When she had first come to the Dark Castle, Belle had been, admittedly, scared out of her mind. She had heard the stories. She had grown up with the stories about the Dark One, about the things he did. When the worst he had done was toss her in a rather cold and musty dungeon, she had been surprised. But she had spent the first night thinking about all that had transpired and realized there had been a certain look in his eyes, a weight about his shoulders.
She had always suspected he really brought her there because he was lonely. Throwing her in the dungeon was an act. She knew it from the very beginning.
He had proven her right over the few months she had been there. First came the little couch in the Great Hall. Oh, he didn't tell her it was for her. He had made some quip about trying to make it harder for her to sweep the hall, about her needing more to do, but then had furnished it with a blanket, a pillow, and finally a few books. When he found her sitting on it engrossed in one of those books instead of cleaning, he had said nothing, simply went to his wheel and spun.
Then came the library. That one was a bit more obviously a gift, though it was still given on the pretense that it was merely another room for her to clean. Considering she had been in that tower just the week before and there had been nothing in it except a few cobwebs she couldn't reach high on the ceiling, she knew the truth. But Rumplestiltskin didn't know she had explored that far. And so he made quips to protect himself.
Later there was an extra chair at the fireplace, a table that held a magically filling teapot on it and a selection of teas, all Belle's favorites of course.
There was the strategically-placed bucket that contained gardening implements and several carefully-labeled jars of seeds (I'm tired of magicking up vegetables, he says with a dismissive wave of his hand), the book on cooking the native dishes of Avonlea (Some of my favorite cuisine, he says as she places something before him that he's never heard of before), the shoes that he had enchanted so that her feet were always warm (Can't have you catching a cold, dearie, even though she was sure he could use magic to make sure that didn't happen). Each was given with some excuse and she almost felt bad for him. Rumplestiltskin was many things, but a good actor was not one of them.
She was just putting the kettle on the stove one afternoon when she heard Rumplestiltskin's rather frantic calling of her name. It wasn't the first time she had heard such a thing. For a sorcerer of indeterminate age, he had a tendency to get so involved in whatever he was doing that he didn't notice when important things around him were going wrong. Like the time he set the curtains on fire with a candle he had knocked over while working on a potion. Or the time he knocked his tea over onto important papers and hadn't even noticed.
So with a sigh, she removed the kettle and rushed off to find him. She had expected to find him in his tower room and that was where she first headed to. But when she heard his voice calling her again she realized he was outside. She couldn't even imagine what kind of disaster he could have gotten himself into outside.
What she walked into was pretty much the last thing she expected. Rumplestiltskin stood there, looking not quite so frantic but rather a little put out by the amount of time it took her to find him. But that wasn't the unusual thing. That wasn't what had her stopping short and staring.
"What is that?" Well, she knew what that was, but still. That was standing next to Rumplestiltskin.
He gave her a quizzical look. "Haven't you seen a horse before? I could have sworn you told me you once rode."
She shook her head. "Yes…yes of course. But why is it here?" She could well remember the times that Rumplestiltskin had railed against horses, calling them untrustworthy and telling her he would never ever ride one. He had magic after all. What did he need a horse for?
He held out the reins suddenly and for a moment, just one small moment, a strangely intense look came over his face. "He's yours."
"Mine?" she said, rather stupidly.
"Well, I don't want him."
"Where did he…"
"Won him in a deal," he cut her off with.
"You dealt for a horse you didn't want?" There were times she thought she was starting to truly understand him. And then there were times like now, when he was as much a mystery as he was the day she walked out of her father's village with him.
He gave her an exasperated look. "It was part of a deal. Keep up, dearie."
Her eyes narrowed on him. "What else did you get in the deal?"
"I…um…stuff."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Stuff?"
"Yes, stuff," he snapped at her. "Do you want the damned horse or not, dear?"
Belle opted to not point out that he had replaced dearie with dear. He did that more often these days, his standard sneered greeting altering when he addressed her. She was fairly certain he had no idea. He floated between the two, sometimes speaking without thinking, sometimes carefully choosing his words. She preferred when he just dropped the pretense and spoke to her and his calling her small endearments had only made her look forward to those moments all the more.
Stepping closer to the horse, she took the reins from his hand, trying to ignore the small spark of something that went through her when their hands brushed briefly. She rubbed one hand down the horse's velvety nose. To be completely truthful, it had been ages since she'd last ridden. The horses that were sound and hardy had all been given to the war effort. The rest had been sold, or even worse, eaten when they could not get a fair price and were better used for their meat than the money they could make from them. Her own horse, one not so different from the one she now stood next to, had been ridden into many battles. She was sure he was a retired pasture horse now, having been ridden hard and long throughout their many battles with the ogres.
It would be a fine end for a fine horse, living out his days without the clash of swords over his head, without leaping over his wounded brethren and the men who the ogres had massacred.
After several moments of silence, Belle finally turned to Rumplestiltskin, hoping the tears she felt building at the corners of her eyes didn't show. "What's his name?"
He waved a hand in the air, the same graceful movement he always made when he tried to act as if his response did not matter. "Whatever you wish to name him."
"Philippe," she said quickly. Apparently a little bit too quickly, judging by the way Rumplestiltskin's eyebrows lowered and his eyes darkened slightly.
"And just who is Philippe?"
She let him wonder for a moment. He had once asked her about Gaston, his voice clearly pitched neutrally on purpose, but the questioning tone had still been there. He had wanted to know, and not just out of idle curiosity. He wanted to know now, too, nonchalant though he might try to appear.
