My incredibly lovely, INCREDIBLY patient RSS giftee!!! To the person who got me into Rumbelle and tumblr in the first place. Happy Yule and Happy New Year and all the fluff your heart desires!
For the Christmas creature smut prompts, @little-inkstone prompted Krampus. I had way too much writing this⊠may make more Krampus stuff in the future.
Up next, Incubus (norwegian version).Â
Synopsis: Belle the mayorâs daughter makes a deal with the Krampus.Â
Snow was falling in the small mountain village of Avonlea, but none could be seen on the streets. No one dared walk outside, because the Krampus himself was walking among them⊠searching out for bad children that he would place in his the woven basket that he carried on his back.
But one small shape was making its way through the snowy streets.
Summary: Canon divergence from season 2. Belle and Rumplestiltskin have a tumultuous start after they find each other again in Storybrooke, but itâs nothing compared to the bombshell Rumple drops in the wake of rescuing Belle from Moe. Belle, reeling and hurt, grapples with this revelation. Nothing will be the same, but can anything be salvaged?
Notes: Prompted by @ofdragon0wls who wanted an ace/aro Rumple fic. Written from Belleâs perspective.
It was known by allies and enemies that Rumplestiltskin was a man loaded with secrets. In the Dark Castle, Belle anticipated that early on. He wasnât entirely inscrutable. Just enough that she was tugged by temptation to peel back his layers. Although her fear dwindled in the following weeks, she paced herself in how much she poked and pestered him, pushing his limits only to the brink of the familiarity they were fostering. But sheâd felt the give in his façade. Heâd started to show honesty. Something warm and good, if no less mysterious, finally bloomed. That was love, she gradually realized between meeting the Queen and kissing Rumplestiltskin.
Maybe she had tried to solve the mystery of that love before she was ready for it. Being cast out of her loveâs castle, then imprisoned by his rival, then trapped in an asylum for ageless decades had eroded Belleâs patience. So, the moment she woke up and laid eyes on himâanother surprise, another mystery solved (what did he look like as an ordinary man?)âshe jumped at the chance to make her feelings unquestionably clear. And he seemed happy. That wasnât ambiguous to her. They hugged. They kissedâdid she move in first, or did he? That wasnât a mystery so much as a whirlwind of confusion. It felt right and true. True Love. It was never meant to be easy, but that made it worth fighting for, right?
Now the greatest mystery Belle was busy piecing together was how she ended up at Grannyâs diner nursing an iced tea and a plate of pancakes, alone, so despondent that pancakes couldnât raise her spirits.
Ruby kept passing her table and offering a few words of interest or assistance: âYou want a refill? You sure youâre okay?â Then finally, âYou
sure
you donât want to talk?â
Maybe Rubyâs insistence dissolved her desire for solitude. Or maybe it was due to the anxiety bubbling like a sour carbonated drink, eating away at her silent self-pity. Belle pulled in enough air to let out the words. âI donât know if it would do any good, but ⊠I just donât know how to feel. Except stupid.â
Rubyâs brilliant eyes sharpened to silver-blue blades. âIs this about Gold?â
Belle frowned. Her drooping gaze answered for her.
âI knew it.â Ruby took the opposite seat in Belleâs booth. The diner was slow at this hour. Even if it hadnât been, she wouldâve risked a reprimand from Granny and some cranky customers. âWhat did he do?â
The moment Belle started thinking about that question, a swell of sympathy splashed her. Sympathy for Rumple. Was that pathetic and misguided? It had become a habit to look for the good and pitiable so as to fight the grim impression he left on everyone else.
âOh, Ruby, itâs not like that. He didnât . . . I know he wasnât trying to hurt me.â
âThat doesnât sound good.â
Belle sighed. âI know. He did hurt me, butââ
âIf you need me to wolf out on him, I will.â The waitress was half-smiling. Half-kidding.
âNo. Trust me, if heâd done something to warrant that, Iâd tell you. This is . . . this is complicated. Iâm madder at myself than him.â
The crease in Rubyâs brow spoke her skepticism. Belle could guess her worry: that she was blaming herself when Rumple was at fault. Taking another breath, slower this time, Belle arranged her words before setting them out in to create a more comprehensible picture.
âRumple told me heâs . . . he said we canât stay together.â
Eyebrows jumped up. Ruby flinched like sheâd had a shock or been lightly smack. âWhat? He broke up with you?â
Belle stared at her half-drunk iced tea. âEssentially.â
âWhy the hell did he do that?â
She was still dissecting the answer. Oh, Rumpleâs reasoning had been transparent. That is, transparent to him. He mustâve wrestled with it for a while, perhaps from the moment of their reunion by the well. Since their second kiss.
âIâm not sure I can talk about it. Itâs personal. To him.â
That assuaged some of Rubyâs indignant disbelief. âAh. Itâs an âitâs not you, itâs meâ excuse?â
âItâs pretty legitimate,â Belle said. She granted him that, based on what heâd told her.
After a longer pause than necessary, Ruby tilted her head. âIs he gay?â
Belleâs eyebrow twitched. She came close to smiling. âI almost wish it were that. But maybe Iâd feel the same, anyway.â
Even if she didnât understand what exactly Belle meant, Ruby grasped enough to wince and say, âAww, man. Iâm sorry, Belle.â
Belle nodded. And, surprisingly, she did give a tiny smile. Talking was helping. It felt like baby steps, like learning to walk again. âIâll be okay. Eventually.â
âHey, how about I help you take your mind off it? Maybe tonight at the Rabbit Hole? Drink fancy cocktails, shoot some pool, flirt with guys way beneath us?â
The chuckle that wanted to escape Belleâs chest hurt, yet her smile widened. âIâll think about it. Thank you.â
After Belle paid her bill at the diner and headed out, she returned her thoughts to memories and what brought about this situation. One of Rubyâs questions kept coming back. It brought unexpected illumination. She stepped back and watched her last few conversations with Rumple as an outsider. Maybe that would help her untangle this knot. Another mystery to peel away like a layer of dead skin.
*~*
Rarely had she woken in the morning and found him in bed. Sometimes he was up making her breakfast, an effective blind that she mistook as romantic. Other times, she would wake up in the early hours when darkness still covered the world to find a chill on the side he was supposed to be lying in. One morning, as she tracked him down to the basement, to his spinning wheel, she remembered how heâd spun at the Dark Castle at all hours. Did the Dark One truly sleep? As he was immortal, it made sense that sleep wouldnât be necessary for survival (although lack of sleep might drive him mad). Her other thought was that he was performing magic beyond his gold-spinning. Given his habits, that made sense, too. She decided to talk to him after the sun was up. It was time for the mysteries between them to be solved. Rumple deserved some privacy, but she didnât want him sneaking around all the time, as though to hide himself from her.
The first talk didnât help much. Rumple kept mostly mum when she told what she saw, how he needed to trust her if they were going to be together. She interpreted the downcast look as a sign that he didnât have the courage, or he preferred having his magical secrets to himself.
She decided to vent her brewing frustration out in town, turning the uncomfortable lump in her stomach into a kindled desire for exploration. Maybe it was unwise to leave Rumple ignorant about her plan. Armed with stubbornness, she told herself it was fair play. If he could sneak around at his pleasure, so could she. Just give him a taste of how it felt; then maybe heâd see sense.
