She isn't sure how she ends up there. Her eyes crack open and even though it's dark inside, it's still too much light for her at that moment and her eyes slam shut again. She groans and turns over. "You're awake," comes a voice from somewhere in the room.
"Barely," she mutters. She doesn't want to open her eyes. It feels like sandpaper has been applied to them and opening them hurts. "What happened?"
"You don't remember."
"No." She wracks her brain but cannot remember much of the past…well…"How long have I been here?"
"A week."
"A week? I've lost a whole week." She remembers ogres. She remembers running, the castle crumbling around them. "My father?"
"I don't know," comes the voice and she finally opens her eyes to look at him. She vaguely remembers him, one of her father's soldiers. Looking around further she realizes she's in the infirmary.
"I was hurt by the ogres?"
"I don't know, Miss," he says. "We found you out in the woods all alone."
She doesn't remember making it to the woods. She remembers the walls coming down, remembers the solstice decorations falling. She doesn't remember escaping, doesn't remember getting here. "I was unconscious."
"Yes," he answers though it was not a question. She was sure of that much at least.
"You were found with this." The man's voice is almost shaking as he hands her a folded up piece of paper. It's crumpled slightly, a bit damp. She doesn't know if it's from the sweat of his palms or because it's been hidden away somewhere damp. But either ways she pushes it open and scans the content.
To the east of the Dark Castle, a quarter of a mile, no more, lies a clearing. Bring the ring there on the evening of the Winter Solstice. No sooner, no later. -R
"I think it's…"
"Hush," Belle says before he can utter the name. She knows who this note is from. She remembers calling for him before the ogres came, before they were overrun. The call had just gone out and he had not shown before it all happened.
She looks down at her hand and sees the ring there, enclosing the fourth finger of her left hand. She tries to pull it off but it will not budge. She is not surprised by this. Not at all. Somehow she just knew it wouldn't be that easy to remove the ring. If this is the Dark One's doing, it's likely only he can remove it.
"I must go to him."
"Belle, your father…"
"Is not here and therefore cannot stop me," she responds with quickly. Her father is overprotective though he means well. But she doesn't feel she has a choice in this one. She must find the Dark One and she must find him by the Winter Solstice. If she's correct, that's only three days away. Three days to journey to the clearing. Three days before she comes face to face with the demon that has haunted her childhood, the creature she has heard stories of her entire life, the horrors and the deals that benefit only him.
She can't imagine what he wants with her.
Or what the ring that has appeared on her finger means.
"The ogres, Miss," the soldier says, trying to stop her from leaving the infirmary tent.
"I know," she responds with and looks down at the ring for a moment. The stone is blue, but it's not a blue she recognizes anywhere in the natural world. The colors shift even as she's looking at it, swirling about and never quite settling. The ring is not natural. She knows this much the more she studies it. "Something tells me I'm protected."
With those words, she departs, head held high, the bearing of the queen she'll never be. The soldier says no more. What is there to say? She's been summoned by the Dark One and no one, no one, gets in the way of such a summons. To do so would be deadly.
She knows the way to his castle. Everyone does. It's the dark path, the one that winds deep through the forest and that children are told to avoid at all costs. She steps into the darkness, just a small lantern to light her way.
Leaving at night is perhaps not the best plan, but she knows she must go. She knows she must go now. The woods are dark and cool and she's no more than twenty feet in when all becomes silent. There are no movements of birds in the treetops, no sound of rabbits scurrying through the brush. The path is marked clearly, perhaps a little too clearly, and she shudders.
She's brave, this one. But she is not foolish, despite what they may say about her. Her father would think her out of her mind, to set foot in these woods, knowing who was waiting for her at the end of this journey. She doesn't know what he wants with her. She's read the summons over and over until she finally has to put it in her pocket to stop staring it at. It's vague. It says nothing of any importance.
But she is branded with his ring and he has called her to him.
And she has no doubt that the ring is his. She can feel the magic thrumming through her, can feel the way it twists inside her, settling somewhere between her heart and stomach, butterflies taking to wing around it. She has never been close to magic, her father adamantly against its usage, yet she somehow knows the feel of it, knows the feel of his magic. As if she is somehow intimately familiar with it at the same time she is not.
She spends the first few hours walking, trudging through the dark, lantern making eerie shadows fall across the snowy path in front of her. She beds down that first night under a pine tree. She finds it just as she is too exhausted to keep putting one foot in front of the other. She is sure it was put there specifically for her use, the branches forming a protective barrier from the snow and wind. She is easily able to light a fire, eat the hard cheese and bread she took on her way out of the group of infirmary tents.
