He walks along the road leaving the largest city in a hundred miles, not really paying as much attention to his surroundings as he knows he should, but Jefferson is perplexed and slightly amused by the rumours he had heard in the city today. He had traveled for days to reach this metropolis (as much as any city in this world can be a metropolis, he sneers to himself) and he heard the strangest tales at the stalls in the city center while getting goods that are hard to come by (as hard as the latest rumours, apparently) in the little town where he usually does his shopping, and then he overheard more stories of the same ilk in the tailor's shop where he was buying dark purple material for a new vest for himself and enough lovely teal blue cloth for a dress for his daughter, and more variations in the pub where he stopped for lunch before beginning his many day journey home to Grace. Now he is rethinking his choice to stay away from the largest bustling markets of this world for such extended period of time, if these are the stories they come up with in his absence. He finds each one more ridiculous than the last.
The rumours are about the Dark One (and he grins at their opinions of him, for they are too afraid and yet nowhere near terrified enough), which in and of itself is nothing new; but these tales have another main character of whom he has never before heard. (And he prides himself on knowing all the chief players.) Perhaps he needs to leave his little cottage in the woods more often.
The stories say that the Dark One (for none of them dare say his name, although they don't seem to have a problem calling him other disparaging titles) has been bringing a companion of sorts with him on his deals for the last many months (the length varies from two months to five). No one can seem to agree on the exact time she appeared, much in the same way they cannot agree on the role of the girl that accompanies the imp. (For it is a young woman, on that they all concur.) The accusations aimed at the girl say she is the product of a deal and was bartered away (that may be true, but they say she is too well dressed), to a servant (he cannot see Rumpelstiltskin allowing a mere serving girl to know the particulars of his many devious and brilliant deals) , to a new apprentice (he cannot believe this tale for the same reasons as the servant girl theory), to the demon's whore (he scowled at this one; while he knows the imp to be morally ambiguous and prone to violence when angered, he has never- not once- seen him take comfort in female company, has never seen him distracted by scantily-clad females that come snivelling or demanding things of him, and he does not know if Rumpelstiltskin even has those urges.)
After Jefferson heard about this new woman taking such a leading role in the Dark One's rumours, he started eavesdropping to any conversation that sounded like it might glean him more information on this mystery woman (and, gods!, if they didn't ALL talk about the Gold Spinner and his new little toy or student or harlot or whatever they thought she was). After listening in the shadows to no less than twenty-three tales (twenty-nine, if he counts the ones so outlandish and perverse that they can't be possible in any world, which he doesn't) he felt he had enough information to piece together a rather disjointed picture. A while ago (the exact date is unknown, but he is inclined to believe it is closer to five months than two) the cradle-robber arrived at a deal with a young woman in tow- a stunning woman with porcelain skin and chestnut hair and bright, sapphire blue eyes. They all agree she is as beautiful as he is hideous. They also all say (every single one) that she is dressed in beautiful gowns that could feed the entire town he just left for a month; gowns that are covered in gems and shimmer in the moonlight, gowns that pulse with magic (he feels these dresses are for when she attends deals with the more dangerous of Rumpelstiltskin's customers), gowns that seem to be spun from gold thread (if this is true and not a gross assumption, then this girl is worth so much more to his sometimes employer than a mere trinket, more than a new apprentice). The gowns are not gaudy, not ostentatious nor over-the-top, not revealing nor shameful to a woman's self-respect; they are elegant, gorgeous, worth a fortune, and obviously made to fit her perfectly. (Jefferson is of the opinion, the more he thinks about it, that they are signs of Rumpelstiltskin's esteem, if not affection, for this woman.)
During the deals, she stands quietly and watches the person wanting a deal with a guarded, curious expression in her piercingly blue eyes while the Dark One prances around with his expressive hands and high, tittering giggles. (He has deduced that her stare makes those she watches uncomfortable. He has also realized that Rumpelstiltskin never, at any time, allows the desperate soul wanting a deal to get between him and the girl, which intrigues Jefferson to no end.) She rarely speaks, but when she does, she helps the poor soul with their deal, smoothing ruffled feathers, and generally being charming. For this reason, people don't say too much that she makes them nervous, for then she might not come with the evil one next time and they'll have to deal with him alone. (Jefferson smirks at their obtuseness and the girl's cleverness, for he has heard some of the deals that she helped make and, truly, they gave Rumpelstiltskin exactly what he wanted. The imp knew what he was doing, bringing her along; she gives him what he's after while giving those who are begging precisely what they think they desire. Bravo, Rumple, bravo. That girl deserves a standing ovation.)
Jefferson comes to a fork in the road; the right path leads toward his home and his daughter, the left goes in the general direction of the Dark Castle and Rumpelstiltskin and his enigmatic companion. (Really, what's a few more days of travel? He need to see the imp anyway; it's been over a year since he saw him last.)
Jefferson goes left.