If only she had shaken off the bad luck that came with independent adventuring. A short man in a red cap nabbed her at the shuttered-up library. Her father, disapproving of her relationship with Rumple, tried to send her over the town line to erase her memories. Against all expectation, Rumple saved her just as sheâd secretly dreamed he would in the Enchanted Forest. The moment of elation sunk as she remembered why sheâd left the house in a huff. Grateful as she was for his intervention, she was not Rumpleâs reward for a good deed. She was angrier at him than she could admit to herself before.
She went off to be alone again, though not before grabbing some clothes and renting a room at Grannyâs. Yes, she was mad at Rumple, but hope simmered. She waited for a new chance, just as she had during her time away from the Dark Castle, prior to her capture at the Evil Queenâs hands.
A day later, hope came in a box. The key to the apartment above the library. A note told her to be at the library at 3.
Then there they were, face to face, like boats navigating a choppy sea, either to pass one another or make contact for a fruitful exchange. Or an exchange of fire. Belleâs stomach was a bird all heated and flapping about.
The light from a high window above the bookshelves encased Rumple in a glow that turned his hair divinely radiant, but his face was shadowed.
âLook,â she forced herself to begin while holding up the key, âif you thought this would win me backââ
Rumple raised a hand. âNo, no, Belle, thatâs not it. I came here to tell you the truth. All of it.â
She wished and willed her belly to be iron so it could calm down, reining in the frantic optimism and gnawing cynicism that both threatened to make her queasy. He hardly looked much better. The wrinkles in his forehead said as much. Somehow, he held her gaze.
âIâve been a coward for most of my life. Now Iâve come to rely on magic to cover for it, allowing me to gather power. But doing so has always cost the people that mean the most to me.â
âYour son,â Belle whispered.
âYes. Baelfire.â A gentle puff came out with the name, like a protective cloud. Warmth filled in the spaces between the consonants and hung on the end. Did he say her name like that?
âWhat happened to him?â she asked. âYou said you lost him.â
âI did. I lost him to my blind need for power. Iâve spent the last few centuries venturing down so many paths back to him. Eventually, there was only one: a curse.â
âThe curse that brought us to Storybrooke.â A door opened. A mystery pulled apart like the wrapping on a Yuletide present. Some of Belleâs harshness at his earlier behavior melted. Heâd done all this for his son. It was still a lot of dark magic and dark deeds, but at least his heart was in the right place.
âAnd yet, even now, so close to finding him and making things right, I brought magic to Storybrooke. Itâs my crutch, Belle. I canât let it go.â
She listened as she walked toward him. Not the best answer. No less the truth, which was what mattered.
âThereâs more,â Rumple said, his already trembling voice dropping lower.
âItâs all right,â she said, her voice also shaky. âPlease, tell me.â
âYou had a right to be angry and walk away. In a way, I hope that makes it easier for you to hear what I need to tell you.â
She couldnât see how what heâd said was easier to hear because of her anger. Besides, she wasnât as angry. Not angry at all, really.
âRumple, I just wanted you to be honest with me. Now you have.â
He folded in his lips. âDoes that mean you want us to be together?â
She swallowed some air. Her chest rose, ready to speak.
âNo,â Rumple jumped in, âdonât answer. That will make things worse.â
Her eyes widened. What did he mean?
âThereâs something else I wasnât honest about. Our relationship.â
Belle pressed her back against a bookcase and waited, as wide-eyed and still as a nervous rabbit.
Rumple prudently made the effort to look her in the eye, but without moving closer. âPlease understand that my love for you is true. You brought light into my life. You helped me want to be my best self. Nothing in this world can make me want to lose that.â
She was conscious of the distance, the way he leaned on his cane, facing her but with the support between them. He watched her tenderly with the same gaze as when sheâd asked him to hold her in bed, and after sheâd climaxed from his fingers and heâd resumed cradling her.
âItâs just . . . Iâve come to realize that certain things most people wantâromance, sexâarenât things I want.â
It was a silent detonation. She must have misheard him. âW-what?â
âI know, I know,â he rushed to say. âThatâs not the impression I gave you when we first reunited. Or the days that followed. The truth is it wasnât hard for me to play that part. Iâve played it before. For different reasons.â
âWait a minute.â Belle held up her hand. Her voice was a sharp, shuddering icicle. âPlayed a part? You mean you pretended to want me?â
Rumpleâs darting eyes and reaffirmed grip on his cane struck her as the signs of a man desperate to run but is bound to the floor by leg shackles. âI pretended to desire you as most men would desire someone like you, Belle.â
Ice enveloped her. She dangled, on the cusp of falling and smashing to pieces. âWhy? Why, Rumple?â
âI donât know!â His voice cracked like wet firewood set ablaze. âAll my life Iâve felt that itâs the way I should be, to feel those fires and longings. I told myself I felt them for my first wife. I convinced myself the same a couple times after, but I believed it less and less as the years passed. When I became the Dark One, I didnât need to pretend. Let the populace think I ravish women or men for my deviant pleasure. I didnât need to do anything to perpetuate those rumors. All I needed was my magic and my quest. Except . . . except it wasnât enough. I didnât want to bed anyone, and friends seemed as unreliable as lovers. Yet I found myself . . . lonely. The castle felt soulless. I started to think if just one other person lived thereâno one special, just a servantâIâd be satisfied.
âAnd then . . . and then I saw you. When you first called me to help you stop the ogres, remember?â
Belle barely knew anything about the present, let alone the past. She blinked and, like a weary fisherman, cast her mind to the past as accurately as she could with low expectations. She remembered the first time she saw him in the war room. That was her earliest recollection. She shook her head.
âI guess I never told you,â he said, trying to make it sound off-handed, as though he were his callous impish self again. âYou scoured books upon books for a ritual that could summon the Dark One. What you didnât realize was that repeating my name three times was enough to get my attention if I felt it worth my time. I peeked in on you, watched you argue with your father about the ogres, and decided that youâd be suitable. I didnât expect it to be a permanent arrangement; youâd amuse me for a time, then Iâd find an excuse to send you back to your family. But you were there back-talking and poking your nose in my things. You became a beloved nuisance. The castle wasnât so quiet, except when you were reading. And I . . . I found myself loving you. But what kind of love, I donât quite know. I do know itâs the truest kind Iâve ever known. Just not the kind that you might be looking for.â
She couldnât stop trembling. No, she wouldnât make herself stop. How could anyone expect her to?
âYouâreââ Her throat burned when she swallowed. She forced the muscles to push down a mouthful of saliva, anyway. âYouâre not making any sense.â
His gaze drooped. Sheâd nicked him unintentionally, yet he didnât look surprised. His thumb brushed over the caneâs golden head. Belle watched that thumb until tears blurred her vision.
âI know,â he whispered, high and so quiet he was barely audible.
She hated not understanding. As the first tears fell, she rubbed them away and demanded her lungs to keep taking steady breaths. âRumple, if you just want us to be friends, then justâjust say so. I donât understand why you let me think you wanted more.â
âI donât really know.â His voice gained a little strength. âPerhaps . . . when you kissed me, I remembered how I failed in the past with âŠâ
âWith your first wife? Baelfireâs mother?â Her voice crackled with caged sobs. It amazed her she had a voice at all.
A short nod, eyes still down.