The second night she finds much the same, further down the trail. She shakes her head, lights her fire, and curls up, comfortable on her bed of pine needles despite the howling of the wind outside.
It's on the third day into her journey that she hears the first sound besides the wind rushing through the trees, the sound of something racing through the underbrush, something large and unyielding. It is silent otherwise, no growl or roar or hiss to indicate its nature.
She is tempted to hide, for what else but harm would a beast in the Dark Forest want with her. But instead she holds up her lantern, raises it high and stares out into the forest as it approaches. The Dark One would not allow the beast to harm her. Not when he needs her for something.
She shudders at that thought.
She supposes what that something is will be revealed if…well, when…she reaches the clearing at the appointed date and time.
There are yellow eyes in the forest. The light of the lantern reflects off of them. Yellow eyes attached to a great beast. It is revealed slowly as it peels itself away, layer by layer, from the darkness around her.
A wolf.
Perhaps the biggest she has ever seen. The beast must easily way over 200 pounds and stretch some fix feet in length. Its fangs are massive. One bite and she'd be done for.
But the beast doesn't attack. It stalks closer to her, creeping forward on silent feet, leaving tracks in the snow easily five inches across. She doesn't flinch back, stands tall and simply watches. It stops just a few inches in front of her, takes a deep sniff, and she swears it nods its head. Just once.
It moves away, starting to melt into the forest, but then stops, turns, lets out a great huff.
Belle looks down the road she has been traveling, the one that will take her directly to the Dark Castle and then back to the wolf. It lets out a small whine. "I'm to follow you?" It doesn't answer, not directly, but takes another few steps into the woods and turns back again. "Rumplestiltskin sent you."
The wolf lets out a small snarl.
Belle backs up a pace and lets out a small laugh. "Ok, I won't mention his name."
The wolf makes another huffing noise and Belle's certain it's communicating with her.
"So we'll go then." She looks past the wolf into the darkness beyond. "I'll follow."
With those words the wolf turns and pads into the forest, Belle following behind. She can't quite bring herself to dim the lantern and so holds it up in front of her to light her way. After some moments, she realizes the wolf's inky black fur seems to glow when the lantern skitters away from it and so she finally dims the light and then shuts it off completely.
The path is smooth beneath her feet and in the darkness she doesn't step on any sticks, any rocks. The blue glow from the wolf's fur guides her forward and as her eyes adjust to the near complete dark around them, she realizes that the forest is parting for them, opening up as the wolf approaches, and closing up behind her. It's soundless. She only knows it's happening when she stops for a moment and turns, sees the woods close behind where once there was a trail.
The wolf turns back to her, growls. "This is an exhausting pace," Belle manages to say. She's still weaker than she'd like, she finds, unused to this sort of activity.
We must hurry.
The words come into her mind and Belle's eyes widen. "You can communicate?"
I am no ordinary wolf.
And even in her mind, the voice sounds offended. "I didn't imagine that the consort of the Dark One would be ordinary."
The wolf rushes her, stops just in front of her, yellow eyes staring into hers. I am not his consort.
Belle bites her lip. "I'm sorry. I just…"
Assumed, I know. Follow me. And the wolf is off again, Belle trailing behind.
It doesn't attempt to speak to her again and she fears she has mortally offended the creature. She only knows the legends told of Rumplestiltskin in the books she's read. But she knows those are twisted up with people's hatred of him. He's a creature, a frightening monster. Sometimes he's described as simply massive, sometimes as half man, half demon with a forked tongue and spiked tail. She's not sure what to believe, really, but she's prepared for anything.
Hurry.
It's the first time she's heard the wolf's voice in her head in over an hour and she feels the urgency behind the word.
It is almost time.
She doesn't speak, but picks up her pace and races after the creature. She can feel the press of time. She knows the date is near, can feel the time calling to her. The ring somehow feels tighter around her finger, as if the magic is warning her. If she arrives too late, she cannot imagine what the ring will do to her.
She cannot arrive too late. It simply will not be done.
The wolf leads her on and she realizes she can see the moon peeking through the trees above. At first it's just a little bit, but soon she can see it more and more often. Without any sort of ceremony, she finds herself rushing headlong into a clearing.
The clearing, she suspects.
The wolf slows, steps into the light. Belle hangs back, her hand still on one of the trees that edge the clearing. She stays in the shadows.
