A/N: Hi all you wonderful people! This is a good ole' fashion Rum/Belle role reversal that's been puttering around in my head for a loooong while. Thanks for taking the time to read and review and I hope you guys and gals enjoy! :3
~8~8~
Fat droplets of glistening silver rain wept from the dark heavens to fall upon the cold hard earth with the fury of a raging river caught in the midst of heavy summer flood. Dark clouds of gray and charcoal black roiled and curled in the night air, their insides rumbling dangerously with the low thrum of thunder that resounded from their furled interior like the snores of some slumbering dragon resting upon it hoards of treasure.
Streaks of vibrant white occasionally thrashed across the drab firmament illuminating the midnight forest world for miles in its luminous glow before cascading the land back in the soggy darkness a mere second later.
Rumpelstiltskin shivered violently as he limped doggedly along the winding, deeply rutted dirt road which had been transformed into muddy sopping mire that made every aching step of his bum leg treacherously painful as he picked his way through the icy muck.
His mouth was filled with the rank taste of dust and mud that he constantly had to spit out even though more constantly flooded him with a never relenting tenacity that sought to wear him down to his very aching bones.
He couldn't count the times he'd taken a hard tumble to the filthy earth since the storm hit, just as the sun was bound for its home in the western sky, turning the cold day of early fall into a frigidly drenched night of torrents of icy drops tumbling relentlessly from the foully churning sky.
Heavy smears and thick dollops of gritty brown mud half blinded him and caked his knobby wooden crutch and his raggedly garbed body to the point where most of the time he wasn't exactly sure what was up and what was down in the swirling swampy substance that was once road. To him, it all looked the same ugly coppery brown of rich earth mingled with torrid rain.
The cripple was so exhausted from trudging stoically through the sloshing mud, he might have simply given up and slept in the wallowing mire of muck, but he wasn't positive he would ever rise up again if that happened. It might overwhelm him like a rising tide and suck him in faster than a pool of quicksand; the disgusting mud going up his nose and shoving down his mouth to still his final rapid breaths.
Not that he had anything to lose; the former spinner reminded himself dourly as a thin, hard grimace wafted upon his mud stained, cracked lips.
His dear, but bitter son had followed the path of his mother and had run away some time in the night a few months back leaving the struggling cripple with out a soul in the world. Everyone in the village knew young Baelfire did not desire to care for his cowardly father who had run away from a battle when he was younger and wounded in the leg by an ogre's stray lance that skewered his limb in a way that made the muscle and bone beneath twisted and cracked and hideously mangled as it healed how it could at a peculiar angle.
He didn't blame Bae for running off to pursue a life of his own instead of squandering the rest of his youth and strength caring for a despised, cowardly cripple, but with every thought the pain of abandonment, knowing that his only family had forsaken him, wrenched inside deeper than the pain of his twisted, deformed leg.
That left the former spinner even more alone, and left with barely a means to look after himself. He couldn't do much work meaning the lord of the manor who ruled their village banished him from his tiny hovel, leaving Rum a destitute beggar and wastrel who relied only on others pity and scraps for the pathetic life he trudged through.
Another sonorous peal of thunder crack above him, making Rum cringe as the sound defended him for a moment with its never ending pounding like the ogre war drums those many years ago.
Tongues of angry ivory lightening forked out whipping against the gray firmament, revealing for the first time something that filled the beggar with hope of a dry place to spend the night.
Some form of building loomed not very far in the murky distance, nestled amidst the forest far from the beaten path and sat behind a veil of shadowed towering oaks and maple trees that stood like guardians in front of the building.
It could have been a guards barracks and even though the spinner flinched painfully at the thought of running into any guardsmen or knights joking and huddled about charcoal braziers looking for some form of trouble, the cold and gnawing hunger had seeped through him as the rain had done his rags forced what little bravery he had, mingled thick with desperation, to prod him forward to the shadowed shelter.