Belle clenched her hands. She bit her lip. If she had more words, they might make things worse. But, oh, she wanted to yell. About what? About ⊠about all the wasted time, the secrecy, her own stupid heartâthe same heart that boiled with pain yet shrank back from hurting Rumple. It still didnât make sense. Why become lovers with someone, much less marry them, if you didnât desire them? The memory of Gaston niggled her. That wasnât the same, butâbut perhapsâ
âI wanted a family.â He was all but whispering. âI still do. Iâll find a way to Bae, even though the magic I summoned is stopping me from leaving town. But that is my journey to make, my price to pay. I wouldnât expect you to make any more sacrifices.â
Silence came and dug into her skin like a thousand nettles. He was trying to be truthful and kind, and that hurt worse. Maybe it was a front. Maybe he was pushing her away for other reasons. He wouldnât be the first man in her life to attempt protecting her without respecting her intelligence. But he looked pained, too. With one glimpse at that raw vulnerability when he at last met her eye, her lungs clenched shut.
âIâm so sorry, Belle.â Her name still sounded sweet and dangerous on his lips. âYou deserve the truth, and so much more.â
Anger failed her. Heartbreak was a breaker she couldnât flee, but only tumble into and know that any moment she would drown. Yet she was still. Both she and he watched, searched, then retreated, resigned more than satisfied. She looked down; he walked away. His eyes were still on her as he whispered, âGoodbye, Belle.â
*~*
It was still too soon to divorce herself from the feelings that clung to those memories. To be fair to herself, her grief neednât be driven away. In time, it would molder into harmless dust. That said, after the strain Rumple put himself through explaining his feelings, she wanted to give that effort the respectful reflection it deserved. This wasnât strictly about his desires, or lack of them, for her. Heâd faced this before. Had his wife understood? It wasnât hard to imagine the confusion and hurt sheâd probably felt.
There was a son. I lost him. Like I lost his mother.
Rumple hadnât rejected his wife. Heâd lost her. Did he feel the same about Belle? Maybe heâd learned that he needed to come out as he was or risk a greater pain than having to tell someone who loves you that you donât feel the same about them.
This reasonable, well-intended meditation felt like a cement wall withstanding the wild pummels from her no less riled emotions. The hurt didnât subside. She was merely buffering it with what compassion and sensibility she could rake up. It didnât make her inclined to seek out Rumple and say she could forgive him. She wasnât ready to forgive him. Someday she would. Belle saw it like a distant horizon she had yet to reach, certain but so far away it might as well be across the universe.
What followed were weeks of cocooning herself in her library work, venting to Archie, and making herself enjoy life a bit with Ruby, Ashely and Leroy. It took all that and more for Belle to feel any sense of wellness. She settled into life in Storybrooke and slowly rebuilt her relationship with her father. But the nights caught her in morose thoughts. Was Rumple doing well? Theyâd not spoken. He was avoiding her as much as she was him. What short, wordless encounters theyâd had at the pharmacy or on the street offered no insight into his emotional state. He remained as skilled as ever in masking himself from the world. She tasted bitterness knowing that sheâd returned to being part of âthe worldâ to him. So much for being friends. So much for all the love and light sheâd allegedly brought into his life when they could barely look at each other now.
Was he suffering? Was he relieved? Did she have any right to ask? Was he worth the risk of asking?
In the depths of one of those sleepless nights, she remembered Mulan, their adventure, and what sheâd learned from them. Rumple had said she deserved more than he could give. That mightâve been true. Should that undo the friendship they had started? Did that make it worth less than a romantic relationship? No, her heart insisted.
And what might become of Rumple, even with his quest and his son, if he had no one else to care for? Heâd been at his worst in their early days, so quick to hurt people. Maybe heâd hidden his bad behavior better when heâd started to like her. Even so, he was not quite as dark now as he had been. If her friendship had something to do with that, and if she wasnât compromising herself by maintaining that friendship, it couldnât be wrong.
All the same, she felt hard thumpings against her sternum at the hinted reminder of what had become of old hopes for her future with him.
It wouldnât be any different if heâd rejected me for someone else, she thought with only an inkling of sardonic tartness.
Maybe that made this situation more bearable. Sheâd take it over total hopelessness.
*~*
Blood rushed to her ears as Belle stepped into the pawnshop. The bell above startled her. Sheâd forgotten it. It had been over a month since she had been inside.
She had meant to visit when he was working behind the counter, as sheâd noticed a few times lately when passing by the door. Best to start on a Monday, sheâd decided over the weekend, as a new routine. From there they could set whatever pace they mutually found comfortable, assuming theyâd find mutual comfort at all.
He was not here. It was tempting to return to the library or head to Grannyâs for lunch, and the temptation nearly pulled her out of the shop. Almost to spite it, for the cowardice it betrayed, she checked that the door was unlocked. The Open sign faced out, so feeling the knob turn for her and seeing the door move for her shouldnât have been a shock. She winced. No, she wasnât afraid. It just felt intrusive entering his shop when he wasnât around. She couldnât let him think she was ambushing him.
To buy some time and an excuse to linger, Belle surveyed the merchandise cluttering his shop. There was so much of itâa chess set, tea sets, a ship in a bottle, incongruent toys and instruments amidst more valuable ash trays and watches. She couldnât help recalling the random assortment of odds and ends ranging in quality that heâd stocked up in his castle. She even spied a long, flat case that couldâve held a sword. About a month ago, sheâd marveled upon beholding the shopâs interior for the first time, but she never found the chance to explore it more. After the disaster with the wraith, Belle took some time adjusting to this world in the safety of Rumpleâs house (and parsing through his horde there). How much of this stuff had he acquired through pawning or purchasing? How much came by the curse? So many questions wallowed like dust on an untended mantle.
Her mood was taking a melancholy turn. Belle straightened from her hunched posture to catch hide or tail of Rumple. A few seconds later, the bell again chimed. Belle whipped toward the door, as quick as a banner on a windy day.
Rumplestiltskin was backlit and aglow, like in the library, but only for the time it took him to close the door and move further into the shop. Shadows gathered around like loving cats. âBelle? I wasnât expecting you. How are you?â
The selfless concern behind the pleasantry sounded real, but it was burdened by nerves. Maybe he feared she screwed up the courage to tell him off for his actions. The idea had its attractions, but no. Her anger and confusion had ebbed enough that making a scene lost all allure.
âIâm all right. About as well as anyone can expect.â Belle buoyed her voice above trenches of self-pity. She hurried on to save herself from sinking. âI hope youâre well. The shop seems to be ⊠um, in good order.â
âIt is, thank you.â His confusion remained. Some wariness faded with a hesitant smile. âDid something in here catch your eye? Or did you just want to browse? Feel free to look at anything you wish.â
âThank you,â she said, and she was relieved to feel sincere saying that. âI came to see you, if thatâs all right.â
His eyebrows inched up. More confusion. More hesitation and skittishness. âOf course.â
Hurry up, she thought, even though she didnât want to rush anything if doing so meant saying the wrong thing. She had put in prior practice, though, and there was a desperate urge to kill the awkwardness hanging between them. âI-Iâve been thinking about how we left things. Believe me, I took what you said seriously, so donât think Iâm trying to ⊠to undermine what you told me. In any way.â
Oh, that hadnât come out quite right. A subtle steeliness glazed over his expression. He was ready for, perhaps, the usual arguments to discredit his feelings. He nodded and waited with cooler patience than she liked.
