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eirian-houpe · 11 months ago

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If You Will Be My Queen

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Belle, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Grace | Paige (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: Holiday Fic Exchange, Rumbelle Secret Santa (Once Upon a Time), Solstice, Winter, Storybrooke, The Enchanted Forest, The Dark Castle (Once Upon a Time) Summary:

Belle decides that it is past time that Rumplestiltskin should decorate for Midwinter, and celebrate the seasons, now that they have Gideon to share it with, but an important item from the past is missing, and Belle will not rest until it is found. Not that it is truly missing. Rumplestiltskin knows where it is, but has locked it away, beyond all retrieval. Or has he…?

A Winter RSS gift for @chippedcupwrites - thank you for the prompts. It was fun to write this, even if some parts of it did take me by surprise :) (i.e. the characters took charge of the story. Of course that /never/ happens, right?).

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If You Will Be My Queen

The unmistakable sounds of a robbery in progress stopped Gold in his tracks, his hand frozen, outstretched, half way toward the door of the pawn shop with the key extended from his fingers.

The sign on the shop door read closed, and while he was by now quite used to the residents of Storybrooke completely ignoring the missive, this blatant disregard for his authority over his own property riled his temper beyond boiling. But for having promised Belle he would limit the use of his magic, he would have stopped the intruder’s heart from a distance without a second thought, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt them by physical means.

Enhanced, he thought to himself as a swirl of dark purple smoke surrounded him, and transported him the few inches to the other side of the door, by a small touch of magic.

Without a sound, he reached out with his right hand toward the umbrella stand that was the resting place of his cane. He no longer needed it, of course, and hadn’t for many years, but he kept it there, right by the door, as a kind of memento to a time long passed, when he was a man that made too many wrong choices.

He wasn’t that man any more.

As stealthily as he could, not wanting to alert the intruder of his presence, and in the back of his mind knowing that he should call Sheriff Swan, or her deputy - though he still couldn’t bring himself to think of the man that way - he crossed the shop floor toward the back room, still separated after all the years with the curtain that was hanging in the doorway. He wondered idly if that would ever change.

With one hand he reached out to finger the edge of the fabric, hefting the cane with the other, ready to strike out; to defend his property. His things. And then, he struck.

Springing forward like a deranged Jack-in-the-Box he crossed the threshold into the back room, where boxes were strewn hither and yon, and a small figure crouched over one of them, he raised the cane higher, ready to bring it down, halted only in the last breath by a shrill, alarmed cry.

“Rumple!”

“Belle,” he breathed and all but dropped the cane to the floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

The question came out as a breathless rush, an entire, horrible scenario flashing before his eyes.

“What am I doing,” she retorted, standing up and turning to face him, pointing at the grounded cane. “What are you? You could have caved my head in with that thing. What’s going on?”

“Where’s Gideon?” he asked at the same time.

“Oh no,” her voice barely withheld a bitter laugh, “You don’t sidestep the question like that. What were you thinking, Rumple?”

“What was I supposed to think? You said you were going to be home. With Gideon,” he added the last two words as a sentence all of their own. “I thought someone had broken in and was burglarizing me–”

“I was.” Belle interrupted, and Rumple blinked. If he wasn’t so shaken he might have made a joke about Belle burglarizing the shop, and possibly defused the storm he could feel brewing. As it was, he didn’t say anything, just waited. She obviously had more to say. “Then I thought about decorating for winter and–”

“No,” he said flatly, but Belle shook her head.

“So I went up in the loft to see if I could find the decorations, and–”

“No,” he said again, even more adamantly, feeling his already bubbling temper threatening to spill over again.

“--when I couldn’t find them, I figured they were probably here so–”

“Belle,” he snapped her name, “we are not decorating for winter.”

She blinked at him, her expression half way between shock and outrage, and that was fair he supposed. He hadn’t spoken to her like that since… well he couldn’t remember the last time. Maybe not since the dark castle. At least she wasn’t talking about winter decorations any more.

His stomach roiled when he thought about it; the cold, the abandonment, the hurt… the loss. Winter was nothing to be celebrated.