For a time there's nothing and she worries that she's too late. But the wolf stays still, standing proud with the moonlight on its fur. It looks at home here. Much more so than Belle. She doesn't want to say she's frightened, but she feels the shiver go through her, feels her teeth knock together more than once.
She draws herself up.
She wanted the Dark One. She will have him. And she certainly won't cower before him, beast or monster though he might be.
There's a slight shift in the air around her. She feels it more than sees it. A sort of excitement, a hush in the already quiet woods. The sound simply dissipates and she feels a strange sort of pressure at her ears.
Then a twig snaps.
And her ears pop.
And she sees something walking slowly out of the woods opposite her. It's human, or at least appears to be. But it's in shadow, a darkness clinging to it that cannot be dispelled by the moonlight. As it moves near the wolf she realizes the person is small, not much larger than herself. The massive wolf simply dwarfs the person.
This cannot be the great Dark One and so she watches with interest, her curiosity peaked.
The wolf's snout turns toward the person as it approaches. "Your work is done here," he says. His voice is somber, but there's a strange lilt to it, an accent she doesn't immediately recognize. The wolf's form dissolves at his words, leaving behind an ethereally beautiful woman. She stands tall, taller than the man in front of her, and holds out one slim hand.
"My payment, then?" she says and it's strange hearing that voice from outside her head.
The man in front of her offers a little titter. "Of course, dearie," he says and the voice is less somber, higher-pitched. "A deal's a deal, after all." He moves his hand quickly and it is engulfed in a smoke of indeterminate color. When it clears, she sees that he's holding onto a cloak. The woman takes it, clutches it to her chest. "Now be gone, beast." He flicks a hand at her and the woman disappears. As if she was never there to start with. No smoke, no flare. She just blinks out of existence.
Belle cannot help letting out a small gasp.
The man turns toward her and she's sure she can see his eyes glowing in the moonlight, pools of unholy darkness. And she realizes that this is no minion of the Dark One, come to take her to him. This is the Dark One himself.
She's not sure what she thinks of that. As he moves closer, the moonlight flitting across him, she has an impression of unruly hair and rough skin. He's in the darkness a moment later and she can just barely make out his form as she clings to the tree nearest her. It's her only support at the moment, the only thing that's keeping her standing up straight.
She's brave.
But not foolish.
The stories of the Dark One are numerous and while they seem to be wrong about his form, for she's certain he's fairly small, she worries that the rest is correct.
He stops some feet away from her and she can feel his gaze on her, studying her. She wonders if he can see in the thick dark, if his magic can strip her from her hiding place and see her for what she really is. A frightened child clinging to the shadows.
"Come into the light." His voice is lower than she expects, almost seductive. It's not the oddly-pitched voice he used with the wolf. She wants to cling to her tree, stay where she is. She wants to speak, but instead does as he asks, stepping forward and facing him,
"You called for me," she finally manages to get out.
"I did," was his only response. He watches her for a moment longer before he moves forward and reaches out to take her hand. The movement is sudden. She lets out a small gasp as the warmth of his hand comes in contact with hers.
It should be cold there in the clearing. The snow is up over the tops of her boots, she can hear the wind just outside the clearing, can see the trees as they move. In the clearing though it feels warm, his hand feels warm, almost hot as it touches hers. The skin there is rough and she shivers at the contact, at the way one long finger comes out to stroke the ring.
"Your ring?" She doesn't like the way her voice sounds slightly husky but the way his hand wraps around hers, the intensity of his gaze as he watches her, is strangely compelling. She isn't even aware that she's holding her breath until he speaks.
"No."
"No?" Her voice comes out with a slight squeak and she'd clap her hand over her mouth if he wasn't currently holding said hand.
"Well," he says and finally drops her hand. "It was my ring at one point." He leans in closer and looks at it again. Belle can see the way the blue of the stone starts to swirl the closer he gets to it. "Interesting."
She shudders at the word. "I don't think I like the sound of that."
"You shouldn't," he confirms and reaches out to take her hand again. He twists the ring around her finger once…twice…and then tries to pull it off.
It won't move.
And his second attempt is no better than his first.
"I don't understand." Her voice sounds small and if it's taken away by the wind that suddenly whips up around them, she hopes he won't notice.
He is silent, his finger rubbing lightly across the top of the ring. He doesn't drop her hand and the strange intimacy of the moment makes her pull back. He lets her go, allows her to step away and his hand hangs in the air for a moment before he retracts it, his fingers rubbing together. "How much do you know about hedge witches?"