âYou were right about it not being fair to meâto either of usâto stay together. If Iâm going to be with someone, it should be someone who wants me the same way as I want them. And I would want to be with someone who was completely comfortable with the relationship we have. Obviously, that wasnât so for you. So, you were right to end things between us.â
That relaxed him a bit. Belleâs heart lightened by a strawâs weight. âThe only thing that I canât yet accept is that ⊠is that we have to cut each other out of our lives. Maybe it would be easier in the end to move on entirely. But ⊠but I donât think I want to. You still mean so much to me, and our not being a couple doesnât change that. Iâm not saying we can, or should be, close the way we were before. But the truth is, well, youâre a dear friend to me. For all weâve been through, Iâve always thought of you as someone worthwhile to spend time with.â She chuckled. âEven if I didnât have many other options in the beginning.â
Rumple smiled, and heartbreaking sweetness filled his face. It was hard not to forgive him for past misdeeds when he looked like that.
âSo, if itâs not uncomfortable for you, Iâd like us to be, at the very least, sociable. You know, meet up for lunch now and then. Say hi to each other in passing rather than pretend weâre each carrying the plague. Thereâs no question of my forcing anything more than friendship. I promise you that.â
âBut is that enough for you?â His voice landed as gently on her ears as a feather.
âFor you and me? Maybe not as first, but I can bear it. And if I canât, Iâll tell you. I am a free woman who can pursue whatever relationships interest her. Iâm not condemning myself to misery by spending time with you, Rumple. Itâs thanks to you, after all, that I have my own place, and a job so I can support myself. So, stop thinking youâre imprisoning me again. If I want to walk away, Iâll walk away.â
The shop was like a cupboard theyâd been locked into, only thin shafts of light peeking through the blinds on the windows. It felt more closed-in than the library, and yet, paradoxically, less stifling. Belle had a mind to keep still to avoid bumping into a glass case, not because of paralyzing anxiety. One small tremor did crawl up her spine right before Rumple spoke.
âWell ⊠I suppose ⊠have you tried Grannyâs burgers?â
Belle spoke with the breath that wanted to rush in and balloon her chest. âI have, but only once so far. I havenât tried it with the pickles. They sounded bold on the first go.â
Rumple nearly laughed. He continued to look a little befuddled, and more fragile, but his smile stayed. âIf you want to try them, we could do so together some time.â
Her smile matched his in slightly broken, slightly healed contentment. Hope in the face of every reason not to. Why change now?
I feel bad for being away from this blog for so long. I still love Rumple and Belle and Rumbelle, but Iâve not had the same focus on them of late. That said, I will try to sprinkle updates on this blog, mainly reblogs of Rumple/Rumbelle goodness. Heck, you might even see a fic update now and then. It all depends on how things play out this coming year.
I do have a new fic thatâs going to be posted soon, but fair warning: this fic is answering a prompt for aro-ace!Rumple, and it could potentially be interpreted as anti-RB (but it really isnât--itâs just a different take on their relationship). This fic took a long time to finish and for me to feel relatively satisfied with, and it has personal meaning to the individual who prompted it. Whether the fic is any good, I leave up to you, but I hope it comes off all right.Â
Thank you to all my followers over the years, and thank you to all the followers and friends coming with me into 2018! Happy New Year!
So someone mentioned that those new promo pics of Rumbelle in the diner look like a Christmas card and my hand slipped and I made them a super tacky one:
Iâve been hovering beneath 600 followers for a while now and have decided to do the giveaway early for the holidays! There will be TWO sets of prizes. First place gets the Once Upon a Time notebook, a magnet, and their choice of either a Rumplestiltskin or a Belle funko. Second place gets first pick of either the Belle or Queens of Darkness magnet and the second funko pop.Â
Rules are simple:
You must be following me by the time of the drawing.Â
Only reblogs count. You can reblog this post as many times as you wish to increase your chances. Winners will be selected randomly. Â
The giveaway will run until Dec. 18th when I announce the winners.Â
Winners must provide an address so I can mail their prizes to them.
God, I canât even remember XD I think it might have been during OUATâs season 5 or shortly after, partly because my rp muse was discouraged by all the annoying things happening in canon.
The other part was that I had a hard time working on other writing, even fanfic, while trying to keep up with replies. Fun as rp is, it took up my writing energy. Ridiculous, I know, but I really have to make myself focus on one writing project at a time to get anything done, or else I procrastinate and get nothing done. Like right now Iâm doing Nanowrimo (again), and the project Iâm working on for that is the only writing Iâm doing. Fanfic is on hold until I get this thing done. Itâs just how it works for me right now.
I look back on rp with a lot of fondness, and a part of me wishes I couldâve kept up with it. But you have to prioritize when you know you canât do everything. If I was going to rp, I wanted to put my all in it, and that just wasnât feasible if I wanted to continue fanfic or work on original stuff to eventually publish.
Cover edit for a fic Iâve started to write. Got about 3 and a half chapters done, but I want to finish more before I post anything. I made this mostly to motivate myself to keep working on it, and to let yâall know this is a thing. :DÂ
If this is our last rumbelle episode, I just wanna say thank you to every Rumple who has ever wanted to help me form stories with theese two. But one of you will forever have a special place in my heart. My first Rumple @im-not-a-what <3 I love you!
Iâve had so much fun being your Rumple and having you as my Belle. Youâve been amazing! And I hope weâll keep having fun making stories with these beautiful dorks even after the show and canon Rumbelle have concluded. The end is never really the end.
Summary: Lady Belle just wants a little freedom. She wasnât expecting a ball of light in the forest to offer her that and more.
Prompts used:Â Lantern
Lady Belle liked to think she was not very foolish, even if she had a bad habit of risking her safety to satiate curiosity. She was ravenous for anything that broke the humdrum of a quiet country life. Books sometimes quenched the thirst of mind and eye, but mind and eye still wandered to the window when the sun dipped behind the trees like a friend sneaking off to adventures she wasnât allowed to participate in. As a child, she would let herself dream that, one day, nothing and no one would stop her from chasing the sun and moon to the farthest corners of the world. Now that she was grown, Belle felt it a disservice to deny her younger self that dream. Sir Maurice, of course, had a different opinion.
Aside from the guards and nobles who protected or visited their castle, Belle and Maurice had only each other. Belle honored that, cherished it, but when she knew that her father was going to attend a summit with the other vassal fiefdoms for a week, there was no hope of strictly honoring his strictures that she never, ever leave home without his express permission. The castle guards didnât require steep bribes, but there were loyal enough to the baronet (and sensible enough of the dangers to a young woman in the nearby forest) to insist on an escort. Belle conceded; she took it rather well, which shouldâve caused a little alarm among the men who, saddled on horseback with her, processed down the royal road amid whispering trees.
If Belle was just a little bit of a fool, the guards werenât much better. Some of them had enough experience to foresee the perils caused by a ball of light that darted out of the dense woods and weaved between them. The luminant was far too large to be an insect. Even if it had been smaller, there was no reason for a firelight to be awake and alight in the mid-afternoon. Belle guessed what it was, but she didnât dare name it for fear that her escorts would shoo it away or demand they return home.
What was such a light doing in the forest? They preferred bogs, swamps, anywhere with still water. Maybe it was drawn to the road in a desire to lead away the insensible and adventurous. As soon as the ball of light zipped back into the trees, Belle proved she owned at least one of these qualities and followed it.
The guards gave chase, for they were faithful to Maurice and rather endeared to their masterâs daughter. The little light might harm their charge. At the very least, it might confuse and frighten her if she was ensnared by its enchantment. Whether such a fate befell Belle, who with her horse disappeared in an emerging mist, or on the guards, who shortly lost all trail of her, was difficult to say on their end.
