.” Belle buoyed her voice above trenches of self-pity. She hurried on to save herself from sinking. “I hope you’re well. The shop seems to be … um, in good order.”

“It is, thank you.” His confusion remained. Some wariness faded with a hesitant smile. “Did something in here catch your eye? Or did you just want to browse? Feel free to look at anything you wish.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she was relieved to feel sincere saying that. “I came to see you, if that’s all right.”

His eyebrows inched up. More confusion. More hesitation and skittishness. “Of course.”

Hurry up, she thought, even though she didn’t want to rush anything if doing so meant saying the wrong thing. She had put in prior practice, though, and there was a desperate urge to kill the awkwardness hanging between them. “I-I’ve been thinking about how we left things. Believe me, I took what you said seriously, so don’t think I’m trying to … to undermine what you told me. In any way.”

Oh, that hadn’t come out quite right. A subtle steeliness glazed over his expression. He was ready for, perhaps, the usual arguments to discredit his feelings. He nodded and waited with cooler patience than she liked.

“You were right about it not being fair to me—to either of us—to stay together. If I’m going to be with someone, it should be someone who wants me the same way as I want them. And I would want to be with someone who was completely comfortable with the relationship we have. Obviously, that wasn’t so for you. So, you were right to end things between us.”

That relaxed him a bit. Belle’s heart lightened by a straw’s weight. “The only thing that I can’t yet accept is that … is that we have to cut each other out of our lives. Maybe it would be easier in the end to move on entirely. But … but I don’t think I want to. You still mean so much to me, and our not being a couple doesn’t change that. I’m not saying we can, or should be, close the way we were before. But the truth is, well, you’re a dear friend to me. For all we’ve been through, I’ve always thought of you as someone worthwhile to spend time with.” She chuckled. “Even if I didn’t have many other options in the beginning.”

Rumple smiled, and heartbreaking sweetness filled his face. It was hard not to forgive him for past misdeeds when he looked like that.

“So, if it’s not uncomfortable for you, I’d like us to be, at the very least, sociable. You know, meet up for lunch now and then. Say hi to each other in passing rather than pretend we’re each carrying the plague. There’s no question of my forcing anything more than friendship. I promise you that.”

“But is that enough for you?” His voice landed as gently on her ears as a feather.

“For you and me? Maybe not as first, but I can bear it. And if I can’t, I’ll tell you. I am a free woman who can pursue whatever relationships interest her. I’m not condemning myself to misery by spending time with you, Rumple. It’s thanks to you, after all, that I have my own place, and a job so I can support myself. So, stop thinking you’re imprisoning me again. If I want to walk away, I’ll walk away.”

The shop was like a cupboard they’d been locked into, only thin shafts of light peeking through the blinds on the windows. It felt more closed-in than the library, and yet, paradoxically, less stifling. Belle had a mind to keep still to avoid bumping into a glass case, not because of paralyzing anxiety. One small tremor did crawl up her spine right before Rumple spoke.

“Well … I suppose … have you tried Granny’s burgers?”

Belle spoke with the breath that wanted to rush in and balloon her chest. “I have, but only once so far. I haven’t tried it with the pickles. They sounded bold on the first go.”

Rumple nearly laughed. He continued to look a little befuddled, and more fragile, but his smile stayed. “If you want to try them, we could do so together some time.”

Her smile matched his in slightly broken, slightly healed contentment. Hope in the face of every reason not to. Why change now?

“I would like that,” she said.

#once upon a time #ouat fic #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #ace!rumple #aro!rumple

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im-not-a-what · 7 years ago

Text

Little Lantern

My fic for @rumbellerevelry

Rating: G

Word count: 6622

Summary: Lady Belle just wants a little freedom. She wasn’t expecting a ball of light in the forest to offer her that and more.

Prompts used: Lantern

Lady Belle liked to think she was not very foolish, even if she had a bad habit of risking her safety to satiate curiosity. She was ravenous for anything that broke the humdrum of a quiet country life. Books sometimes quenched the thirst of mind and eye, but mind and eye still wandered to the window when the sun dipped behind the trees like a friend sneaking off to adventures she wasn’t allowed to participate in. As a child, she would let herself dream that, one day, nothing and no one would stop her from chasing the sun and moon to the farthest corners of the world. Now that she was grown, Belle felt it a disservice to deny her younger self that dream. Sir Maurice, of course, had a different opinion.

