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stardancerluv · 4 years ago

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At War

Part 4b

Summary: Roman, takes care of what’s his.

Warning: none

“Zsasz, get us the fuck out of here.” When he climbed back into the Rolls, he saw you shaking and trembling. He exhaled. “Come over here.” Pulling off his mask, he reached over and out it on the passenger seat beside Zsasz who was already tearing through the streets.

He ruffled his hair, looking over he saw you still being consumed by your fear. He was used to seeing people at the other end of his wrath acting like this. He hated seeing you feel like this. He slid over to you.

“Baby.” He whispered. “Come here.” Wrapping an arm around you he pulled you close. He had felt you flinch but then you relaxed. In a breath, you wrapped your arms around him and buried his face into his good side. He ran his fingers through your hair.

Being with you made him face things he disliked, he mused. He was certain you had blood on your face and now that was on his suit. Also this need for comfort, he wasn’t used to giving it. He couldn’t explain it but when you wrapped your arms around him, he actually liked it. Annoyance did not claw at him. If anything, he really wished he could bring you even more comfort.

He’d love to promise you that he will get the head of Gillis but right now he knew best to be quiet. As he held you knowing he killed St. Clair filled him with happiness. She was responsible for the argument the two of you had this morning. The fucking pretty boy got her, he smirked.

The heavy metal door came down behind them as Victor pulled into the underground parking garage.

“Y/N, we’re home.” He tucked some hair behind your ear. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You looked up at him. “Cleaned up?”

He pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yeah.”

Worry crossed your face.

“I’ll take care of it.” He said to you. Zsasz, he noticed had opened the door. “Let’s get out of this dank parking garage. Yes?”

You nodded and followed him out of the Rolls. He looked at Zsas, “You know where it goes. Make sure that door is locked and then come up and meet me in my office.”

“Want me to give you sometime?” Zsasz, scratched the back of his head.

He exhaled. “Right now is not the time for games.” He gave Zsasz, a hard look. “Once up in the penthouse make sure the elevator only travels to your floor and mine. I do not want to be worried about it.”

“Sure thing boss.”

******

Silently, he took your hand and interlaced your fingers with his gloved one. Looking at it, he rather enjoyed its kind of odd balance. It was the two of you.

He brought you the bedroom, he stopped short of the bathroom. “Wait right here.” He hesitated at you closet but then he turned to his, you barely reacted to him taking his knife back.

Once in his closet, he shed his jacket. He would have to have another one made. He had been rather fond of the maroon color. Pulling off his gloves, he let them fall onto his jacket. A smile tugged on his lips as he looked at all the knives he had, he out the one you took and placed it where it belonged

Opening the drawer below it, he grabbed one of his t-shirts and a pair of his pajama pants. He knew what you had just got through had been a lot. He didn’t want shock or panic setting it.

With his shirt and pants slung on his shoulder, he led you into the bathroom. “Sit here.” He suggested once guiding you to bench he had in there. He placed his shirt and pants beside you.

You looked up at him. “Is it that bad?”

He put a finger under your chin and drew your face up. He shook his head. “No. But my girl should have to deal with this.”

You gave a soft smile. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “What kind of guy would I be?”

You nodded.

He went over and grabbed a wash cloth, he wet and soaped it up. “As much as I love you looking up at me,” He smirked. “Close your eyes, so I can take care of this.”

Looking, at your face seeing the blood splattered there. Incensed his anger. You were only part of this world because of him. How dare they.

He was just grateful, you had that idea. If he had just gotten the news you being killed. There would be even more blood on the streets tonight.

He would have Zsasz, find out what he could about Vanessa. Thankfully, he had set up the transfer but boy executed it because he waited making sure the plan would work. He had not expected this. The other girls would be upset. Everyone, seemed to like her. David on the other hand, had been a decent driver but he had no connections with the others and no family to speak of. GothamPD could handle him.

More reason, for him to dislike Gillis and her gang. Making more unnecessary trouble. He gritted his teeth

Gently holding your chin as brushed and rubbed the blood away. “Stay this way, now I have to rinse the soap away.”

He threw away the wash cloth. Grabbing a new one he soaked it with warm water he twisted it and grabbed a dry one and you would be set.

When he back, he noticed that tears had run down your cheeks. He sighed, “It’s not your fault. You had an amazing idea. It saved you. And I will make Gillis and her gang pay.”

Your eyes were watery. “Ok. Good.”

He held up the wash cloth. “Hold the dry one for me, baby.”

You took it and he made sure all the soap was gone. He went over it a few times. After drying you off, the wash clothes were on the floor. He’d never use them again. He helped you to your feet.

Easily he helped you out of your clothes. “Ooh.” He made a sound as sweet as he could while letting his finger trace the band of your panties. “These are very nice.” But then he helped you into his pajama pants followed by his t-shirt. “There’s my girl.” He pulled you close and brushed aside the fresh tear.

“Baby, I have to gather my men and protect us here. Now you can lay on the sofa in my office while I talk with Zsasz or you can stay in here.”

You swallowed. “I’ll stay here.”

“Alright, thats my girl.” He smiled. “I am very proud of you tonight.”

“You are?”

“Yes. You had a solid plan and it worked. And those people will pay for what they did.”

You looked down. He drew your face up. “Maybe I will let you scream at them when I capture them.”

You smiled then that made him feel better. He was relieved, he didn’t want you getting depressed. In this world people died, he was just glad you were not one of them.

“There’s the smile that pulled me in.” He smiled. “Ok, I’ll come get you if the need arises. Maybe get some rest. It has been a rough night.”

You nodded.

*****

Roman, was right your plan worked and thankfully it wasn’t you. Perhaps, when things calmed down the two of you could do something for Vanessa’s family, if it was needed. You picked up the discarded wash clothes, your clothes and brought them to the chute that dropped them into the incinerator. You saw where he dropped his suit-jacket and gloves. It was best to let him decide what he wanted to do.

Going the room where you kept your stuff, you gathered Vanessa’s and also put them down the chute. Pushing the button, you let the incinerator do its job.

As you walked back to the bedroom you watched as Roman hunched over maps sipped at some whisky. He undid the first few buttons of his shirt. Seeing him do what he did his best made you feel good, it made you feel safe.

Going back to the bedroom, it was too much work to pull the blankets aside so you laid on top of them. You barely laid down and sleep claimed you.

*****

“Alright, let’s see.” He took a sip of his whiskey. “I want some downstairs in the club and I want the rest spread out in the neighboring buildings.”

“We can do that.” Victor sent out the messages. “Who do we want down stairs?”

“The ones who are directly on my payroll. The other ones,” He pressed his lips together. “Those who uphold and pledge their loyalty can stat staked out in the other buildings. Give them an incentive. A bonus if they stay there ams stay good look outs and support if she comes.”

“Alright good. They should all like that.”

Roman, looked at him. “They better. And of we catch any of them helping her, we take their fucking head.”

*****

Later, much later after he had finally spoken to various groups. He finally decided to sleep. He was ready.

Feeling like he was shedding clothes from a lifetime ago he felt worlds better. It felt good to feel the silk of his pajamas.

He tiredly smiled when he saw that you and cleaned things up. The entire maroon suit went down the chute along with the gloves. Pushing the button, for the second time that night the incinerator roared to life.

Seeing, that you laid on top pf the blankets he would too. He saw anguish splashed across your face. He exhaled, he was tired to his bones with the situation Gillis threw his life into. But carrying for you felt easy, it was like taking care of himself. He went and laid close.

“Daddy’s here.” He breathed close to your ear and pressed a kiss on your cheek.

Draping an arm over your side, he gave himself up to the sleep that had been pulling hard on him.

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years ago

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Fic: Stick to the Shadows

AU-gust Day Twenty-Two: Futuristic AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Rumbelle

Rated: T

Summary: Belle, Gold, and the rest of their Shadowrunning team are caught in a sticky situation during a Run, and Belle and Gold are very relieved when it’s all over. (A Shadowrun AU.)

Note: I had a ton of trouble working out what to do for this prompt and I went through several different tries before hitting on the idea of using Shadowrun, a tabletop RPG that I play set in the distant future. It can basically be described as ‘D&D - but with added guns and computers’. There’s magic, there’s tech, there’s metaspecies (elves, orks, dwarves etc). It’s a lot of fun.

Content warning: Blood, mild violence.

Stick to the Shadows

“Rumpelstiltskin, how’s it looking up there?”

“It’d be wonderful if it wasn’t as cold as a yeti’s backside.”

Belle had to laugh at Gold’s frank statement. They always had a good time when he came out into the field with them. Normally he stayed at home, working behind the scenes.

Beside her, Jefferson, the one to ask the question, sighed. “I happen to know several yetis, Rumpel, and I can guarantee that the fur makes them a lot warmer than you give them credit for. Anyway, stay put. I’m sure that Beauty can warm you up later.”

Belle felt herself flush. Although their relationship was something of an open secret among the rest of their group of Shadowrunners, she was trying to keep the secret part of it going for as long as possible.

Gold gave Jefferson some choice four letter words and Jefferson smiled calmly, letting him vent before speaking again.

“Grumpy, are you in position?”

“Jeff, we’re in each other’s line of sight.” Leroy waved at them from across the bar. “If you can’t see that I’m in position then I think you need glasses. Aren’t elves supposed to have keener eyesight than the rest of us?”

Jefferson rolled his eyes, but he didn’t rise to the challenge. As the only metahumans in their usual group, Jefferson and Leroy got a lot of mileage out of dwarf and elf jokes.