Belle did sense that her men had vanished in her wake, although her ears caught distant calls and hoofbeats. The road had disappeared, too. A fog bank teased her horseâs legs, though it gave way to an unobscured woodland path that the ball of light brought into even clearer view. Panic grabbed her heart for a few seconds. Then the yellow light--a will oâwisp--flew around her head. She could feel its heat, no stronger than a candle flame. While it charmed more than threatened, it moved with urgency after a moment of hovering hesitation. When it shot away along the new path, the idea of following shifted from daringly precarious to pressingly necessary.
Her hands started to sweat, but she held the reins fast and beckoned Philippe onward with soothing murmurs. Gloom stole over the area, as though the day were passing more quickly than natural. By the time the winding path and the flying light brought Belle to a clearing, the skyâs overcast palette thwarted any attempt to determine the hour. The inconvenience did not bother Belle for long. Across the clearing, nestled on its edge and hemmed in by a garden, stood a small, tidy house. A radiance similar to that of the playful will oâwisp flickered in the front-end windows despite the efforts of curtains to block the view. Smoke curled out of the chimney. It was suspiciously charming, the perfect abode for a mischievous witch who might just as easily offer Belle food and a bed as throw a sack over the girlâs head and hold her captive in preparation for human stew.
Belle reined in her horse and her wild inclinations so that she remained on her side of the clearing. The one evident peculiarity was the presence of two dozen carved pumpkins along the gardenâs boundary and on each side of the doorway.
The will oâwisp seemed to guess her question about them. It rushed to the pumpkin on the far left, slipped into its gaping mouth, and set its hollowed insides aglow. A goofy, grinning visage stared at Belle. She gasped and stared with a smile of her own. The wisp left that pumpkin and moved to its neighbor, then the next and the next, down the line to the walkway. Each carved face had its own personality: some smiled; some grimaced; some were frozen mid-cackle, some mid-sigh or mid-scream. Belle was fascinated by each. When the wisp came to the final pumpkin, a winking face, Belle dismounted and, leading her horse, tiptoed closer to the house. The wisp squeezed out of the one open eye, flew up and touched Belleâs nose. The contact was hot but did not burn. She wiggled her nose and squinted. The wisp bobbed, excited or anxious, before hovering down the path to the front door.
Belle pulled in a breath while her stomach tightened. She shouldnât. She knew better. But the wisp was waiting, mutely calling to her. Behind her, Philippe bent his head to graze. His flank twitched a little, probably from a fly or the chill that she was beginning to feel on her bare arms. In the end, it didnât take much persuasion. The scene, the circumstances, they needed her bravery to continue this odd adventure. For good or ill, she needed to continue.
She let go of Philippeâs reins. Skirts marginally raised, she shuffled down the walkway, a flat dirt path embedded with round white stones. At the door, the wisp drifted to the doorknob. Did it want her to just walk in? The firelight in the windows was as present as ever, a warning that someone called this cottage home and was enjoying the late afternoon (if it was still the late afternoon) in peaceful domesticity. Belle brought her knuckles to the wood and landed three knocks, loud as she dared without being rude.
The wisp touched the doorknob. Without the knob turning, the door popped open and slowly swung inward. Belle lurched back. Her surprised and disapproving look at the wisp failed to stop the glowing orb from bouncing about like a yo-yo.
âBae?â said a voice unseen somewhere behind the half-open door.
Belle jumped. Her stomach couldâve burst into a swarm of butterflies. The voice belonged to a man, but it was both delicate and course, perhaps in disuse from lack of company and conversation. Not a frightful voice, thank goodness. It was strange enough that she didnât have the courage to cross the threshold. She did not bolt down the path, either. Confusion held her still while the wisp floated into the doorway.
âBae? What is it?â There was creaking. The man Belle couldnât see was standing up. Maybe something else creaked too--wooden, small--and continued to when she could hear the manâs gentle steps approach the door.
She couldnât help the backward step. A part of her did want to run. It especially wanted to when she saw the face that came with the voice. That is, until she made herself return the manâs astonished stare. Her guess at this being a witchâs cottage wasnât far off the mark. The man had long hair, tangled and wavy, full of wildness. There were rough scales on his face and the wrinkles and folds about the neck. Was he wearing a skin-suit made from chameleons? Or perhaps a small dragon? The scales werenât just pronounced but also glimmerous. When the wisp floated up to meet the manâs eyes, the scales reflected the light.
And, oh, his eyes! So large, so nearly without whites! The pupils just pinpoints, the irises like great green marbles swirling with other colors she couldnât yet name. Those eyes gaped at her, then a few seconds at the wisp. But those seconds told Belle something important. The wispâs light pulsed in a pattern that meant nothing to her, but it had meaning to the strange man. After an erratic sequence, the wisp flew to Belleâs side and remained a breath from her shoulder.
âUm ⊠good day,â Belle said when the man took her in head to toe. âI ⊠I donât really know why Iâm here, except that this little fellow led me to your home. I hope Iâm not disturbing you.â
The man stepped forward. Belle finally noted the manâs attire, which was a little too fine for someone living in the woods alone. The burgundy cloak looked like something a noble might wear, only the hem started to fray at the cuffs and the bottom edge. Maybe the cloak was second-hand.
âOf course Iâm disturbed,â said the man at last. âWhy shouldnât I be disturbed by a lady showing up on my doorstep out of the blue?â
âAs I said,â Belle answered after clearing her throat and praying for bravery, âthis wisp led me here.â
âDid he make you follow him?â The manâs perplexity started to fade into sardonic admonishment.
Belle bit her lip. âI suppose not. I was ⊠I was looking for something interesting.â
Faint eyebrows rose. A smile quelled whatever annoyance the man tried to show before. âDid you find what you were hoping for?â
That smile, probably unintentional, gave her mettle a little reinforcement. Belle tilted her head. âItâs hard to say. Perhaps Iâll know if you invite me inside.â
His appearance was still startling. Now, though, she found that quality had a magnetic effect. The wisp zipped to the man, pulsed and whizzed and brushed the manâs cheek. A giggle slipped out of the man. That was enough to satisfy the wisp so that it--or he, possibly the one called âBaeâ--returned to Belle and did the same thing. Their shared giggles cleared away the tension. Belle might have needed to worry about how exactly she was going to find her way home, or what her father would say and do when he learned about her disappearance; here and now, however, there was little to fear. With a wry smile that tried not to be pleased at having a visitor, the man stepped aside, bowed, and gestured for Belle to come in. She curtsied and smiled to the point of making herself laugh, and she accepted the invitation.
*~*
Mauriceâs return occurred when everyone expected it, but it came too soon for Belle. Of course she was happy to see Papa again and that he had a safe and successful trip. But with him came someone she hadnât expected at all. He presented an immediate problem.
âYou need to show Sir Gaston the utmost hospitality,â Maurice impressed on Belle in his study. Heâd summoned her to address more than just the importance of playing host to the visiting son of Lord Legume.
âI will be courteous to him,â Belle said, âbut you canât insist that I should consider marrying him!â
âYouâve no reason not to give him a chance,â Maurice said, and he wasnât inclined to debate it further.