Aside from the guards and nobles who protected or visited their castle, Belle and Maurice had only each other. Belle honored that, cherished it, but when she knew that her father was going to attend a summit with the other vassal fiefdoms for a week, there was no hope of strictly honoring his strictures that she never, ever leave home without his express permission. The castle guards didn’t require steep bribes, but there were loyal enough to the baronet (and sensible enough of the dangers to a young woman in the nearby forest) to insist on an escort. Belle conceded; she took it rather well, which should’ve caused a little alarm among the men who, saddled on horseback with her, processed down the royal road amid whispering trees.

If Belle was just a little bit of a fool, the guards weren’t much better. Some of them had enough experience to foresee the perils caused by a ball of light that darted out of the dense woods and weaved between them. The luminant was far too large to be an insect. Even if it had been smaller, there was no reason for a firelight to be awake and alight in the mid-afternoon. Belle guessed what it was, but she didn’t dare name it for fear that her escorts would shoo it away or demand they return home.

What was such a light doing in the forest? They preferred bogs, swamps, anywhere with still water. Maybe it was drawn to the road in a desire to lead away the insensible and adventurous. As soon as the ball of light zipped back into the trees, Belle proved she owned at least one of these qualities and followed it.

The guards gave chase, for they were faithful to Maurice and rather endeared to their master’s daughter. The little light might harm their charge. At the very least, it might confuse and frighten her if she was ensnared by its enchantment. Whether such a fate befell Belle, who with her horse disappeared in an emerging mist, or on the guards, who shortly lost all trail of her, was difficult to say on their end.

Belle did sense that her men had vanished in her wake, although her ears caught distant calls and hoofbeats. The road had disappeared, too. A fog bank teased her horse’s legs, though it gave way to an unobscured woodland path that the ball of light brought into even clearer view. Panic grabbed her heart for a few seconds. Then the yellow light--a will o’wisp--flew around her head. She could feel its heat, no stronger than a candle flame. While it charmed more than threatened, it moved with urgency after a moment of hovering hesitation. When it shot away along the new path, the idea of following shifted from daringly precarious to pressingly necessary.

Her hands started to sweat, but she held the reins fast and beckoned Philippe onward with soothing murmurs. Gloom stole over the area, as though the day were passing more quickly than natural. By the time the winding path and the flying light brought Belle to a clearing, the sky’s overcast palette thwarted any attempt to determine the hour. The inconvenience did not bother Belle for long. Across the clearing, nestled on its edge and hemmed in by a garden, stood a small, tidy house. A radiance similar to that of the playful will o’wisp flickered in the front-end windows despite the efforts of curtains to block the view. Smoke curled out of the chimney. It was suspiciously charming, the perfect abode for a mischievous witch who might just as easily offer Belle food and a bed as throw a sack over the girl’s head and hold her captive in preparation for human stew.

Belle reined in her horse and her wild inclinations so that she remained on her side of the clearing. The one evident peculiarity was the presence of two dozen carved pumpkins along the garden’s boundary and on each side of the doorway.

The will o’wisp seemed to guess her question about them. It rushed to the pumpkin on the far left, slipped into its gaping mouth, and set its hollowed insides aglow. A goofy, grinning visage stared at Belle. She gasped and stared with a smile of her own. The wisp left that pumpkin and moved to its neighbor, then the next and the next, down the line to the walkway. Each carved face had its own personality: some smiled; some grimaced; some were frozen mid-cackle, some mid-sigh or mid-scream. Belle was fascinated by each. When the wisp came to the final pumpkin, a winking face, Belle dismounted and, leading her horse, tiptoed closer to the house. The wisp squeezed out of the one open eye, flew up and touched Belle’s nose. The contact was hot but did not burn. She wiggled her nose and squinted. The wisp bobbed, excited or anxious, before hovering down the path to the front door.

Belle pulled in a breath while her stomach tightened. She shouldn’t. She knew better. But the wisp was waiting, mutely calling to her. Behind her, Philippe bent his head to graze. His flank twitched a little, probably from a fly or the chill that she was beginning to feel on her bare arms. In the end, it didn’t take much persuasion. The scene, the circumstances, they needed her bravery to continue this odd adventure. For good or ill, she needed to continue.

She let go of Philippe’s reins. Skirts marginally raised, she shuffled down the walkway, a flat dirt path embedded with round white stones. At the door, the wisp drifted to the doorknob. Did it want her to just walk in? The firelight in the windows was as present as ever, a warning that someone called this cottage home and was enjoying the late afternoon (if it was still the late afternoon) in peaceful domesticity. Belle brought her knuckles to the wood and landed three knocks, loud as she dared without being rude.