As he came closer, and another lash of lighting darted vibrantly across the sky, he saw for the first time it wasn't a guard's barracks. In fact it was much bigger than anything as simple as that. What stood before him was a grand palace of gray stone and winding spires that soared to the heavens as their pennants tacked to each cresting rise fluttered valiantly through the battering wind and rain.
Half shuffling, half limping along the rain slick cobblestones and up to the towering doors, the former spinner beat his mud stained fist upon the door with what was left of his faltering strength.
"Hello!" He yelled through a cracked, accented voice that sounded puny and weak amidst the buckets of rain crashing down to earth and the mighty roar of thunder barreling across the sky.
Pounding as hard as he possibly could upon the door, he tried to make himself heard, but after a few moments gave the notion up that anything could out cry the might of the downpour and the storm that roared above the realm.
Besides for that he was beginning to realize something was a bit off. For a grand castle nestled in the middle of nowhere, where were all the guards? Even the poorest of manors had at least an armed gate watcher to shoo away the riff-raff and peasants that sought alms or bread about the threshold.
Not only did there seem not to be any guards patrolling the looming fortress, there seemed to be no one there at all. Looking up, through rain and mud smeared eyes, he could make out not even the faintest flicker of a torch in one of the towering windows, which would have been readily visible in the pitch blackness that enshrouded the land.
Putting his calloused hand upon the iron ring of the door, Rum gave it a tenuous minuscule push and was amazed to hear the heavy groan of thick timber and the shrill creak of rusted iron hinges shriek through the air as the door swung open and collided with the wall in a dull boom and a faint shift of dust tumbling to the stone that made the beggar flinch.
They, whoever the master of the castle was, didn't even leave the castle barred? The least whoever lived there could have done was place a sturdy log in the holders riveted in the inside on both sides of the door to keep intruders out. What kind of palace was this that didn't have guards or locks, the beggar pondered curiously as he hobbled down the voided blackness of corridors?
His footsteps echoed dully around him as the sound reverberated in almost an ominous beat while he limped forward. As he stopped right inside one of the many corridors, the former spinner dragged a finger upon one of the arm rests of one of the high backed chairs pushed up against a wall only to be met with the sight of a filigree of pure gold inlaid upon the plush seat that was lined with dark purple velvet. His brow furrowed in abject confusion as he rubbed the dust in-between his dirty fingers and spied more of the same luxury all coated in fine particles of age.
Everything was covered in thick layers of gray dust from what little he could see in the darkness. Perhaps some rich noble had thought the palace not suitable for their taste and had completely abandoned it, but then why hadn't the local peasant and mendicant populace stripped the citadel clean as a ravenous vulture did a slain doe?
Was there something wrong with the place? A curse? A disease? Ghosts that wailed their deathly dirge's of harrowing misfortune and wafted down the chilling corridors looking for a soul to devour?
Even though the thoughts terrified the cripple, he could see nor hear evidence of any malignance or haunting wafting through the dark chill corridors that offered him shelter from the harsh outside world of wet and cold and mud that was more real that any of his speculation.
What he did know thus far was that it was dark, but dry, and as far as he could see, he had the entire place to himself! Something akin to a strangled cry of glee at his sudden good fortune erupted from the spinner's mouth as the fact put renewed vigor to his twisted aching limb to help ferry him along the blackness.
Had he not been to joyous of his 'good fortune' and been more alert in his exhausted state he might have felt the shadowed presence drifting along the walls with the subtlety of a prowling and yet curious wolf.
Fierce lines of lightening crackled across the side frequently with its brilliant luminescence sparkling through the monolithic stained glass windows to cover the cold halls in a myriad of colors that helped aid Rumpel so that it was only minor trouble in traversing the long stony halls that seemed to wind forever in paths to nowhere. His steps along with the steady tapping of his crutch seemed almost joyous as he scuffled along.
"Where to go; what to do?" Rum asked happily aloud to combat the thick darkness all around him that he seemed to have to wade through like the muck on the road.
