Things for the Castle
By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette
Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Word Count:
Summary: AU from middle of Skin Deep
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AN: Not fair. I was working on another section of Breathe Symphonies and then you prompted! I tried to go back to it, but this prompt demanded attention. IDEK where this came from. No freakin clue. Hope you like it.
For those not familiar the prompt was the song Start Wearing Purple by Gogol Bordello. And I love it. I know purple can be very symbolic, so I pulled the following as inspiration:
Purple signifies: royalty, passion, independence, dignity, love, transformation, and mystery
Purple is blue and red mixed together. (Belle wears blue, Rumpel's coat/pants often have a red tint, at least to me;) )
Purple is rare in nature
Quote from the song "I met you when you were a twenty, and I was twenty
But thought that some years from now
A purple little little lady will be perfect
For dirty old and useless clown"
It started when Belle kissed him, and his skin didn't change. There was no curse to break, only Dark Magic that had changed his soul. She didn't know that oh-so-slowly she was changing his soul back- kiss or no kiss.
She didn't shy away from the roughness of his cheek, she didn't start at the feel of his sharp, yellowed teeth. In fact, she pressed forward for another kiss. And another. Belle took as many as she could before he had to push her away and whisper that there was no curse for her to break.
She kissed him again anyway.
Within a week her things began to slowly make their way into his room, just as she had slowly made her way into his bed. The days weren't so different: she'd clean, cook, and whistle around the nearly empty castle while he bounced from town to town, checking on his deals. At night, they fell together like two halves of a whole. They took tea together, her trying to discern more stories from that great, twisting mind of his, he making light of all and staring at her sparkling smile when she laughed at him.
It had been so long since anyone laughed at him, or with him.
She never cowered in fear.
And at night they merged into one being, the passion of their daily banter translating to a give and take that tore sheets and rattled chandeliers, the sadness in their souls leading to desperate couplings to heal the aching loneliness, the love giving way to soft caresses in the moonlight as the held each other tight.
Slowly he began to bring home new things; things, he told her, to replace other things that he's tired of around the castle. New, soft and thick linens for their bed from the far east that were soft like a cloud. New books and bright paintings and curtains that were sheer enough to let the daylight through, brocade dresses and high heeled slippers and combs of silver for her hair.
Belle laughs knowingly when she says these are not things for his castle.
"You're in the castle, are you not?" he laughs back, setting the silver comb in her hair, watching the candlelight bounce off it in dark rainbows.
He starts making more excuses for her to not clean than for her to clean, and their routine shifts just enough that she is, without a doubt, no longer a captive or prisoner, though they never discuss it.
She is his equal.
He shows her as such one day by disappearing all of the cleaning supplies into the ether, handing her a book, and sitting her in a chair near his wheel. She alternates between watching him spin and reading. After the sun sets, when only the firelight plays upon her skin, he can no longer sit still. He lays her before the fire, strips her bare but for the silver comb in her hair, and kisses each purple shadow that the brilliant orange firelight makes on her skin.
He carries her to their bed, sweat-slicked and sated, tucking deep into the softness and wrapping around her body.
The next night, he comes back with a paper wrapped parcel and hands it to her with a grand flourish.
"For your castle?" she asks with a knowing smirk as she works at the knot in the twine.
Rumpel stands, shaking his head, making sure he catches her eyes as he speaks. "No. For my Queen." Her lips open just enough to form a little circle, her eyes change to a deep blue and her fingers freeze on the package. He laughs. "Well, open it, my liege."
Her smile is blinding as she abandons the twine and rips at the brown paper, pulling out a deep purple velvet cloak. The quality is exquisite. He spun for months to make enough gold to get it commissioned from the finest clothier in all the kingdoms. A low sigh escapes her lips and she runs her hand over the soft cloth. It's lined inside with deep purple silk and has a bright braided cord of soft gold (real golden fibers, she can tell- she's seen him spin them often enough) following the hems and edges.
Her eyes meet his in awe. Belle rushes forward, her lips meeting his sweetly, the bundle of silk and velvet melting between them. He pulls away after a moment, their noses bumping in a familiar fashion. "May I, my lady?"
Belle takes a single step back, curtseying and holding out the surprisingly heavy armful of cloth. Rumpel deftly flicks it out to full size, swinging it in a wide circle until he brings it around to rest with a comforting weight on her shoulders. He ties the cord of gold, fastening it at her collarbone, and draws the hood up carefully over the crown of her head.
Tomorrow, he thinks, he'll spin her gold for a crown.
He steps back, a smile slowly coming to life on his face, his hands clasped together in front of him. She has become so much more than the fiery companion he expected when he first saw her. She has become his equal, his queen. A woman who has tamed his heart and challenges his mind. He has never felt this way about another human being. He watches her saunter and spin in the room, making the velvet cloak swing around her in an ethereal cloud. She giggles, pulling the fabric tight to her.
Purple, so rare in nature. Full of passion and fire and independence, but also a color made up of more than one base, a color that is full of mystery and royalty. Nothing else would have done for the complex woman before him. She is tempting him, flouncing around the hall in her new gift, the gild of the binding glinting in the waning sun, the silk of the lining slipping over the sides of her legs, the hood making her eyes look like tiny blue points in a mysterious black void. He wants to at once rush to her and take her; to move with her and within her like they do in their most intimate moments, and to freeze her within this moment forever; so carefree and happy because of something he's done for her.
He cannot resist her siren call, not while she is so full of joy- something she has only brought back into his life, and slowly begins to move toward her. She nearly skips to him, swishing the long ends of the cloak around her legs as she moves, delight etched into the tiny lines around her eyes. "Thank you," she whispers just before his lips take hers.
His fingers deftly undo the laces of her dress, but when she moves to undo her cloak, he stills her. He feels her lips quirk up under his, and her hands stray down, slipping her dress away, but leaving the cloak on. From this moment, he knows that he will do everything within his vast powers to keep her as happy as this, for if he never knows another person in his whole life knowing his Belle will be all he needs.