The wisp touched the doorknob. Without the knob turning, the door popped open and slowly swung inward. Belle lurched back. Her surprised and disapproving look at the wisp failed to stop the glowing orb from bouncing about like a yo-yo.

“Bae?” said a voice unseen somewhere behind the half-open door.

Belle jumped. Her stomach could’ve burst into a swarm of butterflies. The voice belonged to a man, but it was both delicate and course, perhaps in disuse from lack of company and conversation. Not a frightful voice, thank goodness. It was strange enough that she didn’t have the courage to cross the threshold. She did not bolt down the path, either. Confusion held her still while the wisp floated into the doorway.

“Bae? What is it?” There was creaking. The man Belle couldn’t see was standing up. Maybe something else creaked too--wooden, small--and continued to when she could hear the man’s gentle steps approach the door.

She couldn’t help the backward step. A part of her did want to run. It especially wanted to when she saw the face that came with the voice. That is, until she made herself return the man’s astonished stare. Her guess at this being a witch’s cottage wasn’t far off the mark. The man had long hair, tangled and wavy, full of wildness. There were rough scales on his face and the wrinkles and folds about the neck. Was he wearing a skin-suit made from chameleons? Or perhaps a small dragon? The scales weren’t just pronounced but also glimmerous. When the wisp floated up to meet the man’s eyes, the scales reflected the light.

And, oh, his eyes! So large, so nearly without whites! The pupils just pinpoints, the irises like great green marbles swirling with other colors she couldn’t yet name. Those eyes gaped at her, then a few seconds at the wisp. But those seconds told Belle something important. The wisp’s light pulsed in a pattern that meant nothing to her, but it had meaning to the strange man. After an erratic sequence, the wisp flew to Belle’s side and remained a breath from her shoulder.

“Um … good day,” Belle said when the man took her in head to toe. “I … I don’t really know why I’m here, except that this little fellow led me to your home. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

The man stepped forward. Belle finally noted the man’s attire, which was a little too fine for someone living in the woods alone. The burgundy cloak looked like something a noble might wear, only the hem started to fray at the cuffs and the bottom edge. Maybe the cloak was second-hand.

“Of course I’m disturbed,” said the man at last. “Why shouldn’t I be disturbed by a lady showing up on my doorstep out of the blue?”

“As I said,” Belle answered after clearing her throat and praying for bravery, “this wisp led me here.”

“Did he make you follow him?” The man’s perplexity started to fade into sardonic admonishment.

Belle bit her lip. “I suppose not. I was … I was looking for something interesting.”

Faint eyebrows rose. A smile quelled whatever annoyance the man tried to show before. “Did you find what you were hoping for?”

That smile, probably unintentional, gave her mettle a little reinforcement. Belle tilted her head. “It’s hard to say. Perhaps I’ll know if you invite me inside.”

His appearance was still startling. Now, though, she found that quality had a magnetic effect. The wisp zipped to the man, pulsed and whizzed and brushed the man’s cheek. A giggle slipped out of the man. That was enough to satisfy the wisp so that it--or he, possibly the one called “Bae”--returned to Belle and did the same thing. Their shared giggles cleared away the tension. Belle might have needed to worry about how exactly she was going to find her way home, or what her father would say and do when he learned about her disappearance; here and now, however, there was little to fear. With a wry smile that tried not to be pleased at having a visitor, the man stepped aside, bowed, and gestured for Belle to come in. She curtsied and smiled to the point of making herself laugh, and she accepted the invitation.

*~*

Maurice’s return occurred when everyone expected it, but it came too soon for Belle. Of course she was happy to see Papa again and that he had a safe and successful trip. But with him came someone she hadn’t expected at all. He presented an immediate problem.

“You need to show Sir Gaston the utmost hospitality,” Maurice impressed on Belle in his study. He’d summoned her to address more than just the importance of playing host to the visiting son of Lord Legume.

“I will be courteous to him,” Belle said, “but you can’t insist that I should consider marrying him!”

“You’ve no reason not to give him a chance,” Maurice said, and he wasn’t inclined to debate it further.

“Except that I am not interested in marriage.”

“Belle, in these times, that is not a luxury you can afford. Marriage means an alliance, and Lord Legume would be able to provide us with resources and protection against the ogres. I know the threat may seem a ways off, but it’s closer than you think.”