“Rumplestitskin,” she said softly, but when he looked at her he could see she had a fire in her eyes of the kind that he couldn’t often extinguish, even when, like now, he wanted to the most. “We are decorating for winter,” he opened his mouth to protest again, but closed it as if he were some kind of Dionaea Muscipula as she continued, “and we are inviting our friends to our home to help us celebrate.”

He spluttered, fuming and helpless with it. How dare she presume - because he knew she would have presumed to invite said friends already - to force the Midwinter Solstice upon him! In the face of his speechlessness, Belle smoothed down her skirt, cocked an eyebrow and completely unapologetically, demanded, “Now, you are going to help me unpack these boxes and find the winter decorations, or the chances are I’m going to end up inadvertently damaging your things, or touching something I’m not supposed to.”

“Like winter decorations,” he muttered, not truly intending for her to hear him, but of course she did.

“Rumple!” she warned, pointing an unyielding finger like some kind of magic wand at the stack of boxes that were piled like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

“Fine,” he protested, though it was far from it. “Have it your way. But we are not–”

“Rumple,” she growled softly, and took his hand to pull him closer to the offending shadows that threatened to pull him back into the past, and she took down a box to place it on the workbench, and deftly pulled it open to reveal the maelstrom of memories within.

“What on Earth is all this?” Belle asked, flummoxed as the Dark One placed the last of the boxes squarely into her unsuspecting arms.

“Trinkets,” he giggled impishly. “Baubles, sparklies… evergreens.” Her frown deepened, as he added, “and bedding… for the upstairs bedrooms.”

“Guests?” she blinked at him. “We’re expecting guests?”

“Of course we’re expecting guests,” he scoffed, and as if it explained everything, added, “It’s Midwinter. Keep up!”

“Mid–” she broke off as soon as she had started, because no sooner had he confirmed that guests were coming, than he turned and began to stride toward the exit of the great hall. She trotted after him, trying to obey his instruction to keep up, at least until she had her answers. “But Rumplestiltskin, you’ve never–”

He turned on her, and wagged a finger, almost playfully side to side in admonition. “Never, dearie, is a very long time. Far longer than you have in any case.” Then, sing song he continued, “I on the other hand–”

“Who?” she asked, her curiosity too extensive to contain.

“--don’t interrupt,” Rumplestiltskin answered, “Now where was I? Ah yes… I on the other hand–”

“Who are we expecting?” she interrupted again.

“How rude,” he sulked, and then conceded. “A friend.”

“A friend?” she repeated in a slightly questioning tone, managing to contain the rest of what she had been thinking. Did the Dark One truly have any real friends?”

“That’s what I said,” he answered irritably. “Do you have a problem with your HEARING?”

He leaned closer to almost shout the question into her ear, and she flinched, jumping almost several feet backwards, before, as he turned to continue his striding, this time toward the castle doors, she began to hurry to catch up to him.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she called after him. “Where are you going?”

As she reached his side, and struggled to match him stride for stride she caught him muttering to himself, and certainly not the answer to her question - simply a bunch of numbers - measurements she realized as she listened more closely, and allowed herself to be lulled by them until the incongruency slapped her squarely in the face as she heard the list of tasks that were now falling from his lips.

“Sweep the floors, lay the fires, as well as the one in the great hall, make the beds, draw the water, and of course prepare the food and beverages–”

“Where are you going?” she asked again, and once again he stopped in his tracks.

“To see a man about a tree,” he answered, then demanded, “Why are you still here?”

“You’re going to ask a man to fell you a tree for Midwinter?” she asked, incredulity in her voice. “Why don’t you just…” she imitated his usual flourish, and then snapped her fingers at the end.

Rumplestiltskin made a face as shocked as when her father had called him a beast all those many months - over a year at least - before.

“My dear Belle,” he began as the expression faded. “There are some taboos that even the Dark One himself will not break, and using magic to acquire a Winter Tree is one of them. Why the price! The price alone…” he broke off muttering to himself for a moment before he blinked at her as if noticing her for the first time. “Are you still here?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me who is coming; how many or… anything. I don’t have nearly enough ingredients to make Holiday dishes for anyone let alone–”

“You’ll find everything you need in the kitchen, dearie.” he answered, slipping into a thick brogue. “And be sure to include plenty of sweeties.”