"Hedge witches?" She glances down at the ring. "I…" She pauses, thinks of all she's read and all she knows. "We had one. In Avonlea. She lived down by the marshland in a little hut."
He shakes his head, swipes his hand through the air. "No, no. Not one of those fake ones."
"Fake?"
"Called herself a healer, brought out mysterious herbs in a bottle and told you that they would cure all that ails you…" His hand punctuates each word, a sort of strange dance that she finds mesmerizing.
"Yes." Yes, this is what she remembers of the witch of the marshlands. Little else. The woman was a mystery and generally avoided.
"Real hedge witches," he says. "Warts and all." His voice goes up on the last and he finishes with an odd titter. She tries to peer into the darkness, to see if his laughter goes up to his eyes, but she still cannot see him clearly.
"I guess…I've read about them," she offers.
He makes a slight tisking noise. "It seems you've made a deal with one."
"What?"
She feels his gaze on her, close and heavy. "I traded this ring to Baba Yaga a hundred years ago or more."
"A hundred?" She's heard he's immortal, heard he's centuries old, heard nothing can kill him.
"At least," he says and leans forward. An immortal demon. She's dealing with an immortal demon. He is at least that much of what they've said.
"Well, you can have it back." She holds out her hand, feeling suddenly cold as she reaches into the darkness that seems to cling to him.
"If only it were that simple." He sounds grave and that leaves her feeling even colder.
"And it's not."
"Of course not. Magic seldom is." The last is said with a pointing of his finger. "You made a deal with her."
"Yes you said that."
He snarls at her but somehow she knows he doesn't really mean it. It's frustration, that much is evident. "And you don't remember the deal."
She shakes her head. She remembers the walls of the castle collapsing. She remembers running, falling. She remembers screaming. And then she is in the infirmary and no one seems to know what happened to her. We found you in the woods…alone. Alone, collapsed in the woods. She is lucky they even found her though perhaps it has less to do with luck and more to do with this deal with the hedge witch. "What do you know of it?" she finally asks.
His is quiet and when he speaks there's a strange note to his voice. "Nothing…"
"But you called me to you." Belle doesn't mean for her voice to sound so angry but this is all so confusing and she knows he's hiding something.
He holds a hand up and she waits. "The magic did."
"But…"
He steps forward again as she tries to protest. "May I?" he says and waves a hand toward her.
She holds out her hand and gasps when the ring disappears from her finger. "You said…"
"Hush," he says and she falls silent. The ring is suddenly off her finger and she knows she should feel relief, but she doesn't. She feels anxious, a cold pit deep in her stomach. She steps forward. She wants that ring. It needs to be back on her finger where it belongs. It's her ring.
Before she can move, he rolls his hand and the ring is back. Belle takes a deep breath. "What did you do?"
"Close your eyes," he says in response and she does as he asks. She cannot resist. "Concentrate on the ring." It feels warm on her finger and she cracks an eye to look at it. "Don't." The word is sharp, forceful. Her eyes slam shut again. "Focus." She can feel him stepping closer to her, can feel his breath fan out across her face. A shiver traces its way down her back and ends up somewhere she'd rather not think about.
"What…" She starts but then his hands come down on her shoulders and she leans just a little bit toward him.
"Focus," he says again and this time it's a mere whisper. "Do you see it?"
She has no idea what he's talking about but then suddenly it's there. She lets out a small gasp. "Yes."
Yes.
She can see it.
She's in a clearing not so dissimilar to this one. It's dusk, the sort of twilight that paints the sky in shades of purple and blue. There's a fog rolling in and she knows she's in trouble. She can hear the ogres. They're in the distance, the fires lighting up the sky to the south. But she knows they're there. She knows they're after her. They'll smell her blood, hear her jagged breathing.
They may be blind but they can track as well as any other creature.
And she's not been subtle, doesn't know how to be in her headlong rush away from the frontline of the battle.
"Child." The voice that comes from behind her is quiet, matronly, human. She turns and sees the old crone standing there. She looks frail, legs thinned with age, knobby knees, her nose hooked in a way that tells Belle it has been broken before, perhaps even more than once. As she reaches out a hand to her and speaks, she finds she cannot look away from the long hairs that edge the crone's eyebrows. They leave her looking a bit like an owl and Belle would laugh if she weren't so frightened. "You must come," the crone says.
Belle nods.
And she does as she asks, following her further into the woods. It's not long before she can't hear the sounds of the ogres, can't see the fires through the trees. It's near silent there in the deep woods, thick with the scent of pine.