“Only because you won’t let me help with any plans to repel them.” Belle started pacing. Being constantly underestimated due to her age and gender was an old and tiresome ordeal. It alone would’ve justified her agitation, as would’ve the notion that she might be paired off with a man against her wishes. Maybe she could like Gaston if she knew him. That was beside the point, though. There was more. Specifically, the presence of both her father and the visitor would thwart any ventures to the woods for a visit of her own. Disappointment was a cold gruel in her stomach, and the feeling of imagined shackles pulled her weight down, try as she might to ignore them and hold herself upright.

“It’s not a burden I would have you bear.” Maurice’s solemnity couldn’t escape the ghost of condescension. He meant well, or so Belle told herself.

“If I’m to suffer the consequences of the ogres’ threat, I might as well be part of the solution.”

“And you will be if you marry Gaston, or find another way to persuade him and his father to help us.”

The bile in her throat burned upon swallowing. The sensation came from an unwanted acknowledgement: if the choice was to sacrifice herself for her people, Bele would marry someone she didn’t want to. But, oh, if only it didn’t have to come to that!

Maybe Rumplestiltskin could help her sort this out. Despite the carved pumpkins and the uncanny gloom of his glen, she felt safe beside his hearth while listening to stories he shared about his life. Even when he was theatrical and intentionally unsettling, she was too engrossed to fear him. Afterward he always asked for a little more about herself, like what books she was reading. She didn’t have many exciting tales about her life, so she turned to the stories or knowledge her beloved books offered. If there was a tale that Rumplestiltskin had lived through, he gladly contributed his own version of events, always to Belle’s incredulity or amusement. Baelfire, as Rumple called the will o’wisp, rested in a glass lantern that magnified his light, which filled the room most pleasantly. The glow would flicker, dim or beam depending on his mood in response to Rumple and Belle’s conversations.

Belle found herself missing that little room, that little house and its strange residents. She’d known them after only a week of woodland visits every other day. The guards suspected that she was meeting someone, but each time they tried to follow her, the magic protecting the glen threw them off the trail. Since she always came back unchanged, they warily forgave themselves of incompetence and agreed not to tell Maurice unless they thought Belle in clear danger. Only a week of this game, but it felt like longer, and yet not long enough thanks to Sir Gaston’s interference.

With Gaston close at her heels, her power to slip out was greatly diminished. Her mind turned over every idea, each increasingly dicier, until she decided that the only reasonable option was to sneak off in the dead of night. The last thing she wanted was to alert either her father or her suitor to her new friends. For now, in the light of day, she played the obliging lady.

“All right, Papa,” she told Maurice. “I’ll give Gaston a chance.”

“Good girl.” His smile was satisfied and unsurprised.

The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. The best way to divert suspicion was to engage Gaston in friendly (but not overly friendly) conversation and give the appearance of someone who was giving his suit some consideration. He was enjoying a stroll through the castle gardens when she found him. Any chance that she had disturbed his privacy, possibly freeing her from the duty of amicable hostess, evaporated when he greeted her like a lighthouse, welcoming and alight with a flash of pearly teeth and scintillating eyes. He was handsome, Belle granted. Fit, too, thanks to his passion for hunting. He also managed to be genteel, even gallant, when they walked together and he offered his arm, then accepted her polite refusal. He even said, “I like a woman who knows how to stand on her own two feet.”

“Do women often like to take your arm?” Belle asked.

“Some do, and not always to innocent ends.” Gaston blended amusement with humility, which added a little charm to his demeanor.

“I’ve heard you’re quite popular among women in your native town.”

“I’m sure some accounts have been exaggerated,” he said, composure unwavering. “I have entertained suitors, as have you, for that is our lot as people of distinguished birth. And, if I may be a little conceited on my part, blessed with a fair appearance. But that is hardly our fault, no?”

Belle allowed a genuine smile and shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”

“But I’m searching for something more,” Gaston continued. “A woman of substance. A woman of inner strength and sharp intelligence.”

“I hope you may find one who suits you,” she replied with a cheeky curve to her smile. “I think intelligent women are not difficult to find if you know how to look for them.”

“I hope you’re right,” Gaston said, “but my greatest hope is that I won’t have to look for much longer.”