“Ok, we’re ready,” he said. “And Grumpy, you know that we’re supposed to use codenames when we’re on comms.”

“Yes, Hatter.”

“Hopefully, this should be a nice, clean extraction. In, out, deliver, get paid. Let’s Run.”

Jefferson began to weave his way through the crowded bar towards their mark, striking up an easy conversation. Jefferson was their face, the charismatic con artist with a silver tongue who could talk them into or out of anywhere. Well, almost anywhere. If Jefferson’s charm failed then they fell back on Belle’s magic or Leroy’s aptitude with a hammer and pickaxe – or just his fists. As a last resort, they had Gold providing them with air support from a distance; the man had more drones at his fingertips than he knew what to do with, ranging from tiny spy cameras the size of a bee to huge monsters with mounted heavy machine guns. Between them, they made a good team and they’d been Shadowrunning together successfully for years.

The mark had bitten, leaning in closer to Jefferson, eager to hear what he had to say. Belle kept her eyes open. They were not the only ones looking to extract this man. When they’d been hired, their client had warned them that he was hot property. There was a price on his head.

Belle spotted a couple of obvious paramilitary types moving towards Jefferson, and she dropped onto the astral plane to take stock, scanning the room for magical signatures. She wasn’t the only mage in the bar, but her persons of interest had no powers themselves. Across the room, she could see Leroy taking an interest in two more goons and beginning to tail them through the throng.

“One more behind you,” Gold’s voice said in her ear. His spy drone zoomed past in front of her and began to systematically read the room. “Just those five as far as I can make out.”

Belle glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of the person Gold had spotted, a burly ork in an ill-fitting suit. As he squeezed past her, Belle caught his arm, sending out a pulse of magic to probe his mind. It was only a brief touch so she didn’t get much, but she could tell that he had been hired by one of the megacorporations, that the other suspicious persons were with him, and that his intentions towards their mark were of the distinctly murderous variety.

“Jeff, we have incoming and they’re not friendly,” she hissed into her comm. “Get him out now.”

“Copy that.”

Across the bar, she saw Jefferson’s demeanour instantly change from debonair playboy to hardened Shadowrunner as he explained the situation to the mark and the two of them began to make their way back towards Belle and the exit. The goons were following them, pushing the other patrons aside in an attempt not to lose their quarry. Over on the other side of the room, there was a commotion as Leroy engaged the two he’d been tailing. The other three looked over to their colleagues but did not go to their aid.

Belle cast invisibility with a flick of her wrist, Jefferson and the mark becoming blue and ghostly in her eyes as they vanished from view for the rest of the bar. The spell was tricky, needing a constant sight line to maintain, and it was difficult in a place where there were so many other people getting in the way. Someone jostled her, breaking her concentration, and the spell shattered, leaving Jeff and the mark fully visible again, although they’d managed to put some more distance between themselves and their pursuers. They were almost at the door when there was a scream; the two goons had produced pistols and didn’t seem to have any care for collateral damage in their determination.

Belle knew that she only had a moment to act, and she dived into their path.

“BELLE NO!” Gold’s voice in her ear was frantic, but she ignored it. She’d done this before, and she had to trust that Gold knew what she was doing and could act on her instinct.

As the two men fired, Belle threw up a barrier, pouring all of her magical energy into maintaining the invisible wall between them and her – and by proxy Jefferson and their mark.

“Hatter, go!” she yelled as another couple of drones swooped past her ear. Gold had got the message, and Jefferson wasted no time in escaping with their mark. A moment later, there was an ear-splitting shriek of electricity as the taser drones found their mark, and Belle finally dropped the barrier, the bullets dropping with it. She staggered backwards; the spell had drained her, and her head was pounding. Across the bar, she saw Leroy despatch his two opponents and dive out of the nearest window. Ignoring the spots dancing in front of her eyes, Belle turned tail and ran out of the bar after Jefferson, catching up with him and the mark and meeting up with Leroy outside in the commotion.

“Now where?” The mark was looking around in desperation. Although Shadowrunners were not the most trustworthy of people, at least this group appeared to want to try and save his life rather than end it, so he’d cut his losses and was sticking with them.

“Now, we wait for our ride, which should be here any minute now.” Jefferson smiled as a screech of tires heralded the arrival of a blue SUV on the scene. “There we are, right on schedule.”

Three of the four doors shot open, much to the alarm of the gathered crowds outside the bar since the SUV appeared to be completely empty. Jefferson bundled the mark into the back and Belle jumped into the passenger seat, Leroy throwing himself into the driver’s side and only just having time to close his door before the car zoomed off again.

“Rumpel, if you hurt one molecule of Catherine’s paintwork,” he grumbled. “I’ll take the wheel now, thanks. Rumpel! I said I’ll take the wheel!”

“You sure about that?” Gold’s voice came through on the comms. “You’ve got incoming.”

Belle glanced in the rear-view to see that the three goons Leroy had not had chance to take down were following them, one in another car, the other on a motorbike.

“Yes! Will you give me control of my own damn van!”

There was an audible clunk as the SUV dropped out of remote control, losing speed for a moment before Leroy was back in control, roaring down the road and dodging in and out of other traffic.

A hail of bullets ricocheted off Catherine’s bumper and Jefferson pushed the mark down out of the line of fire. Evasive manoeuvres weren’t going to cut it; they were going to have to return fire.

“Rumpelstiltskin, take the wheel!”

As reluctant as Leroy had been to let Gold get his hands on his precious Catherine, even he had to admit that having a backseat driver was very useful in times like this.

There was another clunk and short speed drop, then the SUV was driving itself as Leroy rummaged in the driver’s footwell for something out of his extensive arsenal, proceeding to lean out of the window with a shotgun.

Belle leaned out too, but the vehicles were moving too quickly for her to get a proper hit with her magic. She looked up at the rooftops, spotting Gold in his roost, his face illuminated by the light of several holographic screens as he effortlessly drove Catherine with one hand and controlled his many drones with the other. Something caught her eye, a flicker behind Gold that shouldn’t have been there.

She dropped down onto the astral plane again, trying to focus despite the motion. Yes, there was another mage coming up behind him.

“Gold, behind you!” she squealed. He turned, but the mage was invisible to him and his attack drones were all focussed on the pursuit. Belle pushed back onto the physical plane, dived back into the SUV and then out of the sunroof, much to Leroy’s alarm.

“Get down! You’re a sitting duck!”

“So’s Gold, and I need a better sight line on astral! Cover me!”

Leroy griped but acquiesced, and Belle went astral again, throwing a spell towards the mage behind Gold. Being astral, it went straight through Gold with no ill effects, finding its target and sending him staggering backwards, breaking his concentration and turning him visible again to let Gold finish him off – in doing so losing his own concentration on Catherine for a moment and making her lurch to the side.

Belle heard Leroy’s yell: “Rumpel! Do not hurt Catherine!” but then all that was lost as a bullet grazed her arm, making her cry out with the pain and drop back down into the SUV.

“If she even has a scratch I’ll… Belle, are you ok?”

“Belle! Belle, are you all right?”

Belle nodded, although she did not like the feel of the blood seeping between her fingers as she clutched her arm. She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes, vaguely aware of Gold’s voice in her ear as Jefferson leaned through between the front seats to give her first aid.

Finally, Leroy finished off their attackers and took control of Catherine again. Everything was quiet at last. Now all they had to do was get to the rendezvous with their client: their mark’s father, who had promised a substantial sum if they got him out of dodge unscathed.

Belle just hoped that the mage on the rooftop hadn’t been alone.

It was the small hours by the time they made it back to their nominal hideout. Of all of the places where they could have met, Leroy’s underground safehouse had been judged the safest, and no matter what happened during a Run or however they might get separated, they would always meet up there afterwards. Being set up for a dwarf it was not the most comfortable accommodation for the rest of them, but they were nonetheless glad of it.

The mark had been delivered safely and Catherine had got through her ordeal with only a few bullet marks; Leroy was already performing repairs in the garage whilst Jefferson got Belle’s arm fixed up. It was only a scratch, but it had been painful enough at the time.

Gold was the last to arrive, having had to pack up all his gear and make his way to them without the aid of Catherine. Belle knew that he had several other vehicles rigged up that he could use, but she also knew that he preferred to keep a low profile after an altercation such as the one he’d narrowly missed with the other mage.

He ducked into the living room where Jefferson and Belle were waiting, going straight over to throw his arms around Belle. He was not usually demonstrative when the rest of the group were around; trying to keep the futile secret going for as long as possible. Belle guessed that it was definitely out in the open now.

“Never do that again,” he mumbled in her ear. “I thought I’d lost you for good.”

“I promise. As long as you promise not to get ambushed by unfriendly mages again.”

Gold gave a weak chuckle. “I’m never going out into the field again if this is what happens. I’m staying firmly in my own office and running everything remotely.”

Belle just laughed, tightening her hold on him with her one good arm. Tomorrow, when she wasn’t so drained from tonight’s magic, she’d cast a healing spell on herself and everything would be as good as new.

Gold kissed her then, a fierce and desperate kiss that showed just how happy he was that they had both survived another Run, and how distraught he would be if he were to lose her for good one of these days. Belle knew the feeling, she felt exactly the same way. Although he was not usually in as much danger as the rest of them, tonight had proved that even Gold could end up in harm’s way if the stars aligned in a particularly horrible way.