"My horse." He started to say something. "Not this horse. Well, he's Philippe now. But he's named in honor of the horse I rode growing up. He ended up in the war."
"I'm sorry," Rumplestiltskin said and the words sounded honest.
"He made it through. Well…last I knew he did. Since the war is over, I imagine he's been given an honorable retirement." The words were said with a light laugh.
"He has."
She gave him an assessing look for a moment. "I believe you," she finally said.
He nodded and after an awkward pause, put his hand on the horse's rump. "So…do you want to ride him?"
Belle couldn't help the little squeak that escaped. "Oh yes. Yes please!"
He shook his head at her enthusiasm. Belled stepped closer to the horse and looked up at him. He was a large one, tall and broad, with a noble and calm face. He already had a saddle on, a proper one made for ladies.
"You're hesitating, dear," Rumplestiltskin pointed out.
"Uh….yes?"
"Is there a problem with him?"
"No," she answered quickly. The horse was magnificent. The present was unexpected and glorious. He was giving her freedom. She wasn't sure if he really saw the sheer enormity of this gift. It was, perhaps, greater than all his previous gifts put together.
"Then? Do you need me to help you up?"
Belle glanced at the stirrup on her side. It was high, but she'd be able to at least reach it with her foot to pull herself up. "No."
He made a rather large huffing noise. "Well, if you don't want the beastie, why didn't you just say so in the first place?" He raised a hand and she knew what he was going to do, knew he would banish the horse to somewhere using his magic.
She rushed forward, grabbed his wrist before he could even start the gesture. For a moment they paused there, her body far too close to his, his eyes wide. She could feel him freeze up from so close, the same way he had when she had hugged him, when she had touched his hand after he gave her the library. "I want the horse," she whispered and released him, stepping back, giving them some much needed space.
He waited, said nothing this time, just cocked his head slightly to the side as he studied her. There was a small furrow between his brows.
She finally spoke. "It's the saddle."
He took a step closer and ran his hand over the saddle. "It looks fine."
Her eyes slid to the side briefly. "I'm sure it is. But I don't ride side saddle."
"But your skirts…"
"I don't ride in skirts."
His eyebrows rose. "Oh?"
Belle gave a small laugh. "Papa didn't know, of course. We always went down to the stables properly dressed." She remembered well the stable boys hiding clothing for them. Somehow they had managed to get ahold of someone's cast-off trousers and shirt and had hidden them there for her and her long-time friend, Madeline. Her father never knew. He would have disapproved and more than that, he would have prevented her from ever riding again unless either he or one of the knights were present. "Riding side saddle is uncomfortable. And not very fun." Belle gave Rumplestiltskin a sort of conspiratorial look.
"Riding is not very fun," he shot back with.
"You've never ridden, have you?"
"I…"
"I didn't think so."
"What need I of relying on such a beast when I have magic, dearie?"
"Hmm."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't hmm, me. I can take this present away…"
"So you do admit it's a present, then." She tried not to let her laughter bubble over, instead catching her lower lip in her teeth and trying to hide her mirth.
"I…"
"Well, good. Thank you, Rumplestiltskin, for this very nice present." She curtseyed slightly and was pleased to see him automatically bow in return, though he looked somewhat chagrined to have done so. She shuffled her feet for a moment until she finally got up the nerve to ask. "So um…any chance I could borrow your clothes?"
"Borrow?"
"Something to ride in?"
She watched as he glanced down at what he was wearing. "Oh…I…"
"I don't mean what you're wearing now." The words came out with more exasperation than she meant. "I mean something you're not currently wearing."
"Right."
"So…"
"Ah, yes. Of course." He waved one hand in the air and Belle felt the now familiar sweep of his magic around her. It wasn't the first time he had done something like this, changing her outfit to suit his mood or the chore of the day. She still remembered the first time he had looked up from his tea to see her sweeping the entranceway in her cumbersome gown and simply waved his hand at her with a this will not do and suddenly she was wearing her the blue dress that had since become her favorite. She knew his magic well and so shut her eyes, waited for it to do its thing.
When she opened her eyes as the smoke around her cleared, she saw Rumplestiltskin take a step backward, his hands held up rather awkwardly in front of him.
He had indeed clothed her in something similar to his own outfit. Form-fitting leather pants, high boots, silk shirt and vest. He had left off the dragonhide coat and for that she was thankful. The rest of the outfit was constrictive, but comfortable. She stretched slightly, twirled a bit, before glancing back at him. "What do you think?"
There was no response from her companion.
"Rumplestiltskin?"
His eyes flew to hers and she could have sworn she saw something strange there in his gaze, almost a bit of a blush creepy up those scaly cheeks of his. She had never seen the likes of it before. She started to take a step toward him, but he skittered back away from him.
"Well, dearie, it looks like you're ready to ride. If you need no further help…" He let the words trail off and Belle realized he was distancing himself…again. It was a sort of coping mechanism that she had picked up on over the past few months. Whenever they got simply too close, he reverted to calling her dearie, stepped back from her, left the room. She supposed it was easier for him that way.
But this time she wasn't going to let him get away quite so easily. She took another step forward. "I am." And then she closed the distance between them, putting one hand on his shoulder and lightly kissing his rough cheek. He froze when she did, the muscles beneath her hand going to taut. "Thank you," she whispered against his cheek. "For everything."
He nodded and then turned to walk away. He got a few steps before he turned back toward her. "I…um…you're welcome." Then he was gone and Belle was left alone with Philippe and thoughts of all the grand adventures they could have together.
And if those thoughts included a certain imp and his own horse, she would never ever tell him.