She could see his appeal. Maybe if their circumstances weren’t so pressing, she could let herself come to like him more naturally. He might have depths she had yet to see. She credited him with wanting a partner who knew her own mind rather than defer to his will out of wifely submission. Yet some part of her, even if it was a small portion, held back from letting her heart be won by these attractive traits. For some reason, as they came inside and a servant approached them to announce that dinner was ready, Belle had an urge to speak to Rumplestiltskin about Gaston. In their conversations, Rumple had half-accidentally recounted his experiences in the first Ogres War, which happened over a hundred years ago. Far from alarmed, Belle considered his advanced age a fount of experiential insight. He might better know what a man like Gaston really thought and felt when he made these pleasing comments to her.

Congenial as Gaston was, she highly doubted that he would approve of her late-night venture. She did not fear losing his good opinion--not greatly--when she kept herself awake deep into the night, then dressed for the outdoors, snuck through the servants’ passages all the way down to the stables, and saddled Philippe. Her horse nickered a little in surprised excitement; thank goodness he was an obedient friend most of the time, hushing his sounds at Belle’s command. Soon they were at the gate surrounding the estate. Belle pulled out a small bag as she approached the guards on duty. She’d chosen this night and this hour with the knowledge that Jean and Robert would be there. Inside she had smuggled out tarts, still fresh from tonight’s dessert, and handed them to the guards. Robert gave her a conspiring grin. Jean looked more ashamed to take the bribe, and a paltry one at that.

“This is very foolish, even for you, milady,” he said.

“If anything should happen to me, I have this.” Belle pulled back her cloak to show him a round vial fastened to a belt. The purple substance within was neither quite a liquid nor a gas. Glittery bits permeated it. “I was given this in the event I meet trouble on the road. I only have to break it, and the magic will bring me to safety.”

“This is from your friend?” Jean asked, his words heavy with doubt.

“Yes.” Belle touched his arm. “I trust him. So trust me.”

“This cannot go on, milady.” The guard remembered to add the title out of respect, but the tremble in her voice remained, as though she were a friend rather than a noblewoman he’d sworn to protect.

Belle, for all her assurances, bit her lip with some chagrin. Taking a breath, letting her chest balloon, she smiled and said, “I’ll be back before sunrise. Watch for me.”

Jean nodded slowly and said no more.

Tonight a great deal of luck was on Belle’s side. She made it beyond the wall and to the forest road without being waylaid by anyone. This was her first time going out at night, devoid of an escort, so she was prepared to listen for a patrol and bolt into the trees if necessary. Her way was clear up to the moment a friendly orb of light flew out before her.

“How do you do that?” she asked with a laugh and a headshake. “You always know where to find me.”

A special talent of the will o’wisp, she reasoned, for Baelfire could not communicate with her the way he could with Rumplestiltskin. What an odd relationship they had, the warlock and the wisp. Bae loved flying outdoors when he brought Belle to and from the cottage, but inside he was content to nestle in his lantern near Rumple’s spinning wheel. Belle had read up on warlocks and witches, and though Rumple was singular even among magic-users for his appearance, having Baelfire as a familiar would fit his vocation. Usually, witches and warlocks chose animal companions; spirits they could summon for help with their magic, but the shades returned to where they’d come from once their task was complete. What role did a wisp serve a warlock other than to spare him the expense of candles?

Maybe Bae, as a wisp, had first been summoned to provide Rumple with companionship. Not through his own presence, but by bringing people from the road to his glen. Yet from their conversations, Belle had gathered that neither Rumple nor Bae had enjoyed a visitor in a long time. Maybe their early attempts failed and resulted in people fleeing or threatening to expose Rumple’s refuge.

So why did Baelfire try again with her?

Perhaps for the same reason she had risked her father’s discovery and chastisement when she first arranged her outings to the forest, and why she now risked even more condemnation by going to visit Rumplestiltskin alone in the dead of night. Anyone would chafe from isolation and stagnation after a while, even in light of the dangers waiting outside the door.

As soon as the trees opened to the clearing, Belle hopped down from Philippe and, letting Bae’s glow guide her steps, walked briskly to the cottage. Only the faintest hint of firelight from the hearth flickered behind the curtains.

“Rumplestiltskin?” He might’ve been asleep. It made sense since this was an impromptu visit at a late hour. The witching hour. But didn’t warlocks do their best work then?

What made no sense at all was the bubbling anxiety in her throat that he wasn’t home at all. Baelfire would’ve alerted her to that fact. He flew right to the house as usual rather than lead her to a waiting spot where they could wile the time until Rumplestiltskin returned. But that wasn’t what Belle feared. She reflected on this acidic agitation in her throat and stomach and found the answer. Even after a week, her childlike side worried that Rumple and Bae would suddenly be gone like mist, and no one except her would be wiser. Or these visits could be a vivid dream or illusion she would wake from at any moment.