Leroy came in, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Please, if you’re going to get mushy, do it elsewhere,” he said, but the smile on his face betrayed his happiness at seeing the two of them together and comparatively unharmed. Life in the shadows was a dangerous business; Runners tended to stick to the mantra of live fast, die young. Still, having someone to share the life with made Belle that much more determined to come home at the end of every Run, and she knew that Gold felt the same way.

“I love you,” she whispered, once Leroy had gone back out to Catherine and Jefferson, deciding to give the lovebirds some privacy, had gone with him to make himself useful by handing him spanners.

“I love you too. Now… Any idea how we should spend our fee? There’s a new command console that I’ve had my eye on for a while, and you said you wanted new Gecko-Grip gloves…” He tailed off as Belle kissed him again.

“Or we could have a nice romantic night on the town,” she suggested.

Gold nodded. “Yes. Yes, we could do that.” He paused, and Belle had to laugh when he spoke again.

“I don’t think we’ll be welcome at that bar again though.”

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #Jefferson #Leroy #Futuristic AU #Shadowrun AU #AU-gust #Worry does AU-gust #blood cw #violence cw #Fic: Stick to the Shadows

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emospritelet · 3 years ago

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I don't think there's anything else running at that time :)

So… hypothetically speaking. If I were to introduce a new, informal Rumbelle event in, say… March or April… would this be conflicting with any existing events? And if not, would anyone be open to participating?

#rumbelle roar!

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xiolaperry · 5 years ago

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The Piano - Chapter 10

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume. Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated… (Rumbelling of the 1993 film “The Piano”)

Rating: E for smut, dark subject matter and violence.

Special Note: There is a forced kiss in this chapter, please do not read if this sort if thing upsets you.

Also available on AO3

---

“I lied to you earlier.”

Belle stopped tracing patterns on his back. He rolled over and sat up, leaning against the headboard. Patting the spot next to him, he showed he wanted her close.

“I implied there wasn't anything of yours here. But there is.”

He reached under his pillow and pulled out a small green cloth-bound book. It was “Aesop's Fables,” from her childhood.

“Another lie - no, exaggeration. I can read, just not very well.”

He opened it and traced her name written inside.

“You wrote your name in this one. Belle French. The rest had printed bookplates, this one was in your handwriting.”

He looked up from the book to assure himself that he had her full attention.

“Names are important. They have power. I wanted to have yours, this piece of you, here with me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kept it.”

She kissed the side of his neck, forgiving.

“Labhrainn. My name. You are the first in all of New Zealand to hear it. I trust you to keep it to yourself.”

She mouthed the name, enjoying the feel of the syllables on her lips. Labhrainn. Unusual, but it suited him to have an uncommon name.

Her wry smile made her thoughts clear to him. “Don't tease, now. I didn't choose to be saddled with it.”

She squeezed his hand. Sharing a secret was a unique form of intimacy, and she was glad he'd given her one.

Gold snapped the book shut. Belle got up and collected her clothes. He wished their morning together would never end. “You're leaving.”

Her only response was to hold out her wrist so he could help with the buttons on her sleeves. Gold's shirt hung open, his buttons still scattered about the room.

Concerned with how much time had passed, Belle hurried to finish getting dressed. She had lost a few buttons of her own. As she reached to pick up the one she spied on the floor, she knocked it down a knot-hole in the floorboard.

“I need to know. What will you do?”

Belle tidied her hair in the mirror.

“Does this mean something to you?” This woman had changed him. He didn't recognize himself with all this talk of feelings and emotions. She was like a drug, putting him in an altered state. The words just kept coming.

“I already miss you, Belle.” Standing, he reached around her waist and breathed in the scent of her neck. “I'm a difficult man to love. But do you love me?”

Belle stopped fussing with her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face had not changed, but everything was different. What had transpired between them was overwhelming, but she had to get back to Tilly. There was a lot to process, choices to make. It wouldn't do to be impulsive and come to a rash decision after the morning of mind-blowing sex. Not wanting him to doubt that she cared for him, she turned, pulling his shirt further apart to kiss him on his chest over his heart.

Gold was confused. Was this an answer? He studied her face. “Come tomorrow,” he told her with urgency in his voice. “If the answer is yes, that you want us to be together, come tomorrow.”

She put the book on the table next to the chipped cup and left before he could tempt her to stay.

---

That morning, Gaston had decided to work in the barn instead of going straight out to the new property. When Tilly’s shouts reached his ears, he'd returned to the house in time to see Belle leave and an angry Tilly stomp away. Belle didn't even notice his pursuit in her rush.

He crept up to the cottage, a hunter stalking his prey. From the bottom of the porch steps, he could almost make out Gold's quiet murmurings. When the slapping and scuffling noises began he advanced to the window without making a sound. He saw Gold and his wife in a passionate embrace. He reeled, dropping to the porch, his back sagging against the wall. The muted sighs, moans, and breathless sounds of pleasure paralyzed him.

Anger and curiosity trapped Gaston between them. Curiosity won. He looked again. Gold was on his knees under the cage of her hoops. Belle ripped at her clothing, yanking off her corset. He grimaced at the sound of fabric tearing.

Gaston continued to play the voyeur. With Belle's eyes closed, swaying like she might fall over, she'd never notice him. Gold was intent at his task between her legs, licking and kissing. Then he stopped, and Gaston darted back. He heard Gold tell Belle she was delicious. He knew men sometimes did this sort of thing, they told bawdy jokes and stories about it. But the idea of kneeling before a woman, worshipful, did not appeal. Although Belle was enjoying herself, if the loud panting was any sign. He peeked again, and yes, Gold had returned to his ministrations. Did he enjoy doing that?

After Belle had tensed like she'd been struck by lightning, she helped Gold to his feet, then ripped his pants off. He hadn't realized she was such a wanton. Gold's stiff cock answered his question, he'd obviously enjoyed the time spent on his knees. He observed that the man was well endowed, then chided himself for even noticing such a thing.

Realization that he was in a vulnerable position came to him. Granny or those Maori could show up at any moment, and he didn't want to be caught spying. Besides, they'd moved to the bed, which he couldn't see without sticking his head in the window. They'd notice that.

A black cat butted against his hand, looking for affection. Irritated, he swiped at it, causing it to run off hissing under the house. There was just enough room for him to follow. And a knothole in the floorboard to make it easier for him to eavesdrop. The panting and moaning were endless. How long did this act take?

A period of relative silence followed. Gold spoke some nonsense about books and names. It was difficult to pay attention; he was getting uncomfortable, and he was certain a spider was walking across his hand. A button dropped through a knothole nearby. At last, Gold asked something important.

“What will you do?”

After Belle left, Gaston did not go straight home. He needed time to think. What would Belle do? Her actions tomorrow would answer the question. Maybe this was to be a single occurrence, to show her gratitude for the return of the piano. For now, no one else knew. That was the most important thing. People would mock and laugh if they found out. The secret must be kept. As long as she didn't go back, everything would be fine.

---

That night, Belle was giddy. How did couples get anything done when there was such fun to be had? Her first lover ought to be ashamed of himself. He had either known nothing about a woman's body or just didn't care.

Trying to calm down, she asked Tilly to read her favorite book aloud. She saw Mr. Gold's – no, Labhrainn's – expressive face on the prince, herself on the princess. When they got ready for bed, Tilly brushed Belle's hair. Unable to contain her high spirits, she grabbed her and tickled. The two rolled around, laughter ringing through the house.

Pleased with her mother's good humor, Tilly demanded a shadow puppet story. Belle acquiesced. Now the sorcerer was not evil like everyone assumed. He was only lonely, and the princess he'd stolen away fell in love with him. Tilly applauded this romantic development. Belle hoped Tilly’d be as enthusiastic about her mother’s romance after she’d had time to process it.

In the next room, Gaston paged through a book on botany, eyes not seeing the pages. His jaw clenched, and his neck was stiff. When he could no longer take the sounds of happiness that assaulted his ears, he took his axe and went outside to chop wood until the window of the bedroom darkened.

Long after Tilly fell asleep, Belle replayed the morning's events. She wondered if Mr. Gold would enjoy her mouth on him to completion. The next day could not come fast enough.

After breakfast, Gaston announced he was continuing his task of building a fence on his new acreage. As soon as he was out of sight, she instructed an irritated Tilly how to spend her morning. She was upset about being left behind again, but they didn't have as much of a confrontation as yesterday. She had to teach her boundaries. It would be difficult for Tilly to understand, but she was a bright and loving child. Given time, she'd realize Mr. Gold hadn't stolen her place in her heart, he'd expanded it and there was more than enough room for them both.

She hurried along the path. Brimming with happiness, she wondered what he would do when he saw that she had come back to him. There was much to discuss, which would be difficult, considering he didn’t sign and had a hard time with reading. But sometimes she felt as though he heard her in his head. He would understand that she wanted to be with him, wanted the three of them to be a family. She and Tilly could teach him sign language and help him with his reading.

As she raced past a grouping of trees at the edge of Gaston's property, the man himself stepped directly in front of her. Shocked, Belle stopped short and almost tripped. Gaston's face was blank, his eyes empty. She decided in an instant to keep walking, acting like nothing was amiss. But he followed her, grabbing her arm and wrenching her back to him. He did not speak. Pulling her hair, he kissed her hard, bruising her lips. There was no affection, only dominance, a show of power.

Belle’s heartbeat roared in her ears. She kept her mouth clenched shut and did not fight back. Her jaw ached from the effort. When he stopped to breathe, she shoved him with all her strength and ran away. Gaston was faster. He caught her, and she clung to a stout tree branch, kicking at him as he pulled. The rough bark dug into her hands.