"Thank you," Belle says as the crone lets out a harsh sound that she thinks might be a laugh.
"Don't thank me yet, child. I haven't done anything but get you back on your feet." She points a long bony finger at her. "I can save you, though. From all of this."
"From the ogres?" Belle's breath quickens just slightly. Who is this woman?
The crone watches her for a moment before drawing forth a ring and holding it out in front of her. The ring is ancient. That much Belle is sure of. There are etchings along the side written in a language even Belle does not recognize. "This ring," the crone says, "will keep you safe from the ogres. When you wear it, they won't be able to hear you, smell you, or even sense your presence."
"What about my family?" The words are breathy and she reaches for the ring. With its protection, she can at least get home, find out about her people, find her papa.
At the last moment, the crone snatches it back from her. "It's not something for nothing, child," she points out. "This is magic. Powerful magic. There must be a price paid for such a thing."
Belle nods once. "Of course. What do you want?"
The crone gives another guttural laugh. "It's not what I want, child. It's what he will want."
"He?"
"You know of the Dark One."
Belle nods. She doesn't have to say anything else. Everyone knows of the Dark One. Half rumor, half legend, he's the creature that parents threaten their children with. She's attempted calling him herself. She's read the stories and knows what he is capable of. She narrows her eyes.
"Oh, I am not him, child." Another laugh. "But he is as involved in this magic as surely as I am."
Belle waits. She doesn't know what else to say at this point. The crone is speaking in riddles and Belle does not have time for riddles. "The ogres…"
"Yes, yes," the crone says and her voice has turned impatient. "You are a funny little thing aren't you?" She reaches out a bony hand to stroke down the side of Belle's face and she finds herself shuddering at the cold touch. "I think he'll like you."
"Like…"
"The Winter Solstice approaches," the crone cuts her off with. "On the night of the Solstice, you must seek out the Dark One."
Belle's eyes widen but she doesn't speak.
The crone's mouth widens into a smile, grotesque. All but two of her teeth are missing and those form horrible points in the middle of her mouth. "Go to him, child. And give yourself to him."
Belle feels the blood drain from her face. "What do you mean?" She tries to stop her voice from shaking but she knows the crone hear it. Even she can hear it.
"You've been with no man…" The crone's voice trails off and Belle feels the gasp that comes from her more than hears it. "I thought not." The crone gives a little cackle and leans closer. "He prefers them that way."
"Them…"
"Yes, child. What did you think I meant?"
"Maybe he needs a caretaker?" The words sound stupid even to her, but give herself to him. To the demon that haunts all children's nightmares.
"Oh child, he has magic." There is little else she has to say to that. "No, you must let him make you his. And then my protection will be granted."
"Why?"
"He has needs."
Belle cannot help the scoffing noise. "Surely if he's such a powerful sorcerer…"
"Enough," the crone says. "Do you accept the terms or shall I take my offering and go?"
Belle stares at the ring, watches the color swirl madly within it, echoing the way the thoughts swirl in her own head, the way the butterflies have taken wing inside her. "Yes," she finally says.
The ring leaps out of the old crone's hand and before she can say another word, before she can even think of what she's done, it's on her finger and the crone is gone. Disappeared as if she were never there to start with.
With a choked sob, Belle falls to her knees.
Everything goes black.
She comes to, gasp on her lips, as her memories go dark. "I…" she starts. "You…"
"It is worse than I feared," Rumplestiltskin says.
Belle's eyes dart up to try to find his in the darkness. "Worse than you feared." She cannot help the laughter that bubbles out of her, harsh, grating. "Worse than you feared." She made a deal with one demon to lie with another. The protection the crone, Baba Yaga apparently, will give them will be worth it in the end.
They are both silent for a moment.
Belle finally speaks. "It seems I have no choice."
"There are always choices, dearie," Rumplestiltskin responds with. His voice has a strange sing-songy quality and she feels a shiver trace up her spine.
"If I don't…"
"Then you get no protection from her," he confirms. "The ogres will return and she will not help your people again."
"Then it is as I suspected," Belle says on a sigh. "Why would she do this to me?"
"Because Baba Yaga likes to make people bend to her will." His voice is strangely grave as he speaks.
"You included? Or do you work with her?" The words are bitter.
"I knew nothing of this…"
"But you called for me."
"I did," he confirms and waves a hand toward her. "The ring…"
"It was a homing beacon," Belle suddenly realizes. "Of sorts, at least."
"Yes."
"Did it ever protect me?" She doesn't even know why that matters. Not now. Not in this place.