She called Rumple’s name again. In past instances where he didn’t immediately appear to greet her, a single utterance of his name from her lips invoked his presence as though she were the witch and he the spirit to aid her. Even if he didn’t pop in right away, his voice answered with a terse demand to hold the team of horses she must have ridden in on if she was in such a hurry. No such answer came now.

The carved pumpkins smiled or grimaced with candlelight. They gave her feet some idea of where to go when Bae left her behind to busily peer into each window, regardless of the drawn curtains. Belle reached the door after one minor stumble. She knocked and got as far as a third “Rump--” before the door groaned open.

He stood in the poorly lit doorway like a creature that had crawled from the earth, bedraggled and smeared and wrung with exhaustion for his efforts. Scaly as he was, Belle had had no trouble seeing the human shape it covered before tonight. Now, his eyes looked too large for his face, his teeth seemed eager to poke past his gaping lips, and his fingernails looked longer than ever. Was the nighttime darkness or the shadows in the house warping his appearance? Or did his body lose some humanity in the lonely, sunless hours?

“Belle?” A rough whisper, crackly, yet more human than the rest of him. As if by her name, some of his usual manner seeped back into his figure. He stood a little straighter, and his expression balanced weariness and confusion with some wonder and delight. “What are you doing out so late?”

“I did tell you that my father was returning yesterday,” Belle said. “He brought a suitor for me with him. That’s why I didn’t dare visit you earlier today. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

Rumplestiltskin waved off her apology. “You shouldn’t bother with me. Not when you have a suitor waiting for you at home.” He was smiling, but the smile had a bitter flavor he was trying to hide.

Belle moved closer to the door. “He’s actually what I want to talk to you about. May I come in?”

“Of course. As always.”

Warmth fizzled in her skin and her gut at those words. Belle relaxed and smiled, all the more when Baelfire flew in behind her and resumed his special spot in the lantern. The fire in the hearth was barely a pile of embers; Bae’s light returned some of the familiar atmosphere (and her sight of the room) she was coming to know well in the daytime. Rumple didn’t need to direct her to her chosen chair anymore. They both settled into a pair of cushioned rocking chairs in no time. The rocker Rumple favored was his second favorite seat after the stool of the spinning wheel in the corner. Wrapped in a long robe, he leaned on his thighs and peered at Belle with a mounting question.

“What did you wish to discuss regarding your suitor?” That wasn’t the question, but it was the easiest way to start.

Belle guessed what he really wanted to know. In truth, she was still debating the answer, so they both would have to wait. Instead, she explained her first and subsequent conversations with Sir Gaston, her impressions and speculations. It was nice to talk and not wonder if Rumple was secretly deriding her as a silly girl. Maybe he did think that, but he never betrayed the thought on his face while she vented her feelings. He was forward in his seat, crouched with focus, still as a statue except when he felt like scratching his chin. Mostly his hands remained clasped on his knees.

“Maybe I’m being too severe on him,” she finished, “but I’m not wrong, am I, for being reserved in giving him my good opinion?”

“Well, if you’re looking for some encouraging advice about seeing the best in people,” Rumple twittered, “you’ve come to the last place to find it.”

Belle smiled. “I came to you because . . . well, I do have a good opinion of you.”

The warlock snorted. “Can’t imagine why.”

For some reason, Belle looked at Bae. The glowing ball rested low in his lantern, hovering almost sleepily, yet he buoyed a little when she looked at him.

“May I ask you something that might be personal?” she said to Rumple.

“You may ask, though I may opt not to answer.”

She sighed. “Fair enough. But it would mean a great deal to me. I promise to keep anything you tell me in confidence.”

Rumplestiltskin slowly pushed himself so his spine rested against the back of the chair. “Very well.”

It was hard not to duck her gaze for a few seconds. She’d thoroughly enjoyed his stories about making deals with wicked queens, combatting jealous witches, outwitting powerful fairies, and secretly helping children and parents find each other. He didn’t always act kindly or with the most noble intentions, but he had something soft and true within him. Even as he sat rigidly, his gaze had lost any distrustful frost from their first encounter. He was ready to listen.