“Maaammmaaa!” she heard Tilly call from a distance. She was coming up the path. Relief at Tilly's disobedience brought tears to her eyes. “Mama, Aunt Cora is looking for you!” At the sound of her voice, Gaston froze. Belle gathered her composure; Tilly must not see them like this. Gaston took her arm and marched her back to the house.

“There you are,” said Cora as they came into view. Her sharp eyes noted Belle's pale face and Gaston's grim mouth. “We were just stopping to thank you for allowing Tilly to be a part of our little play. And, I know Gaston would appreciate having an enjoyable meal for a change, so we wanted to invite you to dinner for Christmas.”

“Thank you Aunt, we will attend. However, we are very busy. Don't let us keep you.” He walked straight past her to the woodpile and cut lengths of board. His axe hit the mark each time despite his speed and wood split with a crack.

“Well, I never saw such rudeness.” Cora stalked off to where Regina was waiting with the horses when it became apparent Gaston was ignoring her.

The rest of the day Belle lay on the bed. When Gaston started hammering planks over the windows she covered her ears, the sound of the nails in the wood like clods of earth falling on a coffin. He finished his work with a wooden bolt on the front door, enabling him to lock it from the outside. That would keep her home. She would not go back to Gold.

Tilly sat next to her mother. “You shouldn't have gone to Mr. Gold's house again after he returned the piano and books. I don't like it, and neither does Papa.” Why did Mama want to spend time with him without her? Mr. Gold was nice, and she liked his cat, but it wasn't worth getting into trouble. Calling Gaston 'Papa' was the best way her child's mind could conceive of how to get back at her for causing this upheaval. Belle ignored the ploy and closed her eyes.

#the piano #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #my fic

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woodelf68 · 8 years ago

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EVERYTHING IS PERFECT AND NOTHING HURTS

We’ve got four and a half months of Rumbelle being in a happy place with baby Gideon and I will need ALL the fluffy fics. And I don’t see any reason why Belle can’t be happily off-screen with Gideon in season 7 if Henry is in Seattle. This girl turns up claiming to be his daughter in an eerie echo of his own childhood, so what more natural than to call home and say something magical is afoot and could anyone come and help him figure it out? And Grandpa Gold and Regina and Hook (standing in for Emma for some reason?) go out to help him.

#rumbelle roar!#ouat spoilers #rumbelle #once upon a time

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emospritelet · 5 years ago

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Happy Skin Deep Day!

Rumbelle roar!

#rumbelle

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emospritelet · 5 years ago

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Thank you darling xxx You're wonderful!

It’s Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day

And I didn’t realize it until five seconds ago so I’ve been remiss.

So here we go.

The Rumbelle fandom is lousy with talent and always has been. I started reading Rumbelle fic in 2013. So many of the writers I first found have been lost to the ether over the years. But many of them are still here and I’ve even followed a few to other fandoms. And the thing about the Rumbelle fandom is it keeps growing. Even now, a full year after the end of the show, people are still finding Rumbelle and writing about them falling in love a million different ways. It’s brilliant and beautiful. So I want to take five minutes to just APPRECIATE all of you lovely people. Here we go!

@timelordthirteen. You are my soul mate. You manage to hit all the right buttons with every fic you write. It’s like you’re in my brain knowing exactly what I want. It’s a little freaky, but I love you for it. Check out Working Out (who would have known a fic about Gold joining a gym would be my everything?) and her in progress Killing Time, which checks every box I have for a great story.

@emospritelet my smut queen. If I could write a sex scene half as well as you do I’d spend my days penning erotica and eating bon bons because obviously you should be paid handsomely for your work. Also, how do you write food so well? You make me horny and hungry it’s insane. Please check out Things Left Unsaid (and I’m not just saying that because I prompted it!) and The Long Game, the fic that introduced me to Sprite and that I’m still in awe of its majesty.

@rufeepeach was the first Rumbelle writer I found. I devoured everything she wrote and I will still, 6 years later, drop everything to read he stories. Her Time of Day series is one of the first stories I read and is still the standard I hold all curse AUs to. Inheritance was one of those fics where it just spoke to me and I waited with bated breath for every update. She’s a genius.

@bad-faery. You know her. You love her. You don’t need me to sing her praises, but I will anyway. Four Walls is one of the best fics I’ve ever read. It’s rare when a story makes me burst into tears but I full on sobbed during this story. And Again was my first Macelle story and I’ve never looked back.

@prissyhalliwell is my darling. My buddy. My post episode squee/rant partner. Check out We’ve Never Met and Welcome to the Enchanted Forest (which I need to finish now its been updated!).

@mareyshelley. We haven’t interacted much, but I’ve loved your fics. The Image of Her is the moody gothic romance I never knew I needed. What the Heart Wants is a gorgeous season 7 AU where Belle retained her memories and tries to win over a cursed Weaver while taking care of their infant son.

@worryinglyinnocent is so prolific I literally can’t keep up. A couple of favorites though are The Darkness Within which is terrifying and sexy and everything in between and Friendships and Fandoms which managed to spin off its entire own fandom about a fictional TV show!

@ifishouldvanish wrote my favorite Lachlan/Lacey story that I could ever imagine and I can’t fathom ever writing that pairing now because that fic is so perfect it’s canon to me. Please read How Do You Sleep. I can’t recommend it enough.

@b-does-the-write-thing. I’m always in awe of your ability. I love a good historic AU and The Demon Earl’s Deal is the real deal. So much research! Please read it! Also check out The Story Teller. B’s world building is unparalleled and you should have it in your life.

@ishtarelisheba has written some frankly amazing fics. Her gender swapped Pretty Woman AU Life in Detail is brilliant as is her Christmas fic Blue Christmas. She writes a woobie Rumple like no one else.

@maplesyrupao3 has another historic AU I absolutely love in Vows, a story about Belle marrying Mr. Gold to save herself from financial ruin but ends up quite happily discovering the pleasures marriage has to offer. Another favorite is Blind Faith which has a disabled Gold in a whole new way.

@thestraggletag. Going back to the first writers I found in this fandom, Stragg is it. Some of my favorite fics I’ve ever read are still her Starbucks Series and Nurturing.

There are so many more, but it’s late and I’ve had two glasses of wine and I have to stop at some point. I love this fandom, I love the fic, I don’t get to read as much as I’d like these days but it’s still my happy place. No matter how much or how little you’ve written, you are apprecitaed. Thank you to each and every Rumbelle writer for keeping Rumbelle alive.

#rumbelle roar!

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eirian-houpe · 5 years ago

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Gilded

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: A Monthly Rumbelling March 2020 (Once Upon a Time), A Monthly Rumbelling (Once Upon a Time), Not Canon Compliant, Canon Compliant, Work That One Out If You Can, it will all make sense, I promise

Summary: Belle fears she is to become trapped in a gilded cage of her father, and Lord Gaston's making, with no relief and no way to be herself... until she meets the enigmatic little man trapped in the darkest, shadowed corner of the castle's library... Written for the March 2020 Monthly Rumbelling.

Read on AO3

Gilded

If ever she needed proof that the marriage her father intended for her was little more than a gilded cage, she had only to look at the vanity, with it’s delicate lace runner, on which a golden hand mirror was obscured by a brush and comb of burnished gold. She hadn’t touched them, any of them - preferring always to use her own things, not the things that were provided for her. Her own things gave her the comfort of remembering her mother, and it was a comfort… her only comfort, besides her books, and her dreams of adventure.

Belle wished for relief; she wished for release.

He knew, no, hoped that sooner or later she would find her way to him, to his lair, though not truly a lair in the exact sense of the word, rather… his shadowed corner of the library. So, he waited.

He had enchanted the items that his lordship had left for her in the chambers meant as her cage. In hindsight, if she were half the woman he thought her to be, it was a waste of time and magic. She would no more accept such gifts from the man who would be her master than she would accept the man himself; not without coercion. He seethed at the thought.

The Dark One wished for retribution; he wished for release.

The dream from which Belle woke the first night stayed with her mere moments, except for the final words, the compulsion that sat in the front of her mind, whispering over and over… Find me. She was certain that if she could have remembered more of the dream, she would have been more sure of who needed, or wanted to be found, but she could not, so spent the day - in the guise of getting to know her away around her future home - searching the castle for someone, anyone who looked lost or out of place.

She had no idea why it was so important to her, because it had just been a dream after all, but she’d had such dreams before and they had turned out to be insights into a hidden truth or a problem to be solved. Her mother always told her that it was her mind’s way of bringing her perception to the fore; things that she had noticed unconsciously, and which wanted her attention, and not any kind of second sight, or supernatural knowledge. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to ignore it. What if someone else were in trouble, some other poor soul taken from their home and put to work in a place they did not wish to be? Yet the servants - while not exactly happy - did not seem to be in any kind of enforced servitude.

The second morning, when she woke, there was a book resting on the bed beside her pillow. With a frown, she sat up and reached for the tome, pulling it onto her lap and flipping open the cover. Her eyes lit up with delight. The book was of ancient languages; languages older even than her father’s library contained.

Intrigued, she lost herself in the book, only looking up when her maids came in, worrying after her health, since she was still abed. With her nose in the book she allowed them to lead her to her dressing room, dress her and fix her hair. It was in near panic, therefore, that she flicked her head up from the book when they told her that his lordship wished to walk with her in the gardens.

“What? No… I… I can’t, I--”

“My lady, he’s to be your husband,” the oldest of her maids protested.