âExcept that I am not interested in marriage.â
âBelle, in these times, that is not a luxury you can afford. Marriage means an alliance, and Lord Legume would be able to provide us with resources and protection against the ogres. I know the threat may seem a ways off, but itâs closer than you think.â
âOnly because you wonât let me help with any plans to repel them.â Belle started pacing. Being constantly underestimated due to her age and gender was an old and tiresome ordeal. It alone wouldâve justified her agitation, as wouldâve the notion that she might be paired off with a man against her wishes. Maybe she could like Gaston if she knew him. That was beside the point, though. There was more. Specifically, the presence of both her father and the visitor would thwart any ventures to the woods for a visit of her own. Disappointment was a cold gruel in her stomach, and the feeling of imagined shackles pulled her weight down, try as she might to ignore them and hold herself upright.
âItâs not a burden I would have you bear.â Mauriceâs solemnity couldnât escape the ghost of condescension. He meant well, or so Belle told herself.
âIf Iâm to suffer the consequences of the ogresâ threat, I might as well be part of the solution.â
âAnd you will be if you marry Gaston, or find another way to persuade him and his father to help us.â
The bile in her throat burned upon swallowing. The sensation came from an unwanted acknowledgement: if the choice was to sacrifice herself for her people, Bele would marry someone she didnât want to. But, oh, if only it didnât have to come to that!
Maybe Rumplestiltskin could help her sort this out. Despite the carved pumpkins and the uncanny gloom of his glen, she felt safe beside his hearth while listening to stories he shared about his life. Even when he was theatrical and intentionally unsettling, she was too engrossed to fear him. Afterward he always asked for a little more about herself, like what books she was reading. She didnât have many exciting tales about her life, so she turned to the stories or knowledge her beloved books offered. If there was a tale that Rumplestiltskin had lived through, he gladly contributed his own version of events, always to Belleâs incredulity or amusement. Baelfire, as Rumple called the will oâwisp, rested in a glass lantern that magnified his light, which filled the room most pleasantly. The glow would flicker, dim or beam depending on his mood in response to Rumple and Belleâs conversations.
Belle found herself missing that little room, that little house and its strange residents. Sheâd known them after only a week of woodland visits every other day. The guards suspected that she was meeting someone, but each time they tried to follow her, the magic protecting the glen threw them off the trail. Since she always came back unchanged, they warily forgave themselves of incompetence and agreed not to tell Maurice unless they thought Belle in clear danger. Only a week of this game, but it felt like longer, and yet not long enough thanks to Sir Gastonâs interference.
With Gaston close at her heels, her power to slip out was greatly diminished. Her mind turned over every idea, each increasingly dicier, until she decided that the only reasonable option was to sneak off in the dead of night. The last thing she wanted was to alert either her father or her suitor to her new friends. For now, in the light of day, she played the obliging lady.
âAll right, Papa,â she told Maurice. âIâll give Gaston a chance.â
âGood girl.â His smile was satisfied and unsurprised.
The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. The best way to divert suspicion was to engage Gaston in friendly (but not overly friendly) conversation and give the appearance of someone who was giving his suit some consideration. He was enjoying a stroll through the castle gardens when she found him. Any chance that she had disturbed his privacy, possibly freeing her from the duty of amicable hostess, evaporated when he greeted her like a lighthouse, welcoming and alight with a flash of pearly teeth and scintillating eyes. He was handsome, Belle granted. Fit, too, thanks to his passion for hunting. He also managed to be genteel, even gallant, when they walked together and he offered his arm, then accepted her polite refusal. He even said, âI like a woman who knows how to stand on her own two feet.â
âDo women often like to take your arm?â Belle asked.
âSome do, and not always to innocent ends.â Gaston blended amusement with humility, which added a little charm to his demeanor.
âIâve heard youâre quite popular among women in your native town.â
âIâm sure some accounts have been exaggerated,â he said, composure unwavering. âI have entertained suitors, as have you, for that is our lot as people of distinguished birth. And, if I may be a little conceited on my part, blessed with a fair appearance. But that is hardly our fault, no?â
Belle allowed a genuine smile and shrugged. âI suppose youâre right.â
âBut Iâm searching for something more,â Gaston continued. âA woman of substance. A woman of inner strength and sharp intelligence.â
âI hope you may find one who suits you,â she replied with a cheeky curve to her smile. âI think intelligent women are not difficult to find if you know how to look for them.â
âI hope youâre right,â Gaston said, âbut my greatest hope is that I wonât have to look for much longer.â
She could see his appeal. Maybe if their circumstances werenât so pressing, she could let herself come to like him more naturally. He might have depths she had yet to see. She credited him with wanting a partner who knew her own mind rather than defer to his will out of wifely submission. Yet some part of her, even if it was a small portion, held back from letting her heart be won by these attractive traits. For some reason, as they came inside and a servant approached them to announce that dinner was ready, Belle had an urge to speak to Rumplestiltskin about Gaston. In their conversations, Rumple had half-accidentally recounted his experiences in the first Ogres War, which happened over a hundred years ago. Far from alarmed, Belle considered his advanced age a fount of experiential insight. He might better know what a man like Gaston really thought and felt when he made these pleasing comments to her.
Congenial as Gaston was, she highly doubted that he would approve of her late-night venture. She did not fear losing his good opinion--not greatly--when she kept herself awake deep into the night, then dressed for the outdoors, snuck through the servantsâ passages all the way down to the stables, and saddled Philippe. Her horse nickered a little in surprised excitement; thank goodness he was an obedient friend most of the time, hushing his sounds at Belleâs command. Soon they were at the gate surrounding the estate. Belle pulled out a small bag as she approached the guards on duty. Sheâd chosen this night and this hour with the knowledge that Jean and Robert would be there. Inside she had smuggled out tarts, still fresh from tonightâs dessert, and handed them to the guards. Robert gave her a conspiring grin. Jean looked more ashamed to take the bribe, and a paltry one at that.
âThis is very foolish, even for you, milady,â he said.
âIf anything should happen to me, I have this.â Belle pulled back her cloak to show him a round vial fastened to a belt. The purple substance within was neither quite a liquid nor a gas. Glittery bits permeated it. âI was given this in the event I meet trouble on the road. I only have to break it, and the magic will bring me to safety.â
âThis is from your friend?â Jean asked, his words heavy with doubt.
âYes.â Belle touched his arm. âI trust him. So trust me.â
âThis cannot go on, milady.â The guard remembered to add the title out of respect, but the tremble in her voice remained, as though she were a friend rather than a noblewoman heâd sworn to protect.
Belle, for all her assurances, bit her lip with some chagrin. Taking a breath, letting her chest balloon, she smiled and said, âIâll be back before sunrise. Watch for me.â
Jean nodded slowly and said no more.
Tonight a great deal of luck was on Belleâs side. She made it beyond the wall and to the forest road without being waylaid by anyone. This was her first time going out at night, devoid of an escort, so she was prepared to listen for a patrol and bolt into the trees if necessary. Her way was clear up to the moment a friendly orb of light flew out before her.
âHow do you do that?â she asked with a laugh and a headshake. âYou always know where to find me.â
A special talent of the will oâwisp, she reasoned, for Baelfire could not communicate with her the way he could with Rumplestiltskin. What an odd relationship they had, the warlock and the wisp. Bae loved flying outdoors when he brought Belle to and from the cottage, but inside he was content to nestle in his lantern near Rumpleâs spinning wheel. Belle had read up on warlocks and witches, and though Rumple was singular even among magic-users for his appearance, having Baelfire as a familiar would fit his vocation. Usually, witches and warlocks chose animal companions; spirits they could summon for help with their magic, but the shades returned to where theyâd come from once their task was complete. What role did a wisp serve a warlock other than to spare him the expense of candles?