She can see the way the curls of his unruly hair bounce slightly as he shakes his head. "I did."
"Through the ring."
"Yes."
She stays silent.
"Baba Yaga makes deals with the expectation of the other side never being met." She doesn't know why he's telling her this, but she leans toward him, intent, rapt. The words wind around her as he speaks. "She expects one of two things to happen. For you to run screaming from me and hope that the ogres will not hear you as you race through the woods."
He stops there and Belle shakes her head slightly. "Or?"
"Or for me to force you."
She lets out a small gasp, steps back. "Would you?" Her voice is small as she speaks.
He heaves a sigh, as if he his weary of the world and his reputation. "I may be many things, dearie, but have you ever heard such tales of me?"
She wracks her brain. There have been many tales told over her life, of children stolen away from homes, of dark dealings, but most of the tales are only vague. And none of them mention such a thing. "No," she finally says.
"So then you run," he says. "It appears to be your only choice."
"No," she says quickly. "It's not."
"It is," he insists and there's a strange note to his voice. As if the very thought of carrying through with the crone's demands frightened him.
Yes.
That is it.
He's frightened. Scared she'll make the choice, the only one she can really make. If she runs, the crone sends the ogres to nip at her heels, sends them to chase down her family and friends. If she goes through with it, the crone loses.
And Belle gains.
Not only the crone's protection, but also the ability to be herself. If it is known that Baba Yaga protects her and that she belongs, in some small way, to Rumplestiltskin, then she will be left alone. Left with her books and never forced to marry someone she does not love. She knows her father has had his eye on that oafish brute, Gaston, and she can only imagine what her life would be were she to become his wife.
"I will do it," she says. The words are quiet, resolute.
"You…" Rumplestiltskin starts to speak but his voice quickly trails off. "You do not know what you ask." The words are low, almost inaudible.
"I do." She is determined.
"I'm a monster," he says quickly.
She pauses, cocks her head to the side. "Step into the light." It's an echo of his earlier words and she watches as he hesitates. The darkness clings to him and when he steps forward it seems to slink away slowly from him as first one hand moves into the light and then the rest of his body.
He stands, watching her. His eyes are inhuman. There is no doubt about that. Almost reptilian, they are wide and intense in the moonlight. What she originally saw as a sort of roughness to his skin seems almost like scales. As he turns his head slightly to the side, as the moonlight bounces off of them, they glisten slightly, as if he is dusted with gold.
He is odd to look at, but his form is still that of a man. Her eyes trace down the dragonskin coat, the brocade vest, the leather pants, the high boots. He is dressed outlandishly, as decorated as any fop of court. He is vain, this one, though he thinks himself too monstrous to be in the light.
But he is not unappealing.
She realizes that at the same time she realizes she has been studying him silently for perhaps far too long. "You are no monster, Rumplestiltskin," she finally says as she steps forward, lightly touches one hand to the roughened skin of his cheek. "A monster would have taken me, whether or not he had permission." Her voice is matter-of-fact. There's no reason not to be. This is a transaction. Not like most, but a transaction nevertheless.
"And I have permission." The odd wonderment that she hears behind his voice puts her more at ease.
"You do."
He stares at her for a moment and she can see the way his chest rises and falls, more rapidly than she might have expected. "Turn around." The words are soft.
She hesitates.
He makes a twirling motion with his finger.
"Why?" she asks.
"Just do it," he answers and he sounds slightly exasperated.
With a small smile, she turns. For a moment nothing happens, but then she hears the crunching of boots on snow and feels him close behind her. There's a heats that emanates off his body, unnatural in its intensity, especially in a clearing that should be cold, as cold as the snow that surrounds them, and yet isn't.
She feels his hand come up to tangle in her hair and brush it aside. He's gentle as he does so and she feels just the whisper of his fingers across the back of her neck. It sends a slight shiver down her spine and he pulls his hand away quickly.
She doesn't know what to say to that, remains still.
"I can make this good for you," he finally says. "If you'll let me."
She nods. She cannot say more, not with his hand in her hair and his other hand just tickling at the nape of her neck. With her agreement he steps closer, wraps one of his arms around her waist and leans in kiss her neck, behind her ear, press soft kisses down the side of her neck until he reaches the place where her neck meets her shoulder. Every press of his mouth is feather-light and she finds she wants more.
More contact.
More something.