“And I have no wish to walk,” Belle protested, lifting her head, and tucking the heavy tome under her arm. “Is your lord the kind of man that would force a woman to do something against her will?”

The maids shifted uncomfortably, and so Belle pressed, “Well…? Out with it?”

“It’s just that… well, Lord Gaston is used to getting what he wants,” a maid answered, still fidgeting and all but wringing her hands.

“Then he’ll just have to get unused to it,” Belle declared with a nod, stamping down her own disquiet with determination. Then, she stalked away from the fussing maids, sat down in her drawing room, and opened up the book once more, losing herself to the hours.

“She denied me!”

“Oh, how tragic,” Rumplestiltskin answered Gaston’s roar of anger with the lilting bite of his sarcasm as the man stalked back and forth across the library carpet, blustering with more hot air, presumably, at the Dark One’s lack of response. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

There was an accented lilt to his impish voice, as he waved a hand flamboyantly waiting for the fat-headed ox to turn his irritation and blame to him, as though he had been the cause of Belle’s refusal to meet with the spoiled nobleman. He did not have to wait long.

“You know full well what I want from you, Dark One,” Gaston bellowed. “You will make her come to me, and you will make her mine!”

Rumplestiltskin’s voice lowered to a growl, a mere whisper of danger, as he said, “And I told you that there are things that magic cannot do and as much as you—”

“You forget—” Gaston interrupted, drawing breath against the eruption that was awaiting inside of the Dark One.

“I forget nothing,” he snarled, and dared a small step outside of the shadow in the corner of the room, his fists clenched at his sides and Gaston stiffened as though steel bars were wrapped around him, fighting for balance and for breath. “You may have command over me in this… for the moment, but nothing lasts forever, and the Dark One’s memory is very. Long. Indeed… Dearie.”

For all that she avoided the walk in the garden - though a walk in the garden was something she would dearly have loved, just not with her would-be jailer - there was little she could do to avoid dinner that day, or breakfast the following, and dinner again on the evening of the nest day. She committed, however, to non-commitment, refusing to allow herself to be drawn into speaking by Gaston or any other he brought to the table. She would decide when to engage in conversation and about what, so to Gaston, his father, noblewomen of the kingdom she remained polite, but distant. After each evening, she would respectfully excuse herself and retire to her rooms, dismissing her maids and leaning on her door after she closed it behind them almost with relief.

Only when she was certain she would be undisturbed, would she take out the book from where she had hidden it and continue reading, letting her fascination with the ancient languages; with the arcane tongues, and with Fairy in particular sweep her away to other places; other times.

He missed his wheel and the peace it brought to his unquiet mind. Without it there was nothing to keep his thoughts away, nothing to keep the sight from driving him to the brink of madness with uncertain futures, and knotted strands of would-be possibilities; nothing to keep the memories from returning, all of them. No one came to speak with him after his little demonstration of the folly in attempting to control the Dark One - certainly not Gaston, thank the gods - and the maids that brought the bowls of gruel and cups of water to his shadowy corner were barely there long enough to drop the tray, turn tail and run, lest they catch sight of the ‘evil monster’ in the library.

Neither had Belle succumbed to the natural charm of the book - oh, not magic of any real kind, only that he knew of her love of books, and of her cleverness and worldly knowledge. It was a marvel, he thought, just what one could glean from an oh-so-willing supplicant as Gaston. He growled then in remembrance of the infernal interference that had disadvantaged him and left him in his current predicament. Trapped in the shadows, to do the bidding of the greedy, errant lordling.

Damn her hide! His thoughts turned from Belle to the one responsible for it all, though as angry as he was, he couldn’t complain too much, because it seemed he was managing to turn matters to his advantage - find the loopholes, and lay the ground for the future. Still, damn her hide for her annoying interference.

Curling up into the most lightless part of the room he let go of his hard won control, and allowed himself to see…

The fall of a cup - the snip of scissors at the stem of a rose - the spinning of a wheel - mirrors… mirrors everywhere… a woven basket full of child and a dark night road - a warm burning fire in a stone hearth - the gentle brush of fingers through his hair.

“Um… hello?”

Rumplestiltskin startled out of his trance, spun on the spot even as he uncurled from the fetal ball into which he had curled himself, and dared to begin to unwind as the voice came again.

“Hello?”

Belle though she heard a sob followed by a soft moan as she crept into the library… find me… the words, half remembered now, filtered through her mind. Why hadn’t she thought to look there, in the library. She had looked everywhere else. She sensed movement from the corner of the room, where the light held little sway, and moved slowly toward the darkened space, half afraid that she would frighten whomever was there, and half afraid for herself; for what she might find there.

“Are you all right?” she called out softly as she approached.

“All right…” the echo came from the corner she approached, softly sing-song and accented strangely, almost crooning. “Yes, yes… quite all right.”

She stopped a little way away from the speaker, peering into the shadow to make out the shape - a wiry little man, from what she could see, which wasn’t much. It seemed as if the light shied away from him, or the darkness gathered to cloak him from sight.

“Was it—?” Belle started to ask, but then stopped herself.

“Go on,” the man prompted. “You can ask.” Then, with a chuckle, added, “I won’t bite, Dearie.”

Belle did - her lip anyway, drawing it between her teeth as she tried to work out anything she could about the person to whom she was speaking, and longing but not daring to ask who he was. Instead she finished the question that seemed the most important in her mind.

“Was it you that brought me the book?”

“Brought it? Brought it, no, but…” he giggle softly, and there was a sound as though he were clapping his hands, “but sent it. Sent it, yes. Clever girl. Clever, clever girl. Found me out, you did.”

Belle joined him, chuckling a little as he let out a sound of pure mirth, but as the laughter faded, founder herself asking, “Why?”

“Why?” he echoed, as though the question confused him, and in a shifting accent, and with a shuffled half step forward until she could see him more clearly than a mere silhouette, answered with a flourish of his arms, “Because I wanted you to read it, of course!”

“But,” Belle faltered, surprised, and then asked, “Why?”

“Because.” He answered, sounding rather peevish.

“Because what?” Belle pressed in spite of his apparent annoyance with her questions. “And who are you? And why are you hiding in the shadows?”

“What, who… why?” he repeated. “So many question. Questions, questions, questions. Why do you want to know?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but then stopped, her answer hanging in the air between then like a tangible thing; a cord ready to bind them. She remembered the voice she had heard in her head, the ending of her dream, and she held her breath as she and the strange little man spoke together.

“Because…”

“Yes…?”

“…you said to find you… and… and I… want to know you.”

Even as she answered, she surprised herself to discover that it was true. She did want to know this strange man who had sent her such a wonderful book to read; who seemed so strange, with behavior so bizarre and yet, even in the short amount of time she had spent with him - mere minutes - was strangely enticing.

He let out his impish little giggle, accompanied by the light sound of his clapping hands, and she heard the shuffle of feet and the silhouette in the darkness moved toward the light.

“Want to know me, hmmm?” he crooned, “The monster that lives in the dark. The beast.”

Belle gasped as the man stepped into the dim light at the edge of the shadow, one step… then two… to stand before her. Her head tipped in curiosity, taking in his strangely snakelike gold-flecked skin, his wavy hair; blackened teeth and nails, and golden eyes that held all the menace and darkness the world possessed. She saw, though, that they also held sadness, sadness and hope and longing. Compassion flooded her heart.

He held his breath as he stepped into towards light, almost faltered at her gasp, but took several, almost free steps into the room, no longer confined to the deepest dark - no longer in pain from the light. He held very still as her small hand reached out, steadily, to touch the skin of his cheek with her fingertips. His eyes closed. Never… never had he been touched like that, her fingers like feathers against his skin. Warm… welcome…

“Hardly a monster,” she said, and her voice was soft and filled with a kind of curious wonder as her fingers tentatively moved from his skin to take a strand of his hair between her fingers, as though feeling its softness.

He allowed it as long as he could stand, before the fingers of his own hand curled around her wrist, lifting her hand away from touching him, feeling the absence of her touch almost immediately.

“Oh, but I can be, Dearie,” he answered in a low, rumbling tone, and felt her shiver; watched as her skin pebbled with tiny goose bumps, and took a breath, his own responding as he felt the bonds of his geas beginning to loosen. If only…

“You sent me the book,” she whispered, and he tipped his head to the side, curious as to where she was going with the thought. “Why? Are there others?”

He chuckled. He knew full well what she meant, but wasn’t ready to test her yet - to really, truly test her. He was almost too afraid to be disappointed.

“This is a library,” he said as he let go of her and spread his arms, turning around in a circle. “What do you think?”

“You know what I meant!” she accused softly, and he took in a deeper breath and dropping all pretense at playfulness looked her deeply in the eyes answered her softly.

“Many, and I can let you see them, if…”

“If?” she questioned, and, he noted, shifting a little uncomfortably under the intensity of his gaze.

He leaned toward her then, almost nose to nose, and said softly, “If you’ll agree to visit with me… just a little time each day.”

“Agree, I…” she moistened her lip with a furtive sweep of her tongue, causing him to pull back; to fuss with his lace cravat for a moment, his eyes downcast. His heart lurched, fearing she’d turn him down; that the curse under which he was trapped in the darkest corner of Lord Legume’s castle would never be broken. Yet, when she began again, it was relief that flowed through him as he let his eyes rove over the dusty and neglected titles lying abandoned on even dustier shelves. That a place of learning such as this should be as neglected as it was in a castle full of thick headed lummoxes who were trying to attract the daughter of such an educated woman as Collette of Avonlea - in spite of such a matching attitude in her father - was not lost on him.