Kitchen, the spinner decided readily as he clambered down the stony colonnaded corridors. If all the grandness about him had been left to tarnish and disintegrate to the sands of time then whoever had lived here possibly left the coal for the stove and any food. And even if the food was spoilt he had no qualms about eating the mice and rats that devoured the remnants.
Giving himself a small nod, Rum took a turn through another dank corridor that had an open door, wondering how in the world he could possible spy out the kitchen when warm, pleasant smells suddenly wafted around him in a dance of savory delight.
Fragrances of heady, expensive tea and honey along with the permeating aroma of roasted and glazed boar drifted all around him, causing the spinners to drool and his belly to growl in sharp pangs of need.
For a moment he thought to run away, if he wasn't so pitifully desperate, being that there was evidence that at least one person inhabited the castle besides himself. But then again it could have just been a cantankerous old noble who grew irritable around people and lived alone, or even a person like himself seeking a roof and warmth for the night.
As he followed the wonderful whiffs of food that swirled about him and drifted along the musty currents of air, the mendicant hefted his crutch a faint bit tighter just in case he had to keep some one or something at bay.
It wasn't long before he spied a shaft of golden light under one of the doors where the aroma's hailed from that had made a thin line a drool brook down to his mud stained rags. Heaving a grave sigh, the spinner put his hand on the door while clutching his crutch, and gave it a timid push. "H-hello? I'm sorry I don't mean to intrude but I've lost my way." Well, that wasn't the truth Rum knew grimly. One could not exactly be lost when they had nowhere to go, but still the person who dwelled in the dark stony citadel might have pity on him.
"I'm very hungry and tired and cold and…" He paused as he warily entered the lovely gilded and warm kitchen only to see not a soul.
That fact might have bothered him a bit more than it did if his watery maple eyes did not stare at the gilded silver tray burdened with a blue and white kettle; tendrils of milky pale steam slowly twirling towards the rafters, bowls of sugar and cream, and a cup all in the same lovely decoration filled with the brown brew awaiting to be drunk. Along side that sat a whole roast boar, glistening with its own juices and a vibrant red, deliciously caramelized apple in its mouth, and most of all, the cobbler still wafting up trails of steam but smelling heavily in the mix of the other foods that concocted into one heavenly aroma.
Any thought of hermit nobles, or other beggars flew from his mind as the spinner limped forward and dug in with a relish to alleviate the sharp stabs of starvation that wrenched in his belly.
He quaffed down cup after warm cup of rich tea that brought flavors he never knew existed sparking to life in his mouth as he ripped off chunks of warm boar in one hand and dug his other in the center of the cobbler he found to his delight was blackberry and stuffing it all in his mouth as fast as he could.
A part of the beggar knew rather clearly he shouldn't be eating so voraciously, and that whoever had prepared such a sumptuous feast might be returning at any moment but he hadn't had a good meal in such a long time, it seemed like the pain in his stomach would never fully leave, but only relent mildly from what he could scrounge or beg for from day to day.
A sticky, grease slick hand dove for another cup of aromatic tea to wash down the mouthful he was rapidly chewing when the world grew frigidly cold around him forming a pit in his belly.
The beggar dropped the cup and let it tumble to the floor with a sharp crack as he felt a dark presence like the shadow of death itself slip quietly into the larder. Icy talons stole along his chilled tanned flesh making his skin prickle and fear to slither up his spine and coil about his heart in a deadly embrace.
Warily swallowing the last of the meal, even though the starving beggar had suddenly lost his appetite, Rum had just enough time to see the kitchen door swing fully close before something dark grabbed his body and slammed him to the granite wall.
She was beautiful, that was the first thing Rumpelstiltskin realized as he stood face to face with an angry woman. Her eyes were sapphire and glimmered like hard faceted gems in the firelight, and her porcelains skin was flawless to every aspect. Her long amber honey hair, nearly the same color as his eyes was tied loosely behind her with a bit of leather cord. Thin, hard lines that gouged across he features, etched her gorgeous face in testament to her anger, and her arms were crossed as she sized up the beggar with her hard cutting eyes, she had stuck to the wall.