And then he bits down on the crook of her neck and she hears a moan. And realizes a moment later it's her. And it's more glorious than anything she's ever quite imagined. When he laves the area with his tongue, her knees almost buckle and when he traces open-mouthed kisses to her earlobe, which he nibbles at, she realizes the only thing still holding her up is the arm around her waist that keeps her pinned to him.
His other hand ghosts down the front of her body, barely touching the bodice of her dress as he does so. His hand comes to rest on her hip and tightens there. She can feel the hand tremble against her. Her knees still feel weak and as they give out just slightly, he lowered her to the ground, his arm still around her waist, supporting her.
"Lean forward."
She does as he asks, putting her hands on the ground and leaning forward slightly. He reaches over her and presses between her shoulders and she sinks to her elbows. Her legs are spread slightly and she feels strangely exposed though she is still dressed. His hands press into her hips and she leans further forward.
He pushes her skirt up, flipping it up and over her back and she can feel the air skim across the drawers. His hands, when they come down to lightly touch her behind, are shaking but they finally settle firmly there. "I will make this good," he promises again and she realizes he's saying it as much for himself as he is for her.
He is nervous.
Perhaps even frightened.
And then he moves ones hand down from hip to thigh, back up. He traces patterns on her inner thigh and she finds her legs separating further, allowing him the space. His hand on her is feather-light and slow in its motion up her leg. She pushes back slightly and when she does, she hears the small gasp that escapes him.
His hand finds the gap in her drawers and suddenly one finger is running along the inside of her thigh, touching the smooth skin there. It's different, feeling the actual contact of skin against skin. One of his long nails scrapes across her skin and she shivers. She can feel the moisture pooling between her spread thighs and as his hand goes higher, closer, she let out a small moan.
"Please," she whispers.
And she doesn't even know what she's asking for.
But then his finger strokes higher and comes in contact with the slickness of her folds. She hears him groan and she finds herself echoing that as his finger swirls around her the moisture there, never quite touching where she most craves it.
One long finger enters her, slowly, as if he's worried he might cause her pain. But there is none. She bucks back against him as he pulls it out pushes it back in, crooking it slightly, hitting something there inside her. A second finger joins the first and then a third. She feels wonderfully stretched, pushes back against the intrusion, trying to capture more.
He gasps as she does so, thrusting his fingers in and out of her as she finds herself pushing back against him time and time again.
But then suddenly the fingers are gone and she feels bereft and almost turns to see what he's doing when suddenly her drawers simply gone and there's something warm and wet beneath her spread thighs. Her hand reaches back and finds his hair there, close to her body and realizes that warm and wet thing is his tongue.
And it is doing marvelous things. "Gods!" The word escapes her, loud in the clearing. It's like nothing she's ever experienced and nothing she knew anyone could experience. In all the talk about sex and husbands she had overheard in the castle, no one had ever mentioned such a thing to her. Perhaps others did not do this.
But oh why did they not?
She lets out another moan and tries to spread her legs further. She wants to be as open as possible, grant him as much space to work this type of magic as possible.
She's close to something, spread out there in the clearing while he pays homage to her in such an intimate way. And then two of his fingers enter her again, crooking downward against that spot, and his mouth is sucking on her clitoris, his tongue laving it and she feels herself let go, her body quaking, an incoherent shout escaping her. Surely she must be heard for miles.
He lets out a laugh behind her and it is a glorious sound for it's half surprise and half pride and she's sure that he has found some sort of enjoyment in her release.
Though he's not done. And she knows this. As she comes back down from the high, he's right there with her, spreading her thighs back out and touching her again. She's sensitive there now and she hisses slightly with a strange kind of pleasure-pain.
A moment later she feels him at her entrance. His cock is thick, much thicker than the three fingers that he used on her moments before. But he slips in, first just the tip and slowly, ever so slowly, the rest of him.
She feels stretched with the intrusion, but there is no pain. She expected pain. She had been told of pain. But instead there is just a slightly uncomfortable feeling as her body adjusts to the feel of him inside her for the first time. He settles there and she can hear him panting above her, holding still with his hands at her hips. She steals a glance backward and sees his head thrown back. He's still in his shirt, though the vest and dragonskin coat are gone, as are his pants. He's gloriously nude from the waist down and she can see, in the moment that she takes to look back at him, the moonlight reflecting off his oddly colored skin.
She's sure he's quite beautiful, though she's equally sure he would never allow her to say such a thing.
But then he starts moving and Belle can do little more than plant her hands on the ground and thrust back in time with him. This is not how she ever imagined this to go. The stories tell her of doing your duty and bearing your husband the sons he wants, but none talk of this. None talk of how the slide of him inside her makes her whole body ache for something, reach for something, the way they move together as one, the way it all just feels so right.