“Agree? I’d be delighted!” Belle said, and he looked up to find himself as trapped as he was by the geas set upon him, by the brightness of her beautiful smile. He remembered himself moments later, and flustered stepped away a little, for a time not even realizing that he had almost been standing in the light, and turned, almost dancing in circles with the sheer joy of her response, until her musical giggle reached his ears and he stopped.

“What?” he asked, as if bemused.

“For a moment there I thought I’d done something wrong, with the way you were staring at me,” she said, “but now…?”

She gestured at him in a way, he realized, that was meant to convey his expression of happiness.

“Yes, well,” he said as archly as he could, “Don’t get used to it, Dearie. I’m very serious. Yes, as serious as they come, now…” he wrinkled his nose, tipped his head to one side and asked, “Where were we?”

“You had just agreed to let me see the other books, like the one you sent to me, if I will visit with you daily,” she reminded him. “And I said I’d like that.”

He let out another gleeful giggle and clapped his hands together soundlessly.

“So,” she went on, “when do we begin?”

“Such eagerness,” he purred. “So very keen.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” she said earnestly, then he saw her frown as his expression became serious once more.

“Oh, but alas,” he began, “you must go and prepare for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Her frown deepened.

“Yes,” he said, wrinkling his nose, “With the young lord.”

“With Gaston?” she said, her voice high in pitch.

“Yes. You were, after all, invited, were you not?”

“Demanded, more like,” she snapped and began pacing back and for in front of him, throwing the occasional look of angry disparagement in his direction before she added, “And I have no desire to attend him. I already told him that. Several times!”

“Oh, I know all that,” said Rumplestiltskin, his voice reflecting his lazy boredom with the lord of the castle’s desires and demands. “But, just for the sake of argument, what if one little dinner with him meant that you could spend… longer in the library - undisturbed?”

“Really?” she asked, and he could hear the hopeful excitement in her voice.

“I can make sure of it,” he told her in a singsong voice, gesturing wildly with a hand held up, finger pointed to the ceiling as though the source of all their woes were above, the other arm across his chest. She stopped pacing and stepped into the edge of the shadow, and reached out to grasp his arm in excitement.

“You’re absolutely sure he’ll leave me alone?”

“Yes,” he hissed the words between his teeth. He was certain, because if the young lordling didn’t…? The threat was silent, and only in his head, but while he might be confined to the shadowy corner of the library, his magic was not. He did so love a good loophole.

“All right then,” she said, and began to turn away, but he caught her arm to hold her in place

Leaning close then, he murmured softly against the shell of her ear, “But let’s make this our little secret…” He felt her shiver again, before she nodded, and then he let her turn and walk away, and he retreated to his shadowy corner, humming quietly to himself.

Belle was awake almost with the cock crow the following morning. Dinner had been a dull and dreary occasion - boring, filled with talk of hunting and martial prowess, and not at all the deep and engaging conversation for which she longed. She rose and dressed quickly, almost before her maids had arrived. Now that she had found the library, and the strange little man with his promise of ancient texts, she was anxious to get there, spend time there; read the books he promised.

As soon as she was able, she hurried to the room and let herself in. There, she stopped suddenly and drew in a breath of surprise, wondering for several moments whether she had found her way to the wrong room. Gone was the dust, and the dank dreary darkness - all apart from the furthest corner; the one that hid the strange little man, but otherwise the drapes were open, there was a fire in the hearth to take away the chill in the air, and on a table near to the fireplace was set a silver tea service, and a plate with fruit and cheese, bread and honey.

“No need to stand on ceremony.” His voice came out of the shadows as it had the day before. “You’re letting in a draught.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, came into the room and closed the door behind her. Turning back to address the shadow, she asked, “There. Better?”

“Much,” he answered. “Now come. Eat your breakfast, and take some tea.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?” she accused softly, though in a tone of amusement.

“I thought you wanted to read these books of mine,” he said.

“I do,” she said, and crossed to the chair beside the little table, and began to pour herself some tea. “But that doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Dearie.”

Before she sat, she turned the chair so that she could see the dark shadows in the corner of the room, and if she peered hard enough, could just about see the shape of the man within. She searched the tray for a second cup and finding none, frowned.

“Won’t you join me?” she asked.

“Can’t,” he barked.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” he repeated.

“Whyever not?” she frowned in confusion and picked up a piece of cheese to nibble at, and a single round grape.

“Too much light.”

Belle frowned. “But yesterday you left your dark corner.”

“It was sunset,” he reminded her, and she heard a hint of sarcasm, before he declared, overly dramatic, “Not much light then.”

She harrumphed, and set down her tea, starting to cross the room towards the window as she said, “Then we’ll make some shadow, because if I’m going to spend any length of time with you, I won’t be talking to a corner of the room.”

She heard him giggle his strange little sound that made her smile without her ever intending to, and as soon as she reached the window she took hold of the drapes closest to his shadowed little corner, and tugged them closed, extending the shadow from the corner, out past the little table where the tea and the food sat awaiting her attention.

“Now,” she said, turning to face into the corner and gesturing to the shadowed table. “It’s no lighter than it was yesterday afternoon, so please, come and take tea with me.”

His giggle dissolved into the beginnings of a first word as he spoke. “I’d be delighted,” he said, echoing her words of the day before, and she returned to her place by the fire and, with barely concealed surprise, turned a second cup, which had not been there before, right-side-up and poured him a cup of tea as he shuffled closer.

He watched her curiously out of the corner of his eye, sipping his tea from the china cup, his little finger extended and straight, playful and yet serious, both at the same time. The closed drape provided just the right amount of shadow to allow him to extend his freedom almost the entire first third of the room, and in her presence he began to feel the effects of his confinement waning. Setting down his cup, he rose once more from the seat he had taken and stalked around his new demesne while Belle finished her breakfast and then daintily wiped her hands clean on a soft cotton cloth.

She turned first one way, and then another as if to find him, and he leaned down, around the high back of the chair to murmur almost into her ear as she looked the opposite way.

“Still here, Dearie,” he teased. “So, ready to begin?”

“Quite ready,” she said, a little breathlessly from where he’d startled her.

“Then let’s try…” he trailed off, miming as though he were searching through an unseen bookshelf and then suddenly made a face of great excitement, speaking more to himself than to Belle as he said, “Oh, yes! This one. You’ll like this one, I’m sure of it.”

From out of thin air in a drift of purple smoke, a large, thick tome appeared in his hands, drawing a gasp of surprise from Belle, and with a brief caress to the book’s deep brown cover, he opened it, and set it almost tenderly into Belle’s lap.

“So, you’re a sorcerer then?” she asked.

“Of a sort,” he said, and then before she could ask further of him added, almost crooning, “Take your time. I think you’ll find this one is full of surprises.”

He practically sang the last three words, then moved away to watch as Belle ran the caress of her eyes over the pages of the book, sometimes flicking back and forth between pages, but always with a look of wonder on her face.

He mused that it might not take as long as he had feared to find his freedom with her help, and found he had mixed feelings. On the one hand he could not stand being confined in this rotten place; locked in the only place in the entire castle where none of the muscle-bounds idiots ever came, unless of course they wanted something from him, and he longed for his freedom. Not only did he want to get away and back to his own Dark Castle, but he also wanted to show that annoying little gnat just how foolish she had been to act against the Dark One; how futile and dangerous her actions. On the other hand, even as little time as they had spent together so far, he enjoyed Belle’s company and now, too, enjoyed watching the expression of sheer joy upon her face as she read. It was also that joy that he must capture, to release the first strand of the geas that bound him. The impossible trinity of joy, sorrow, and trust; with the fourth and most impossible of them all - acceptance.

Each day she came, they did the same; danced the same, metaphorical dance, but he felt himself drawn closer to her somehow, and sensed the same in her. She would come in, and even before sitting down to take tea she closed the drape closes to his corner and teased, with some soft phrase or another, then head to the table where the tea was set beside her breakfast of bread and honey, fruit and cheese. The ritual of it, the happiness with which she entered the library and did all of those things was beginning to rub off on him.

The last day of the week dawned, and he found himself watching as the edge of sunlight crept closer and nearer to his shadowed corner, and he held his breath, not in anticipation of the pain the light brought him, but of the happiness he would feel the moment Belle came into the library.

Not a moment beyond the time he anticipated, the library door opened, and he heard her rapid footsteps heading toward the window as always, to close the drapes. They were half way shut, her hand grasping the heavy fabric once more, ready to pull it the rest of the way, when he finally called out, “Wait!”

She stopped at once and turned to face him in his not-quite-so-dark corner, and gave him a frown that was heavy with concern.

“What is it?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” he answered calmly, though in a soft sing-song voice. “It’s just… I think that will be enough for today. No need to close it all the way.”

“But I…” she faltered, then began again. “I though you said the light hurt you.”

“I did,” he said. “It did.”

“Then—” she grasped the curtain again, meaning to pull it closed.

“But not now, see?” he stepped forward into the better lit, though still dimly shadowed part of the room beyond his darkest of dark corners. “I think you cured me of that.”

“What?” she asked, but he could feel the breathless hope trembling in her. “How?”

“Quite simple really, Belle,” he said “Seeing your happiness at reading my books is… freeing me from my shadows.”

A bolt of almost pure joy ran through her like lightning at his words, and before she knew what she was doing, she had crossed the space between the curtain and where he stood and threw her arms around his shoulders. She hugged him tightly, oblivious to his sudden awkwardness until the soft pat pat pat of his touch fell hesitantly on her back.