"Do you know who I am?" She growled angrily, her indigo eyes alit with a fury that would have put a demon to shame.
Of course he did, the legend of the lovely, powerful, but dangerous beauty had been around since before he was a child or even his father's father was a child. Her name was Belle, or so some rumors told, others termed her the black widow, but she often went by the Dark One.
Words tried to burst from his suddenly dry throat and his food stained lips; anything to beg for mercy or explain or lie, but only a squeal or terror strangled out of his stammering mouth. The spinner felt fear flooding within as his maple orbs stared wide-eyed in terror at the most powerful being in all the realms facing him with a cruel gleam in her eyes and a malice filled grin set upon the edges of her full pink lips. He had invaded the palace of the Dark One!
At least, he reckoned in some ludicrously calm part of his frenzied thoughts that billowed around his mind like the raging storm, he had no one to care for and no one would miss him when he was nothing but a bloody heap of bones and sinew on a torture room floor.
"I asked do you know who I am!" Belle snapped again, as she tightened her magical grip around his lanky torso with the skeletal hand that held the muddy mendicant pinned to the cold stone wall.
He nodded vigorously sending little splatters of mud from his straggly dirty brown hair and face flinging in all directions. "You…you're…the…the…Dark One!"
A small, utterly wicked smirk bloomed across Belle's flawless face as she offered the faintest of nods. A delicate finger tapped the side of her set jaw as she scanned the pathetic haggard being before her. "And do you know where you are?" Knowing he wouldn't have a clue in exactly what mystical estate he had stumbled into, the lovely fiend shook her head at the question silencing any stuttering words with the motion as she flourished her fingers carelessly through the air. "This is my home; the Dark Castle. And you, my very frightened, puny little mortal have not only broken in but also stolen my food."
"Please…I-I'll pay you back! I'll never breathe a word of this place to anyone! Just let me go!" He begged piteously his entire body trembling violently as if he were still out in the torrents of icy rain and cold mud.
A small sadistic chuckle emanated from the dangerous woman's mouth as she stared ponderously at the beggar she had caught limping through her lavish citadel and engorging upon her conjured meal.
Pay her back, huh, by the looks of him she supposed he didn't have a copper to his name. The plush burgundy carpet, he had stained with the foul dark mud he had dragged in, alone would have cost a kings ransom. "Hmm, intruder, thief, and a liar. My, whatever shall I do with you?"
"Don't kill me, I beg of you." He whimpered cowardly, his nerve shriveling up at the cruel glint of forged steel in her azure eyes. "Please, I'm only a hungry beggar looking for somewhere dry to stay. I have nothing but the clothes on my back; no power, no prestige, no anything. I'm worthless, please let me live!"
Rumpel's heart clamped in terror as she lazily sauntered towards his body still stuck to the wall.
A cry of horror was stuck in his throat, but paused there, unable to make the trek, as he watched her; his body frozen in the midst of eternity. The beautiful Dark One swiped a finger along the caked and splattered mud of his face clearing a spot where his eyes were riveted upon her.
She offered only a small upturn of her lips as she stared at him eye to eye and tapped the tip of his nose with her delicately manicured finger. "Perhaps I will, mayhap I wont. I need to think on what to do with you."
With that she hastily snapped her fingers and for the former spinner the world turned into ice and darkness and stone.
At first Rum assumed it to be some sort of grave meant to suffocate him, but then as his eyes adjusted to the blackness he saw it was merely a cell, more than likely in her dungeon so that he could await his fate.
In the kitchen Belle grinned cruelly as her sharp hearing picked up the frantic pounding of the wooden and iron bolted door and the whimpering cries, laced with terror, to be freed.
That wasn't even a possibility of happening; the beauty knew as she delicately plucked at what remained of the succulent boar and chuckled deviously; her mind whirling with thoughts of what to do with her new prize.