Maybe Bae, as a wisp, had first been summoned to provide Rumple with companionship. Not through his own presence, but by bringing people from the road to his glen. Yet from their conversations, Belle had gathered that neither Rumple nor Bae had enjoyed a visitor in a long time. Maybe their early attempts failed and resulted in people fleeing or threatening to expose Rumpleâs refuge.
So why did Baelfire try again with her?
Perhaps for the same reason she had risked her fatherâs discovery and chastisement when she first arranged her outings to the forest, and why she now risked even more condemnation by going to visit Rumplestiltskin alone in the dead of night. Anyone would chafe from isolation and stagnation after a while, even in light of the dangers waiting outside the door.
As soon as the trees opened to the clearing, Belle hopped down from Philippe and, letting Baeâs glow guide her steps, walked briskly to the cottage. Only the faintest hint of firelight from the hearth flickered behind the curtains.
âRumplestiltskin?â He mightâve been asleep. It made sense since this was an impromptu visit at a late hour. The witching hour. But didnât warlocks do their best work then?
What made no sense at all was the bubbling anxiety in her throat that he wasnât home at all. Baelfire wouldâve alerted her to that fact. He flew right to the house as usual rather than lead her to a waiting spot where they could wile the time until Rumplestiltskin returned. But that wasnât what Belle feared. She reflected on this acidic agitation in her throat and stomach and found the answer. Even after a week, her childlike side worried that Rumple and Bae would suddenly be gone like mist, and no one except her would be wiser. Or these visits could be a vivid dream or illusion she would wake from at any moment.
She called Rumpleâs name again. In past instances where he didnât immediately appear to greet her, a single utterance of his name from her lips invoked his presence as though she were the witch and he the spirit to aid her. Even if he didnât pop in right away, his voice answered with a terse demand to hold the team of horses she must have ridden in on if she was in such a hurry. No such answer came now.
The carved pumpkins smiled or grimaced with candlelight. They gave her feet some idea of where to go when Bae left her behind to busily peer into each window, regardless of the drawn curtains. Belle reached the door after one minor stumble. She knocked and got as far as a third âRump--â before the door groaned open.
He stood in the poorly lit doorway like a creature that had crawled from the earth, bedraggled and smeared and wrung with exhaustion for his efforts. Scaly as he was, Belle had had no trouble seeing the human shape it covered before tonight. Now, his eyes looked too large for his face, his teeth seemed eager to poke past his gaping lips, and his fingernails looked longer than ever. Was the nighttime darkness or the shadows in the house warping his appearance? Or did his body lose some humanity in the lonely, sunless hours?
âBelle?â A rough whisper, crackly, yet more human than the rest of him. As if by her name, some of his usual manner seeped back into his figure. He stood a little straighter, and his expression balanced weariness and confusion with some wonder and delight. âWhat are you doing out so late?â
âI did tell you that my father was returning yesterday,â Belle said. âHe brought a suitor for me with him. Thatâs why I didnât dare visit you earlier today. Iâm sorry to keep you waiting.â
Rumplestiltskin waved off her apology. âYou shouldnât bother with me. Not when you have a suitor waiting for you at home.â He was smiling, but the smile had a bitter flavor he was trying to hide.
Belle moved closer to the door. âHeâs actually what I want to talk to you about. May I come in?â
âOf course. As always.â
Warmth fizzled in her skin and her gut at those words. Belle relaxed and smiled, all the more when Baelfire flew in behind her and resumed his special spot in the lantern. The fire in the hearth was barely a pile of embers; Baeâs light returned some of the familiar atmosphere (and her sight of the room) she was coming to know well in the daytime. Rumple didnât need to direct her to her chosen chair anymore. They both settled into a pair of cushioned rocking chairs in no time. The rocker Rumple favored was his second favorite seat after the stool of the spinning wheel in the corner. Wrapped in a long robe, he leaned on his thighs and peered at Belle with a mounting question.
âWhat did you wish to discuss regarding your suitor?â That wasnât the question, but it was the easiest way to start.
Belle guessed what he really wanted to know. In truth, she was still debating the answer, so they both would have to wait. Instead, she explained her first and subsequent conversations with Sir Gaston, her impressions and speculations. It was nice to talk and not wonder if Rumple was secretly deriding her as a silly girl. Maybe he did think that, but he never betrayed the thought on his face while she vented her feelings. He was forward in his seat, crouched with focus, still as a statue except when he felt like scratching his chin. Mostly his hands remained clasped on his knees.
âMaybe Iâm being too severe on him,â she finished, âbut Iâm not wrong, am I, for being reserved in giving him my good opinion?â
âWell, if youâre looking for some encouraging advice about seeing the best in people,â Rumple twittered, âyouâve come to the last place to find it.â
Belle smiled. âI came to you because . . . well, I do have a good opinion of you.â
The warlock snorted. âCanât imagine why.â
For some reason, Belle looked at Bae. The glowing ball rested low in his lantern, hovering almost sleepily, yet he buoyed a little when she looked at him.
âMay I ask you something that might be personal?â she said to Rumple.
âYou may ask, though I may opt not to answer.â
She sighed. âFair enough. But it would mean a great deal to me. I promise to keep anything you tell me in confidence.â
Rumplestiltskin slowly pushed himself so his spine rested against the back of the chair. âVery well.â
It was hard not to duck her gaze for a few seconds. Sheâd thoroughly enjoyed his stories about making deals with wicked queens, combatting jealous witches, outwitting powerful fairies, and secretly helping children and parents find each other. He didnât always act kindly or with the most noble intentions, but he had something soft and true within him. Even as he sat rigidly, his gaze had lost any distrustful frost from their first encounter. He was ready to listen.
Belle inhaled. Then she stood, pulled her chair closer to Rumpleâs, and sat back down. Her knees could now touch his. With a flinch, Rumple rocked back in his seat. Otherwise he did not push or pull back.
âWho is Baelfire?â she asked in as soft a voice as she could while still being audible to him.
Rumplestiltskin swallowed. His head began to turn toward the table behind him, only to stop, fully face Belle, and lean so he too could whisper. âItâs . . . itâs not a happy tale, Iâm afraid.â
Her hand found his. Some patches of scales were rough, particularly around his knuckles. The rest felt like snake skin. Without her complete awareness, her thumb brushed on the silky patch above the base of his thumb. His breath shortened before finding a steady rhythm for Belle to listen to when he didnât quite have the courage to speak. But speak he did, eventually. Minutes filled the bucket of time. She didnât tire. The tale began so very long ago, when Rumple was just an ordinary man. He lost the love of his wife when, after hearing a prophecy about losing his son, he sacrificed a chance for honor to go home and be with his newborn child. He wore the cowardâs brand for the rest of his non-magical days, up until his son was dragged into the same war that saw the prediction of his loss. He sought any means to save his boy, which of course led him down a dangerous path. Heâd found magic, dark magic, strong enough for him to stop the war. But the price was already paid. He found his boyâs broken, bleeding body among other children soldiers. Heâd come so far, let his body and mind be tainted with corruption, only to watch his precious boy die. No, he couldnât let it happen. He begged his boy to let him make it right, for such magic had to be accepted to work. Finally his child--poor, scared, innocent, ignorant--agreed when his father promised that heâd turn this act toward good.