She drew back, though she still held on to his elbows.

“Oh,” she said, her face beaming with joy, “this is wonderful!”

He chuckled, and she laughed with him, and then taking his hand she tugged him toward the table so they could share their morning tea.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” he said as she steered him toward a chair and reached for the tea pot.

She glanced up at him then, taking in the site of his burnished skin, with his green-gold scales that so fascinated her. They caught her attention even more now that she could see him in the better light. She shook her head.

“I’ve had a lifetime of being served, and frankly I’ve had enough of it. It’s little enough I can do for all the joy you’ve given to me in letting me read your books. A small price to pay.”

She handed him his tea, and he accepted it with a chuckle and said darkly dramatic, “You might feel differently if ya knew who it was ya served.”

She sat back, her own tea balanced against her thigh as she asked, “Why? Who are you anyway?”

He frowned, and then spent very many minutes looking at her as though he thought she’d lost her mind.

“You really don’t know?” he asked, and tipped his head to the side.

“Don’t know, and don’t care,” she answered in a clipped tone, before taking a sip of her tea. “Though it might make it easier to know what to call you.”

She met his golden eyes as he appeared to study her, as if weighing up however she might react to the revelation of his name. Eventually he broke their gaze and took a sip from the teacup he held in his hands, and said softly, “You may call me… Rumplestiltskin.”

“Rumplestiltskin,” she whispered softly once, and again, the sound of it, the syllables making light dance behind her suddenly closed eyes.

“Careful, Dearie,” he teased, and she started, opening her eyes again, and giving him an apologetic smile as he said, “Too much of a good thing…”

He studied the blush that rose in her cheeks at his admonition, found it endearing, and surprised he studied her more deeply, allowing hope to flare in his chest. Could it be possible? Dare he try? Sharing her joy with him was easy; easy for them both, for what man wouldn’t want to bring joy to a beautiful woman? But sorrow after such joy - how could he ever earn her trust with such hurt?

Still, he had to try.

She sipped her tea, the blush alive on her cheeks, watching him and he could see a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, and she set down her teacup.

“May I ask you a question, Rumplestiltskin?”

“Oh, you can always ask,” he sang in answer, burying his thoughts of moments before in the necessity of the present; of having to forge this bond between them, even knowing what he would have to do in the end.

“Yes, but would you answer truthfully if I asked?”

“Well that’s the question, isn’t it?” He tipped his head. “Will the beast answer true, and if he says no he won’t, or yes he will, is he true in his answer?”

“You’re trying to confuse me,” she told him, though she smiled as she spoke, “And you’re not a beast.”

“Oh, but I am.” He rose from his seat, circling around behind hers, reaching over the ornate backrest to settle his hands on her shoulders. “All this time you’ve been coming, all the books I’ve shared, all this time we’ve spent together, and for what…?”

“Because it’s what I wanted,” she interjected even as he went on.

“…to take your joy and make it my own…”

“We shared.”

“…and now—” he stopped suddenly, frowning. “What do you mean, ‘we shared’?”

“We were both happy. So we shared the feeling.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but any retort he might have made dissolved in her gaze as she turned beneath his touch, because he knew she was right.

“We… did.” He said, coming around the side of the chair to perch on the footstool by her feet. He dared. He had to dare. “Would you… would you read something to me?”

Belle blinked, surprise showing on her face. “You… want me to read to you?” she asked, her voice echoing that surprise.

“Yes.”

“One of your books?”

“Yes.”

“Another about magic?”

“No,” he said, “Not this one. This one is a story of many years in the lives of its protagonists. It tells of their love. It tells of their loss; their attempts to find one another… through time.”

“If you know what’s in the tale, why do you want me to read it to you?” she asked, obviously curious.

Hesitantly, he reached out to take her soft fingers into his hand, expecting she would pull away. She did not, though the blush returned to her cheeks, even as she leaned a little closer to him, her expression concentration, her eyes roving his face.

“Because… I know the tale, but not the book,” he said, lowering his voice with each word he spoke, and she leaned closer. “And… I don’t know another that could read it to me. Not… the way… I need.”

He reached out with the fingertips of his other hand to caress her soft, pink cheek; held his breath lest she pull away, but again she did not. Instead, she caught his hand beneath hers, leaned in to his touch, so close their foreheads were almost together.

“I will read your book,” she said, her voice almost as quiet as his whisper had been, “if… you will promise to answer my question truthfully.”

“But how do I know, if I don’t know the question?” he asked.

“You’ll just have to trust me, won’t you?” she said, “Your story for my question.”

Belle didn’t know from where the impulse came to trap his hand, to lean so close, to breathe him in, but she could not stop herself; didn’t want to. She found that she felt more for this strange little man after only a week than she thought she could ever feel for Gaston. He clearly respected her for her mind. He indulged her curiosity; allowed her to read his strange and wonderful books, and conversed with her on many topics, rather than dismiss her as a woman. It set a strange and lonely ache inside of her. She held her breath as she watched him obviously considering her words.

Finally, he closed that narrow gap between their heads, his eyes meeting hers as he said, soft and low, “Deal.”

They seemed frozen in time, held in the moment, until in a swirl of wild purple, like the deepest of hillside heathers, she suddenly felt the weight of a book in her lap, and Rumplestiltskin slowly pulled away.

“Ask your question.”

“You are a sorcerer…”

“Not a question.”

“…So, how come you were trapped here, in the dark corner?”

“Ah, that,” he said, and pressed his fingertips together, watching her watch him as she waited for his answer and she could almost see the thoughts whirling around behind his eyes. “I lost my temper, and made a foolish mistake. One that I shall not make again, I assure you.”

“That’s not an answer,” she said with a sigh.

“Then you should have asked the right question,” he answered, but with such a silly expression on his face that she couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“All right, you trickster,” she shook her head, hoping that her tone took the sting from her name calling, “but I will get it out of you.”

“All in good time, Dearie. All in good time,” he teased, and then pointed to the book. “Now read.”

Chuckling, and still shaking her head, she opened the book, and translating the ancient tome as she read, began the tale.

It was a labor of many, many days, but not one that she minded. At first, they kept their place beside the fire. Sometimes as she read, they would share tea, and sit across the small table from one another, and after those first few, uncertain days, he returned to the place he had taken before the story began, perched childlike on the footstool at her feet, gazing up at her in rapt concentration.

As more time passed, as he sat at her feet, he began to close his eyes, resting his folded arms atop her skirts and rested his head there on his arms. It startled her at first, but only for a moment. Afterwards, she took comfort in the weight of his head on her knees, for the tale took a dark and lonely turn, and his nearness helped to keep the sorrow from overtaking her, at least for a time.

And then the first of her tears fell.

It was unexpected. It wasn’t even one of the passages that held as much sadness as some of the others she had read and yet, without warning, a word, or a sentence, maybe even the sense of the passage struck like a knife to the heart. Her voice cracked, heat flooded her eyes, and her breath hitched in her chest, Without the shadow of a doubt she knew - somehow she just knew - that her mother’s time was coming to an end. With her there, with Gaston and his family rather than at home, she would never see her mother again.

One moment he was resting, lost in the story, at relative peace. His arms were on her knees, his head resting on his arms, and though he was certain she hadn’t yet realized what she was doing, her fingertips brushed softly at the edge of his wild, curly hair. It brought him comfort; let him forget that he was the Dark One, and all the things that he had done; had had little choice but to do anything else. Her quiet voice and gentle touch was like his wheel. He lost himself in the touch much as he had in the story. The next moment, the peace dissolved and a torrent of sudden grief swept through him, over him, so hard and fast that he couldn’t breathe.

It was the splash of her tear on the back of one hand that made him remember himself, and he sat up, as suddenly as the emotion had come. It still came, relentless. It kindled in him the memory, the sure and certain knowledge of himself as an orphan, a lost and lonely, abandoned child, and tears rose unshed in his own eyes, as he met the brimming blue that overflowed onto Belle’s suddenly pale cheeks.

“Belle, my Belle,” he murmured without thought, and reached out to cup her cheeks as gently as he would a small bird. “Whatever is it? Whatever’s wrong…?

“She’s dying,” she wept. “She’s going to die… m-mother…!”

“Oh, Belle,” he whispered softly, and barely had the presence of mind to catch her when she threw herself from the chair and into his arms. He cradled her close; ran his fingers into her hair to guide her head to rest on his shoulder. His own captive tears found freedom and a track over his cheeks as he whispered, “Everything ends… we were all born to die.” She sobbed against him at his words. “Cold comfort, or none at all, I’m sure, but your mother,” he drew her back until he could look into her eyes, and she to his, “…she loves you, and has loved you since first she knew of you. She gave you everything, everything you need to guide you through your life to come, and it will serve you well.”

“Rumple…” her voice hitched in a sob, mid word, “…stiltskin…”

“Hush now, Belle… and rest…”

He wiped away her tears, and slowly fluttered his fingers in front of her face, trailing gentle magic… soothing magic, as she relaxed her desperate grasp on him, and slipped quietly into sleep. He lifted her then, carried her across the room to the chaise lounge in the lee of the window, set her down and tenderly covered her with a blanket he conjured from the air. Then he lifted one of her hands to plant a gentle kiss to the back of it.

“Forgive me, sweetheart. I didn’t want to make you see. I didn’t want to be the cause of this for you.”