“Sweeties,” she mouthed, asking herself - not for the first time since this whole exchange had started - whether Rumplestiltskin had finally lost his senses.

“And tea… and spiced wine… hot apple cider…” he began ticking off items on his fingers, “and roasted turkey… a juicy ham…”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” she cut in.

Rumplestiltskin frowned.

“Well,” he considered, “I think we can do without the pears, but a partridge, if you’ve a mind, of course.”

Belle shook her head, and asked with heavy irony, “Anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered in all seriousness, “Though when I get back with the tree, I’ll be needing you to help with the trimming of it, of course. Must always be balance in the trimming of the Yuletide Boughs, and you and I’ll be spinning silver for some time, I feel.”

He stopped then, and frowned, “Still here? Run along now, dearie. Work to do…”

She was about to open her mouth to answer him, when the world around her dissolved into purple smoke.

“Belle, you’ve enough baubles, and ribbons, and Yule candles to decorate the entire house three times over. Enough,” Rumple said softly as Belle tore through yet another box that had been tucked away, forgotten in the back corner of the back corner of the back room.

“No,” she growled. “It has to be here somewhere, and I intend to find it.”

“It isn’t here,” he implored with his tone for her to stop looking, but she read him an entirely different way; the right way of course, as well he might have known.

She rounded on him angrily, “What did you do with it?”

“Belle, I–”

“No, Rumple,” she held up her hands, “Tell me. Where is it?”

There was silence between them then. A silence so thick with unresolved tension that it was almost choking him to imagine it. Thicker even than the time in the Underworld when he’d had to tell her she was pregnant with his child; their son Gideon, now returned to them of course, but…

“Belle…” he faltered again.

“Tell me!” she demanded, her face shifting between the ugliness of anger and despair, back and forth with each breath.

“There are… some things…” he began haltingly, “some things so dangerous, so painful, and so powerful that even I dare not include in the Dark Curse; to bring them here to Storybrooke,” he reached for her hands to draw them away from the box he knew contained nothing but irrelevant minutiae. Relics of the lives of people long gone.

“So… where is it?”

“The Vault,” he said softly, “Back at the Dark Castle.”

“Still in the Enchanted Forest?” she said, and her face creased with disbelief and deeper despair. “You mean we can’t–”

“I… I didn’t say that, Belle,” he promised softly, “It’s just…” He sighed, and closed his eyes, unable to look at the hurt, and the tears gathering in hers. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. Keep anything from you come to that Belle, but… when I thought–” His voice cracked.

“Rumple, I’m here.” He felt her take his hands; felt how solid they were, how warm against the sudden chill, as if the approaching midwinter night had sapped him of his vitality. She grounded him. She gave him light and life.

“If I could,” he whispered, leaning his forehead to hers, “If I even thought I could, I would try to reach across realms and bring it to you, but… I don’t think I can. The hold it has over me is just too strong.”

“You can,” she told him. “I know you can.”

He shook his head, still against hers, until she pulled back and pinned him with the wild, deep, ocean blue of her gaze that bared his soul.

“It doesn’t matter how far away it is; how deeply buried, nor how tightly warded it is,” she told him. “We made it together, and I won’t let you keep it from us now. Not like this. Not out of fear.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

Belle stood with her hands on her hips staring - no glaring - at Rumplestiltskin after the most preposterous suggestion had left his lips, a basket of golden garland that he had spun and woven into the most beautiful of Winter decor for the Dark Castle’s Midwinter Tree stood like a chasm between them.

“Quite possibly,” he answered, an impish grin on his face that faded to a half teasing sneer. “But I’m also right. You can do it. You and only you.”

“But…” she half turned, pointing behind her toward the door, as though to some imaginary person. “Rumplestiltskin, no…” she turned again, to face him. “I’ve heard the tales, everyone has. How using magic will darken a person’s soul and…”

She trailed off as he made a soft tutting sound while at the same time shaking his head and appearing to examine his clawed fingers.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint a little girl now,” he looked up, an almost innocent pout on his face, “would you?”

“No!” she said flatly. “I won’t let you manipulate me like that.” But in truth his words had touched her heart. As much to remind herself as Rumplestiltskin she said, “No. Dark. Magic.”