Belle inhaled. Then she stood, pulled her chair closer to Rumple’s, and sat back down. Her knees could now touch his. With a flinch, Rumple rocked back in his seat. Otherwise he did not push or pull back.

“Who is Baelfire?” she asked in as soft a voice as she could while still being audible to him.

Rumplestiltskin swallowed. His head began to turn toward the table behind him, only to stop, fully face Belle, and lean so he too could whisper. “It’s . . . it’s not a happy tale, I’m afraid.”

Her hand found his. Some patches of scales were rough, particularly around his knuckles. The rest felt like snake skin. Without her complete awareness, her thumb brushed on the silky patch above the base of his thumb. His breath shortened before finding a steady rhythm for Belle to listen to when he didn’t quite have the courage to speak. But speak he did, eventually. Minutes filled the bucket of time. She didn’t tire. The tale began so very long ago, when Rumple was just an ordinary man. He lost the love of his wife when, after hearing a prophecy about losing his son, he sacrificed a chance for honor to go home and be with his newborn child. He wore the coward’s brand for the rest of his non-magical days, up until his son was dragged into the same war that saw the prediction of his loss. He sought any means to save his boy, which of course led him down a dangerous path. He’d found magic, dark magic, strong enough for him to stop the war. But the price was already paid. He found his boy’s broken, bleeding body among other children soldiers. He’d come so far, let his body and mind be tainted with corruption, only to watch his precious boy die. No, he couldn’t let it happen. He begged his boy to let him make it right, for such magic had to be accepted to work. Finally his child--poor, scared, innocent, ignorant--agreed when his father promised that he’d turn this act toward good.

For a while, he did. Children who lost their way in the woods were somehow discovered by a ball of sunny light that would lead them back home. But it was still rooted in dark magic, and dear Baelfire felt the weight. His light started to fade, and he took to wandering himself. It was getting harder and harder to ground him in this plane when his soul longed to move on. But he couldn’t move on; the magic held him too tightly. And maybe it was Rumple himself who was binding him here. So he and his son retreated into the wilderness, hid away, and Rumple gave Bae lanterns in which to fool around and rest. Each year, on Bae’s birthday, Rumple would carve a new pumpkin. Magic kept them fresh for many years, but in time he had started disposing of them to make room for new ones. He had lost count of the exact years, as had Bae. Perhaps time didn’t really exist for them. Rumple’s dark magic slowed his aging considerably; as a spirit, Bae had no aging body at all. So here they were, except now Bae had got it into his disembodied noggin to invite Belle into their secret world. Why, Rumple still didn’t know. The lad was probably bored after so long.

“But you will someday leave for good,” Rumple said, trying to add a lightness to grave reality. “As you must, of course. Whether because of marriage or old age or what have you, this cannot last forever.”

“But you two can’t stay here forever, either.” Belle did her best to be gentle.

Briefly, Rumplestiltskin went taut, as though primed to release an arrow at her. When he instead relaxed, she slipped her fingers between his.

“You’re right,” he muttered. “But . . . what else . . .”

His throat clenched shut. He shivered. Belle’s single-minded hand gave up his fingers for his cheek. What bumps and edges it had left no impression on her caring fingertips. She was too enthralled by his widening eyes. They couldn’t seem to comprehend what they saw. Flicking back and forth, they asked more questions that neither the warlock nor the noblewoman felt brave enough to answer. That didn’t mean Belle would run away from the awkward uncertainty and longing. Her hand remained. So did her gaze, mellowing to a soft stare. He gradually mirrored her. Even his hand started to rise from his lip to her chin, or her cheek. She never knew which.

A thunderous kick and a terrible bang of wood smacking wood snapped Belle and Rumple out of their moment. They turned to the doorway. Belle gasped and jumped up. Gaston, armed with a bow and arrow in his hands while a sword hung from his belt, was fixed on them with murderous hunger.

“Belle,” he barked, “come here.”

“Wh-what?” Belle did move, but only sideways to block any shot he might take of Rumple. “What are you doing, Gaston?”

“Saving you, of course.”

“From what?”

“From this creature! The one Maurice told me about.”

Belle felt sure she’d been dunked in ice water. Her head snapped around to Rumple. “I didn’t! I didn’t tell my father about you!”

“You needn’t fear him now, Belle,” Gaston announced, almost shouting. “A few of the guards warned Maurice of your disappearances when he was away. He brought me here prepared to deal with the likes of this beast. His magic may be strong, but a little fairy dust does wonders to finding his ilk.”