He retreated to the chairs by the fire, turned one of them so that he could watch over her from afar, brooding over all of those who suffered at the hands and spells of those so-called guardians of all that was light and good. It was only as the sun that had begun its descent toward night when everything had begun had fully set, that he realized with growing wonder, trembling with badly contained excitement at the realization, that she had shared her sorrow with him, that he had felt it… shared her joy, and now her sorrow too.

When Belle awoke, it was still night. The candles in the library had burned down low, but the fire remained warm in the hearth, and before it, sat silent and unmoving, Rumplestiltskin gazed her way. Her guardian. She sat up slowly, keeping the blanket around her shoulders as she stood and approached him. This time it was her turn to sit at his feet. To lower herself to the footstool and look up at him, still unmoving as though lost in meditation. She laid her hands on his knees and softly called his name, and only then he blinked and turned his face, and a confused smile, her way.

“Belle,” he said softly, “You woke.”

“Yes,” she answered. “Just now. You… you watched over me.”

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “I brought this on you, Belle. All this sorrow and fear.”

“No,” she murmured. “The world brought this upon me… and upon you.”

He reached out to cup her cheek, and she leaned freely into his touch as he shook his head in wonder, his gold-flecked thumb idly and tenderly caressing her soft skin.

“How can you trust me,” he asked, “after all I have put you through; taken from you?”

“Shared with me,” she corrected him. “Rumplestiltskin, don’t you know? You have and always have had my trust.”

She felt him stiffen then, just slightly, and only for a moment, before his other hand came up to cup the other side of her face and draw her closer to press a firm but gentle kiss to the middle of her forehead.

“Oh, Belle,” he breathed against the damp spot before he pulled back and she could see him again. She reached up to trace the pattern of gold scales on his cheek as he continued, “My dear young woman, you cannot know what a gift you have given me with those words. To be trusted, knowing who I am and what I have done - even if you do not know - is beyond words that I can find to say. And all of this you have given freely.”

“What other way is there to give it?” she asked, confused as she sat back down on the stool and took his hands in hers, caressing his skin, soft in spite of the scales, as she asked, “To be confined within a gilded cage such as this one, and expected to give it?”

“No,” he said, “Not that… never that.”

“But tell me,” she craved, “I asked you once, and you gave me an answer that was no answer at all. Tell me true, my Rumplestiltskin, what happened that you were confined here, in the shadows, in the dark?”

“A long and sorry tale, of a boy abandoned by his father as a child, betrayed by his wife, and tricked into taking a path he did not truly understand in order to save his son, who was then lost to him through the interference of a fairy,” he said sadly.

“So you are the Dark One,” she breathed as all the pieces of her reading fell into place and she recognized the bones of his tale from what she understood of the powerful and most feared sorcerer in all the realms.

“Yes,” he admitted, and released her hands, taking a breath, which hitched as though he expected her to run.

She frowned softly, and reached out to take his hands again, wanting to show him that it made not one breath of a difference to her who he was. To her he was a man; a man that had shown her nothing but kindness and empathy, and if that was the worse the Dark One was to be to her, then she would accept him with all her heart and soul. He deserved better.

“What did she do to you?” she asked softly. “You said you were foolish, lost your temper. What happened?”

And so she listened as he told her the tale of how the Blue Fairy had given his son a magic bean; of a promise he made, and a promise he broke to the boy he loved more than anything in all the worlds, and how, because of that, and because of the interference of the fairy, with her bean, how he had lost his son - perhaps forever, though she sensed in him that he would never stop searching for his Baelfire.

Rumplestiltskin felt the final bonds break fast, one after the other as she spoke of her trust for him, and when she then reached out to take his hands in hers as he released her, after confessing his identity to her.

She didn’t care.

She accepted him for who he was.

Acceptance, the final key.

“I know you’ll find him,” she said softly, rising to her feet, as he came to his own, and tenderly took her in his arms.

“Yes,” he said simply, trying not to let himself be overcome with sorrow. He would like nothing more than to keep her light in his life now that he was free, but he could not - would not - confine her in a place she did not wish to be, and he expected she would not wish to be in his Dark Castle any more than she wanted to be where she was then, with Lord Gaston in the cage the lordling had gilded for her. He made a promise to himself though, there and then, that if what Belle had seen, as he tricked her into reading the enchanted Book of Sorrow, came to pass as she feared it would, then he would somehow save her from an obviously uncaring world, and from those who did not deserve her.

“Yes,” he repeated, “And now you must go.”

“Go?” she asked, confusion in her tone.

“Yes, go,” he said. “Go home from here, to the mother that loves you… and you must forget.”

“Forget? Forget you? I don’t understand.”

“Yes,” he said again, “Forget.”

He cupped her face again then in his hands, and before she could respond, stole for himself a single brief moment. He pressed his lips to hers, and after but a heartbeat felt hers soften beneath the press of his, part to admit him, and he moaned as their tongues caressed, sharing breath, even as the deep purple swirl of his magic began to spiral up to surround her, to take her memories of her time at Castle Legume, her memories of him, and all the fears that she had confessed, and then to spirit her away.

It was a harder and longer task to steal the memories of all the people in the castle just the same, but by morning he was done, and as the first rays of sun lit the path to the forest, he closed the doors to the castle behind him and set off for his home, casting his magic mid stride, and setting a watch-ward over the kingdom of Avonlea.

He need not have.

Barely a year later, a message came to him from Avonlea. The Ogre Wars had flared again and the kingdom was under attack. He gathered all that he could to understand what had driven them to war again after the price of their survival in the first Ogre Wars had been that they leave human kingdoms alone, and through following a certain magical thread to to the Mirror of Souls, he found his answer.

He could not blame the Ogres.

Magic took him to the castle of Maurice of Avonlea as flawlessly as it always did, but it wasn’t enough, not then. He had to make an impression - an entrance - to be sure the memories he had taken from Belle had not returned, that any decision she would make would be her own, and not based upon what had grown between then as she had unbound him from the Blue Fairy’s geas.

He sent a magical knock to sound upon the doors, while appearing behind all in the room, occupying none other than Lord Maurice’s throne. She was clinging to her father’s arm, dressed in a glowing golden gown. The color suited her. Like the sun.

“Well that was a bit of a let-down.”

They turned to face him, and while he tried to keep his eyes on the men in the room, he could not help but take in the sight of Belle and the way she was looking at him, in cautious curiosity, but with no hint of recognition in her eyes.

“You sent me a message,” he went on as the great lummox Gaston approached him with a naked sword. He smothered his rising temper in feigned boredom. “Something about um… ‘Help, help! We’re dying. Can you save us?’ Well the answer is…” He rose to his feet and slapped Gaston’s weapon down, giving the man a wicked glance for barely a second, before he added, “Yes, I can. I can protect your little town… for a price.”

He circled the room, coming finally to stand, finger extended and pointing at Maurice as the robed elder walked quickly his way.

“We sent you a promise of gold,” Maurice said urgently.

“Ah,” he purred, “Now you see um… I um… make gold?” he spread his hands, as though to mime the fall of gold from his open hands, shifting his gaze among those gathered in the room, flicking his gaze back and forth between the men and Belle. His heart began to beat a little more quickly as she still showed no sign of recognition, no foreknowledge whatsoever.

“What I want,” he kept his voice low, looking to Maurice again, “is something a bit more… special.” He kept his eyes fixed on the Lord of Avonlea, while pointing flawlessly over Marice’s shoulder as he finished, “My price… is her.”

She frowned, and the fool Gaston pressed an arm across her body as if trying to push her behind him.

“No,” Marice refused him.

“The young lady is engaged,” Gaston added. “To me.”

Feigning incredulity, Rumplestiltskin gestured grandly and in high pitched astonishment at Gaston’s idiocy said, “I wasn’t asking if she was engaged. I’m not looking for… love.” He was thankful his back was to all of them in that moment, not wanting to see their expressions while he gathered himself. “I’m looking for a caretaker,” he continued, turning back to them. His eyes on Belle, remembering what she had said to him about being tired of being served her whole life. “For my rather large… estate.”

Still gesturing grandly, now trying hard to jog anything within Belle that would cause her to remember him - to be sure of her own free will, he pointed and said, “It’s her… or no deal.”

“Get out,” Maurice ordered, growling after pointing at the open doorway, “Leave!”

Inwardly, Rumplestiltskin growled as Gaston pushed Belle out of the way, behind himself, and Belle quite obviously objected to his manhandling her.

“As you wish,” he said calmly, slowly walking between them all and feeling her eyes on him.

“No, wait!” she finally spoke, and he smiled, and turned back to her. In the back of his mind knowing that he couldn’t have simply walked away and left her there even if she had said nothing; even if the rest of Avonlea was to be razed to the ground, her would save her. She extricated herself from Gaston’s restraint, and approached him, frowning but fearless. She looked him up and down, and then said firmly, “I will go with him.”

Rumplestiltskin felt his heart soar, and he let out a sound of delight, clapping his hands together in glee.

“I forbid it!” Gaston exclaimed, while her father gasped her name, but Belle turned to them, like the determined young and beautiful woman he knew her to be.

“No one decides my fate but me,” she said. “I shall go.”

“It’s forever, Dearie,” he warned her, pointed joined fingers in her direction.

“My family, my friends, they will all live?” she demanded.

“You have my word,” he told her softly, and with a bow.

“Then you have mine,” she said. “I will go… with you… forever.”

#rumbelle #a monthly rumbelling #amr #enchanted forest #non-cannon #cannon compliant #it makes sense honest #curse

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