“Assume… assume… assume,” he sang softly.

“What are you talking about?” she snapped.

“It’s just a garland,” he answered. “It’s not as if I’m asking you to murder all the puppies and kittens in the enchanted forest.”

“Dark magic–”

“Not the same.” he tipped his head from side to side as he spoke his words in the same sing-song tone. “Quite different… alternative… not dark magic.”

“Rumplestiltskin–”

“Light magic.” He said the words slowly, as though they were somehow foreign on his tongue, but Belle couldn’t have been happier to hear them.

“Light magic?” she repeated, just to be sure she had heard him correctly.

“Yes, yes,” he brushed the words off this time as though they were a dusting of snow on his shoulders. “That’s what I said. Back to hard of hearing are we?”

“Don’t you see, Rumple,” she didn’t think what she was saying and shortened the words, blushing when he turned a scowl her way. Still she pressed on. “This is it.”

“It?” his frown deepened into confusion. “It what?”

“This proves it,” she hardly heard his question. “That you’re the one that will use…”

“...use the powers of the Dark One for good,” he chanted at the same time as she. “That old chestnut. No.” He moved toward her then, to stand almost toe to toe. “You, dearie. You must be the one to wield the Solstice magic. You and no other… and poof the golden garland shall be silver.”

She jumped as he emphasized the sound, then turned and frowned at him as he began to move behind her, catching her to stillness as she asked, “What…?” and licked her lips as he moved closer still behind her, “What must I do?”

“Little,” he purred, moving with her toward the pile of gold, “Pick it up,” She reached down to take one end of the golden garland into her palms. It was cold, and she shivered; again she shivered as Rumplestiltskin moved closer. The front of him pressed against her back, hot… muscled… solid.

“Hold it,” he murmured against the side of her face, “caress it… run it through your fingers…”

She felt herself grow warmer and warmer still with every word and every breath that ghosted against her cheek. She closed her eyes, and leaned against him. She felt his arms surround her, his fingers at her wrists, his talons scratching gently at her skin as he guided her to slowly feed the cold, golden garland through her hands. His words never stopped, but she lost awareness of them; knew only the strength and the heat of him… and the rhythmic motion of the braid that played through her hands.

A flash brighter than the brightest star shone through even her closed eyes. She opened them and watched in a strange, detached fascination as the gold became silver in her hands, flowing like a molten river of moonlight from one hand to the other, to spill over into the basket on the ground at her feet.

The light faded. The moment was gone, and Belle laughed.

“Hmmm,” Rumplestiltskin purred against her cheek, teasing. “Seems like my little cherub is happy about something.”

“Oh, Rumple,” she giggled, turning about in his arms and laying the flat of her palms against his chest. “How did I do that?”

“Magic, dearie,” he answered gravely, “A magic all of your own, but then… I told you, there had to be balance on the Winter Tree.”

He snapped his fingers then, and the silver garland found a life of its own, whirling around to fly from where they stood and nestle itself around the tree, a perfect compliment to the gold already twinkling among the evergreen, and not a moment too soon.

A polite cough sounded from the doorway to the great hall, and both turned, Rumplestiltskin starting almost guiltily away from her, leaving her feeling strangely abandoned… bereft, but there wasn’t a moment to wallow in the feeling, and her joy soon returned to see Rumplestiltskin’s portal jumping friend - and yes, she realized in that moment, he was Rumple’s friend - standing in the doorway, hat in one hand, and the pale hand of his sweet young daughter held in the other.

“May we…?” Jefferson asked politely, though he raised an eyebrow at Belle, deepening her blush.

“Of course, m’boy,” Rumplestiltskin answered, already part way across the great hall toward the pair. “Come in and warm yourself by the fire. You must be perished.” Then half turning as he swooped and caught the wide eyed Grace up in his arms, he suggested, “How about some hot apple cider, Belle, to chase away the chill before dinner.”

Laughter drew Belle back to the main room of the house, and to the merriment well underway. Snow and David, Emma and Killian, Ruby, Archie, Granny, Leroy and the boys, everyone had accepted the invitation, and showed up with sweet dishes, and savory treats, as well as copious quantities of wine, mead, fine whiskey and rum, all to celebrate the day of the year when at last the light overcame the dark.

