AN: Hello my dear readers and welcome to 'Somewhere I Belong', my next OUAT story. This story is set in an AU universe and does not include magic nor do I foresee it including anything but mere mentions of Queen Snow. Rumpelstiltskin is a poor spinner who has sought refuge in a far away kingdom with his five-year-old son Baelfire. Belle is the daughter of a farmer and inventor named Maurice, who along with Belle has sought refuge in the town with his son Gideon. As I have no clue where this story is going except for fluffy Rumbelle, I'm opening this up for prompts and requests as to what you would like to see.
~ R&B ~
The sun has just reached the horizon when a hesitant voice says "Papa?"
"What's wrong Bae?" a weary man asks, his eyes never straying from the dirt path they are traveling.
"Can we stop?" The boy fidgets in his seat, legs squeezed together. "I really have to pee."
With a long sigh, Rumpelstiltskin pulls on the reigns, slowing the tired mules to a stop. "Make it quick," he says, offering a weak but genuine smile to the boy. He watches the boy jump down, his little head bopping along beside the cart as he races to the back wheel. It has been a long journey; six weeks by his estimate; and they are nearing the end; or should be if the clearing below is, in fact, the location of the future village of Sylva.
Their new home.
By his estimation, they should reach the location before dark – just. He knows there'll be no time to do anything but tether the mules and sheep to their pick lines and hopefully find enough kindling to build a fire, but that'll be enough. It has to be. The morning will be a new day, a fresh start. After years of struggling from war; of worrying if there'd be enough food to feed his boy or if they'd be protected enough in their little village; Rumpelstiltskin is desperate for this fresh start.
Even more, he yearns to live in a place where he will be known as more than the village coward. To be more than a lame man, friendless, with a five-year-old son to raise and an ex-wife who ran off with a pirate. It will be difficult, he knows, settling in these dense forests so far from all they've known, but he has his wheel, his sheep, and his boy. When they reach the settlement of Sylva they will be no different than the other refugees who have sought a new home in Ningues, directed there by the kind clerk for Queen Snow.
From his vantage point on the wagon, Rumpelstiltskin looks across the tree tops below. Ningues was their last hope, a vast but sparsely populated Kingdom in The Enchanted Forest whose treacherous mountains and wooded paths kept the Ogres at bay. So many had stayed in the other realms, refusing to surrender to the fiends laying waste to their lands, but Rumpelstiltskin had refused. He had seen what the Ogres were capable of, had fought and been maimed in the early years of the current war, and had no wish to risk his son. And so, he had traded their hut and barn, along with their cow, to a family just arriving from another land. In exchange, he had procured a wagon and a team of mules, allowing his on and him to pack up their meager belongings, his wheel, and their remaining sheep to seek out a safer land.
A small but steady stream of refugees had given them direction to Ningues, allowing the pair to follow slowly behind through destitute kingdoms. It had been a difficult journey, the mules and sheep sometimes going without food for days until an unburned pasture could be found. For weeks, they had slept on the rough boards of the wagon, father and son huddled together in the chilly nights, thankful for the canvas cover when summer rains had beaten down. Scavenging for whatever food they could find in the ravaged landscapes and drinking the rain water Bae caught in his little buckets.
Bae. With a sigh, Rumpelstiltskin watches as his boy climbs back into the wagon, his tiny hands pulling his body up the side of the wood. Throughout it all, the boy had not uttered one ounce of complaint. He had listened to his papa, helped as much as a five-year-old could, and cuddled close in the long, lonely evenings. He'd gathered twigs when they were available, running along the wagon as they traveled, tossing them into the seat beside his father.
But most of all, Bae loved him.
To the man, that was the most precious thing of all. Smiling at the boy as he settled beside him, Rumpelstiltskin ran his hand over his son's hair, ruffling it as he used his other hand to move the mules on. Soon – they'd be in their new home.