#dragon was supposed to be green but this satisfied my palette better

[im-not-a-what]

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.