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Jefferson walks through the front door of the Dark Castle, still deep in his musings of the not-quite-man that he has known for almost twenty years, his less-than-friend but more-than-employer (honestly, he thinks he is the closest thing to a friend Rumpelstiltskin has and that makes Jefferson proud). He knows Rumpelstiltskin is aware that he is here, (the wards will have alerted him the moment Jefferson stepped onto his estate) so the hatter continues to the great hall, hoping he won't have to climb the unending staircases to the sorcerer's tower. ('It's all well and good when you can just materialize anywhere you want, but what about me, you old codger?')
Fortunately for Jefferson, the golden skinned imp is sitting in a red leather chair in front of the fire, drinking tea. (A chipped cup. How odd.) Jefferson drags over a chair, makes a cup of tea for himself (a well-made cup, if he does say so himself) and sits opposite the sorcerer. (No greetings, not for them; neither of them are concerned with pleasantries.)
While he normally enjoys word games with the Dark One, he is far too curious to speak in riddles.
"Have you heard the rumours about your girl?" Blunt, straight-forward, to the point is how it's going to be today apparently.
His scaly companion merely raises an eyebrow, indicating for Jefferson to continue.
"So far she's been a price, a debt, a maid, a servant, an apprentice, a powerful sorceress, an angel to balance your evil, a prostitute, an unwilling whore, and I even heard one that speculated she was your daughter."
While none of the others even phased him, the last suggestion obviously horrifies the imp. He quickly reigns in his expression, giving Jefferson a nonchalant look.
"Well," the high voice came, "what is your opinion, hatter?"
"The dresses were most telling, Rumple; I'm not sure how much more blatant you can be." (He wasn't positive, but false certainty often had Rumple giving away more than simple inquiry, as much as Rumpelstiltskin ever gave away anything.)
"I had hoped the idiots that call me would piece it together, but I suppose that is too much to ask," was the sarcastic reply. (Bingo. Brilliant, hatter. Who would've guessed, the Dark One in love?)
"Aren't you worried someone will use her against you? There are many, many people talking about her." Jefferson knows all about weaknesses and he doesn't want someone taking advantage of his not-quite-friend.
"Belle (Belle, a suitable name from what he's gathered.) will always be in danger, as long as she is near me. What better way to keep her safe than to make it clear that she is under my direct protection? The perpetrator would be on the receiving end of my full wrath; it is not something anyone would be able to withstand. No mortal alive has seen the things I can do in my fury and I can guarantee that no one would be thick enough to try to cross me again once they have seen it. After the demise of the first imbecile to try such a thing, word will spread." The sorcerer says this with such a calm, cold conviction that Jefferson cannot doubt him. He has seen the imp do incredible feats, but he knows that his sometimes employer was hardly scratching the surface of the immense power within himself.
"Regina?" He has to ask, for the two magic wielders are often at each other's throats. Even though he thinks they both enjoy their games, they can get quite nasty.
"Regina is quite aware of Belle's existence and her role in my life and I assure you she is not stupid enough to try to use Belle as a bargaining chip; Regina values her life too much to attempt such folly. It is a line she will not cross," the Gold Spinner snorts.
At this moment, the large wooden door to the hall swings open and he hears a clear, melodic, accented voice.
"Rum, why on earth…" She cuts herself off when she walks all the way in and sees Jefferson. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you have a guest." And, oh, she is beautiful. One of the most beautiful women he has ever seen (and he's seen many women in many worlds). She is not in one of the unique dresses she is rumoured to wear on deals; she is in a simple lavender skirt and bodice over a white chemise (but she is no less stunning).
He hears Rumpelstiltskin mutter something like, "Guest? Hardly." He then speaks at a normal volume, if a lower timbre than Jefferson is used to hearing from the imp. "Belle, come here."
She waltzes across the floor as if she owns the castle (although it would appear she has its master wrapped around her little finger). The imp and the hatter both stand as she approaches. She comes to a stop by Rumpelstiltskin's chair and looks at Jefferson curiously. (He still is amazed by this woman's beauty.)
"Belle, this is Jefferson, a pest that turns up at any given time and makes himself at home," he stated with no small amount of fondness. "Hatter, this is Belle, my wife," drawing out the last two words (savouring them in the way Grace savours the sweet confections he buys from the bakery for her birthday).
He is flabbergasted. Shocked. Stunned. Dazed. (So he may have not been as accurate in his assumptions as he could have been.) Rumple is smirking at his shock and Belle smiles at his taken aback expression.
Once Jefferson can look away from her face, he glances at her pale hands, her delicate wrists, and slender, ink-stained fingers; a simple, braided band of gold on her left hand verifies what he's just been told. (They all missed that little detail when gawking at the Dark One's companion or staring enviously at her gowns.) This young woman, as fragile as she appears, wields the most dangerous magic in all the realms (every. single. realm.). The understated piece of symbolic metal (that was once most likely straw) shows this is the Dark One's bride, the one he cherishes above all others, the one he will willingly obey. He wonders if she even knows the extent of the unimaginable power she holds in her tiny hands; one glance at her strikingly intelligent eyes reveals to him that she knows exactly what her husband can do and what he would do, if she would only ask it of him.
Belle curtsies.
Jefferson bows.
Fin.