For a while, he did. Children who lost their way in the woods were somehow discovered by a ball of sunny light that would lead them back home. But it was still rooted in dark magic, and dear Baelfire felt the weight. His light started to fade, and he took to wandering himself. It was getting harder and harder to ground him in this plane when his soul longed to move on. But he couldnât move on; the magic held him too tightly. And maybe it was Rumple himself who was binding him here. So he and his son retreated into the wilderness, hid away, and Rumple gave Bae lanterns in which to fool around and rest. Each year, on Baeâs birthday, Rumple would carve a new pumpkin. Magic kept them fresh for many years, but in time he had started disposing of them to make room for new ones. He had lost count of the exact years, as had Bae. Perhaps time didnât really exist for them. Rumpleâs dark magic slowed his aging considerably; as a spirit, Bae had no aging body at all. So here they were, except now Bae had got it into his disembodied noggin to invite Belle into their secret world. Why, Rumple still didnât know. The lad was probably bored after so long.
âBut you will someday leave for good,â Rumple said, trying to add a lightness to grave reality. âAs you must, of course. Whether because of marriage or old age or what have you, this cannot last forever.â
âBut you two canât stay here forever, either.â Belle did her best to be gentle.
Briefly, Rumplestiltskin went taut, as though primed to release an arrow at her. When he instead relaxed, she slipped her fingers between his.
âYouâre right,â he muttered. âBut . . . what else . . .â
His throat clenched shut. He shivered. Belleâs single-minded hand gave up his fingers for his cheek. What bumps and edges it had left no impression on her caring fingertips. She was too enthralled by his widening eyes. They couldnât seem to comprehend what they saw. Flicking back and forth, they asked more questions that neither the warlock nor the noblewoman felt brave enough to answer. That didnât mean Belle would run away from the awkward uncertainty and longing. Her hand remained. So did her gaze, mellowing to a soft stare. He gradually mirrored her. Even his hand started to rise from his lip to her chin, or her cheek. She never knew which.
A thunderous kick and a terrible bang of wood smacking wood snapped Belle and Rumple out of their moment. They turned to the doorway. Belle gasped and jumped up. Gaston, armed with a bow and arrow in his hands while a sword hung from his belt, was fixed on them with murderous hunger.
âBelle,â he barked, âcome here.â
âWh-what?â Belle did move, but only sideways to block any shot he might take of Rumple. âWhat are you doing, Gaston?â
âSaving you, of course.â
âFrom what?â
âFrom this creature! The one Maurice told me about.â
Belle felt sure sheâd been dunked in ice water. Her head snapped around to Rumple. âI didnât! I didnât tell my father about you!â
âYou neednât fear him now, Belle,â Gaston announced, almost shouting. âA few of the guards warned Maurice of your disappearances when he was away. He brought me here prepared to deal with the likes of this beast. His magic may be strong, but a little fairy dust does wonders to finding his ilk.â
Knowing what she did of Rumpleâs feelings when fairies were involved, she didnât need to see or hear his grinding teeth. She could guess he was wearing them down.
âThere is no need to worry! Heâs my friend, Gaston. Heâs never hurt me, I promise you.â
âOf course you would say that. Youâre under an enchantment. Belle, Iâm here to protect you. Now come here.â
âThis is nonsense!â
âNow, Belle!â
Gaston tossed aside all illusions. He was shouting and glowering at them like a hunter demanding his quarry. The only safe way out of this was to agree to go.
Maybe Belle really was a foolish girl. Maybe thereâs no helping foolishness when someone has a weapon drawn on her friends.
âI will return home soon,â she said amid shaking knees and a dry throat. âBut you must promise not to hurt them. Promise me, Gaston, and I will go with you.â
âThem?â Gaston dared to glance around. âAre there more of his kind with him?â
Belle stilled her tongue. He didnât see or consider Baelfire a sentient entity. She gave herself a minute--maybe too long going by Gastonâs urgent look--before improvising a reply. âSometimes. No one here deserves harm to come to them. Leave this house in peace, and I will go back to the castle without a fight.â
Gaston looked close to a haughty laugh. In that moment, she could see herself through his eyes: a silly child who needed him to think rationally for her. Maybe Belle wasnât always rational, but she knew her mind and heart. Her body shook. She felt heat in her face and a chill in her fingers.
âBelle,â came Rumpleâs quiet voice. âItâs all right. Go home. Weâll be fine.â
Maybe Rumple would be fine. Maybe his magic was strong enough to deal with Gaston. Maybe a terrible fate was destined for the knight rather than the warlock. For a few heartbeats, Belle did feel helpless and small, a fool to ever think she could decide her own fate. But the moment passed. She raised her chin. âVery well. Iâm coming.â
She walked toward Gaston, now with lowered eyes. Gaston didnât lower his bow. His tense muscles did ease a little. âYouâve chosen well, my dear. Now, let me deal with this demon and we can go.â
âYou promised not to hurt him if I came,â she said, incongruously calm.
âI didnât, actually. And a good thing. Someone like him canât be allowed to exist to tempt you.â
Belle was now behind Gaston, which pleased him so much he didnât think to watch her. âI guess I was tempted. Youâre right about that. Maybe I was under a bit of enchantment.â
She saw the flash of pain in Rumpleâs face. A small smile dared to touch her lips. âIf I stayed much longer, I might not have wanted to go home at all. But youâve cleared that up for me, Gaston. Thank you.â
âMy pleasure--â Gaston began.
Belle threw the vial from her belt onto the floor, right at Gastonâs feet. Purple clouds glittering like sand swept up around the startled, befuddled man. Belle rushed back out of the magicâs reach. Gastonâs shouts at her were suddenly sucked into silence as he was swallowed. Then the cloud evaporated. No trace of him remained.
âWhere did he go?â she asked as soon as her breath was back.
âTo your castle.â Rumple sounded nearly as breathless. Then, in a blink, he was before her, hands carefully taking hers. âWhy? Why did you--?â
âI couldnât let him hurt you! I couldnât let him take me, either.â She returned his grip. âI decide where I place my heart, not him.â
Rumplestiltskin looked like a man whoâd long been lost in a terrible place and had found his first sign of home. So hopeful yet bewildered.
A light appeared beside him. Both he and Belle looked at Baelfire. His little form pulsed like a rushing heartbeat.
âWhatâs he saying?â Belle asked.
The answer was slow in coming. If she couldâve been sure, sheâd have said that a blush rose in Rumpleâs cheeks. Even Baeâs light couldnât confirm it. There was only the nervous flutter of his eyes finding her face and an endearing stutter as he said, âHe wants to know if youâll be staying for a while longer.â
Belle thought of her father. Oh, Maurice. What did she really think of him? He was trying to protect her by sending Gaston, but he didnât know or respect her own mind. Then again, what she wanted to do might be a very big mistake in the end. She had to see it through, however. It was her life, and sheâd live if with foolish hope and courage.
She wrapped her arms around Rumpleâs neck. A moment later, his arms came around her, and she smiled and melted. Baeâs heat tickled her cheek. She laughed, then whispered that sheâd help them as best she could. Sheâd help them set up a new home where none would find them without their consent. Theyâd find a way to give Bae his rest, and sheâd find a way to help Rumple see that he wouldnât be alone. Lonely people find a way to each other.
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