It seemed fitting, in the aftermath of everything that had happened in Storybrooke, and that they could come together at Rumple’s house - no… at the home she shared with Rumple and their son - made her feel accepted at last, and she hoped Rumple would feel the same.

“There you are,” even as she thought of him, as though she had conjured him from the air itself, Gold cozied up behind her, surrounding her in a warm embrace, “I was about to send the sheriff out to look for you.”

Belle looked over in the direction of Rumple’s nod to watch as Emma stumbled mid step, safely caught by Killian, who made some kind of ribald joke about how she couldn’t hold her liquor.

Belle chuckled. “I’m not sure she’s fit for duty right now.”

“As it should be,” Rumple answered, snuggling her closer. “Where’d you go?”

“To check on Gideon.” She leaned against him, nuzzling softly at his chin, and her eyes drifted to the tree that stood in pride of place in the corner of the room. It was magnificent, though as she looked on it, it still drew a pang of disappointment deep into Belle’s heart to see only red ribbon, white lights and golden garland adorning the tree.

She couldn’t fault Rumple for trying, but as hard as he had tried, the vault refused to release the silver twin to his magical summons.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Rumple tightened his arms around her and said softly, “Belle, I’m sorry I couldn’t…”

He trailed off and she followed the direction of his gaze. Across the room, Jefferson, resplendent in his finest, foppish attire, handed a small pouch to Grace, and gave her a gentle push their way, offering a wry salute, and a genuine smile of delight as he caught them looking his way.

“Papa said I should bring this to you, and tell you Winter Blessings, Uncle Rumple, and Miss Belle.”

“Why, thank you, Grace,” Rumple answered, and glanced back across to where Jefferson had been moments ago. When she, too, looked, the man was nowhere to be seen, and Grace, too, seemed to have vanished.

“I wonder what…?” Belle said, and took the pouch from Rumple’s fingers, beginning to work at the knot. She couldn’t help but laugh when she opened it, and took out what was inside.

“Mistletoe,” she said, and playfully turned in Rumple’s arms to hold it over the top of both of them.

“Mistletoe.” Rumple chuckled then. “Trust Jefferson. Remember that time when–”

Belle waggled the sprig once more over the top of his head. “Mister Gold, the tradition is that one should kiss beneath the mistletoe, not reminisce.”

“Kissing and much more, if you go back far enough,” he teased. “Thinking of a sibling for Gideon already?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she answered, blushing fiercely.

“Gladly, Missus Gold,” he said.

His lips met hers, softly and full of all the love they ever had held for one another, gathered into a single moment. She felt the pulse of magic as soon as it began. Not just True Love, but a love that also held the blessing of the season. Solstice blessings - the turning of the wheel of the year in all present.

In an instant, gone was the somber suit that Rumple wore, to be replaced by a magnificent outfit of deep green and gold, and on his head a crown of oak leaves, adorned with silver, snow-tipped acorns, and as she caught sight of herself in the window, mirrored by the dark night outside, Belle saw that her dress was now a beautiful robe in silvery blue, with silver and white edging.

“Rumple,” she gasped softly, and stepped back to take in the full sight of him. “How did you do that?”

“Not me, my love,” he murmured, flicking his eyes up to the mistletoe still held in her hand. “But I seem to remember that once I told you one must always have balance at the turning of the seasons.”

“Well, you truly look like The Winter King,” she told him softly, frowning as he shook his head, and with a snap of his fingers, offered to her a delicate filigree crown with shining diamonds, and icy white moonstones woven within.

“Only if you will be my queen,” he said.

“I will,” she breathed, and lowered her head to receive the crown from him.

Joyous applause sounded from around them, as their guests each raised a glass to toast the longest night, and the returning of the light, and all were suddenly bathed in the brightness of an echoing flash, and then by waves of gold and silver, as the firelight reflected off the gold and magical silver garland entwined, and adorning the Sacred Winter Tree.

#RSS #Rumbelle secret santa 2023 #holiday fic #winter #solstice #storybrooke #the enchanted forest #the dark castle

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