He thrusts faster and his hands grip her hips harder. She cannot help the moan that escapes her at the feeling. And then his hand reaches around her, somehow manages to find that little bundle of nerves once more and she's so spread apart, he so perfectly surrounds her that almost as soon as he touches here there she's lost. She comes hard, can feel herself tighten around him, and a moment later he lets out a groan and thrusts into her one last time, following her over the edge.
For a moment all she can hear is the sound of his panting above her, the sound of her own harsh breathing.
He says nothing, just presses a messy kiss to the side of her neck, where her hair is still swept out of the way.
She says nothing, just tries to catch her breath while realizing the impact of what she's done.
"Why look at you two rutting in the woods like a couple of animals." The voice that comes from behind them is harsh, guttural and Belle suddenly feels the iciness of the snow as it seep into the material of her skirt, dampening her clothes where she's still kneeling in the snow.
Rumplestiltskin freezes, his body still entwined with hers. "Baba Yaga," he mutters. And grabs Belle by the waist, hauling her to her feet as she stands. She's in front of him for a moment, feeling exposed, though his magic winds about them both and she feels her clothes set to rights. He steps in front of her, one arm coming out to keep her back behind him.
But the crone is not interested in Rumplestiltskin. Her eyes are steady on her and so Belle raises one hand and gently pushes Rumplestiltskin's arm to the side. He allows her to step away from him, but she only takes one single step away. He is still protection against Baba Yaga.
"I see you made your choice," the crone says and there's a strange note to her voice. Belle cannot tell if it's anger or respect or disgust, perhaps something that contains all three.
"I have," Belle responds with and she manages to keep her voice steady and strong, though she feels neither at the moment. Her legs are still wobbly, her brain still trying to understand just what has happened. "And so now you will keep my family safe from the ogres."
"For a year," the crone responds with.
Belle blinks. "What? No…"
Baba Yaga lets out a cackle the likes of which she hasn't heard before and she can see the alteration in her, from old crone to menacing sorceress and back again. "You need to learn to ask the right questions, child."
"You said your protection would be granted." She did. She remembers it now, clearer than before. "I remember," Belle hisses the word at her. "He helped me to remember."
Baba Yaga eyes flash quickly to Rumplestiltskin and then back to her. "That doesn't matter. The date was specific."
Belle realizes she never said she'd protect them forever. There were words left out there, important words, words she should have realized meant something in their absence. But she had been dazed, out of sorts, frightened. The crone had twisted her up and gotten her to agree to this without Belle ever solidifying the agreement. "For a year." And the words come from numb lips. A year and then she must seek him out again. And again. And again.
And if he refuses one year, then it is over. Baba Yaga will send the ogres back and her homeland will be ravaged once more, her people perishing in horrible blood-curdling screams. It's not a life anyone should lead, not a life she should lead, living on that edge from year to year.
"Wait." The word surprises her and she is perhaps most surprised that it comes from Rumplestiltskin himself. He has remained quiet throughout this exchange and she hasn't dared look at him for fear she will blush at the memory of their recent encounter. She finally manages to meet his eyes, squarely and with confidence. Her chin tilts up slightly. "I believe there is a deal to be made."
"I have no interest in dealing with you," Baba Yaga says, her voice full of scorn.
"Not with you, dearie." His words equal the crone's in their scorn. "With Belle." It's the first time he's said her name and she feels a shiver trace down her spine as he turns to her.
"Me?"
He nods, slowly. "It seems I am in need of a caretaker, my dear." His words are gentle and it takes Belle a moment to understand.
"A caretaker?"
"Yes. In exchange for some light cleaning, a bit of dusting, and perhaps tea in the afternoon, I will protect your village from the ogres."
She steps closer to him, cocks her head to the side. "It's forever?"
Words, she realizes, are important. This word more important than perhaps any others. Baba Yaga left it out of her dealings with Belle, let her believe forever was what she was offering. She will not make the same mistake again, of not understanding all of the terms of the deal she's making.
"It's forever," he confirms, holding one hand to his heart.
"Then you have a deal," Belle answers. Rumplestiltskin lets out a strange little titter. Stepping forward quickly, he wraps one arm around Belle's waist. As the magic swirls around them, he points one long finger at Baba Yaga. "You've lost, dearie. Come near her again and you will find out just how severe my wrath can be."
And then the smoke surrounds them, Baba Yaga's angry response cut off as they disappear from the clearing.