Knowing what she did of Rumple’s feelings when fairies were involved, she didn’t need to see or hear his grinding teeth. She could guess he was wearing them down.

“There is no need to worry! He’s my friend, Gaston. He’s never hurt me, I promise you.”

“Of course you would say that. You’re under an enchantment. Belle, I’m here to protect you. Now come here.”

“This is nonsense!”

“Now, Belle!”

Gaston tossed aside all illusions. He was shouting and glowering at them like a hunter demanding his quarry. The only safe way out of this was to agree to go.

Maybe Belle really was a foolish girl. Maybe there’s no helping foolishness when someone has a weapon drawn on her friends.

“I will return home soon,” she said amid shaking knees and a dry throat. “But you must promise not to hurt them. Promise me, Gaston, and I will go with you.”

“Them?” Gaston dared to glance around. “Are there more of his kind with him?”

Belle stilled her tongue. He didn’t see or consider Baelfire a sentient entity. She gave herself a minute--maybe too long going by Gaston’s urgent look--before improvising a reply. “Sometimes. No one here deserves harm to come to them. Leave this house in peace, and I will go back to the castle without a fight.”

Gaston looked close to a haughty laugh. In that moment, she could see herself through his eyes: a silly child who needed him to think rationally for her. Maybe Belle wasn’t always rational, but she knew her mind and heart. Her body shook. She felt heat in her face and a chill in her fingers.

“Belle,” came Rumple’s quiet voice. “It’s all right. Go home. We’ll be fine.”

Maybe Rumple would be fine. Maybe his magic was strong enough to deal with Gaston. Maybe a terrible fate was destined for the knight rather than the warlock. For a few heartbeats, Belle did feel helpless and small, a fool to ever think she could decide her own fate. But the moment passed. She raised her chin. “Very well. I’m coming.”

She walked toward Gaston, now with lowered eyes. Gaston didn’t lower his bow. His tense muscles did ease a little. “You’ve chosen well, my dear. Now, let me deal with this demon and we can go.”

“You promised not to hurt him if I came,” she said, incongruously calm.

“I didn’t, actually. And a good thing. Someone like him can’t be allowed to exist to tempt you.”

Belle was now behind Gaston, which pleased him so much he didn’t think to watch her. “I guess I was tempted. You’re right about that. Maybe I was under a bit of enchantment.”

She saw the flash of pain in Rumple’s face. A small smile dared to touch her lips. “If I stayed much longer, I might not have wanted to go home at all. But you’ve cleared that up for me, Gaston. Thank you.”

“My pleasure--” Gaston began.

Belle threw the vial from her belt onto the floor, right at Gaston’s feet. Purple clouds glittering like sand swept up around the startled, befuddled man. Belle rushed back out of the magic’s reach. Gaston’s shouts at her were suddenly sucked into silence as he was swallowed. Then the cloud evaporated. No trace of him remained.

“Where did he go?” she asked as soon as her breath was back.

“To your castle.” Rumple sounded nearly as breathless. Then, in a blink, he was before her, hands carefully taking hers. “Why? Why did you--?”

“I couldn’t let him hurt you! I couldn’t let him take me, either.” She returned his grip. “I decide where I place my heart, not him.”

Rumplestiltskin looked like a man who’d long been lost in a terrible place and had found his first sign of home. So hopeful yet bewildered.

A light appeared beside him. Both he and Belle looked at Baelfire. His little form pulsed like a rushing heartbeat.

“What’s he saying?” Belle asked.

The answer was slow in coming. If she could’ve been sure, she’d have said that a blush rose in Rumple’s cheeks. Even Bae’s light couldn’t confirm it. There was only the nervous flutter of his eyes finding her face and an endearing stutter as he said, “He wants to know if you’ll be staying for a while longer.”

Belle thought of her father. Oh, Maurice. What did she really think of him? He was trying to protect her by sending Gaston, but he didn’t know or respect her own mind. Then again, what she wanted to do might be a very big mistake in the end. She had to see it through, however. It was her life, and she’d live if with foolish hope and courage.

She wrapped her arms around Rumple’s neck. A moment later, his arms came around her, and she smiled and melted. Bae’s heat tickled her cheek. She laughed, then whispered that she’d help them as best she could. She’d help them set up a new home where none would find them without their consent. They’d find a way to give Bae his rest, and she’d find a way to help Rumple see that he wouldn’t be alone. Lonely people find a way to each other.

#rumbelle revelry #rumbelle fic #imnotawhat

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