Woes of War: Part One
A/an: I'm finally back after my long hiatus with some fresh new inspiration. I'm aware I have ALOT of WIP which I do plan to finish, especially "Compensation". This story will most likely be only a few chapters long.
The wars had pillaged and stolen from everyone. There were mothers who would never hug their sons again and wives who would never kiss their husbands. Rumpelstiltskin hobbled down the lane with his eyes downcast towards the ground. He'd purposefully injured his leg after a seer had prophesied his demise in the upcoming battle. He cared little for his life, but the seer had told him he was to be a father. His wife was pregnant, and he reminded himself of this with each painful step he took. He ground his teeth together with each step, until he reached the hovel. He pushed open the door to be greeted by the aroma of a delicious stew cooking over the fire.
"Milah?" he called out hoarsely, scanning the small room for her familiar face. His heartbeat, a tattoo against his chest from how she'd receive him. She was bound to know of his betrayal. News traveled quickly from the front lines. He sat down in an old wicker chair when she didn't emerge and decided to wait. His stomach gave a low rumble, and he licked his lips as he glanced at the stew simmering in the pot above the fire. He pealed his ears when he heard the cries of a newborn and the sound of soft footfalls coming from the other room. It would be too much of a chore to move, so he sat quietly in anticipation. He was perplexed to see a young woman with her chestnut hair pulled back in a messy braid emerge from the other room. She was holding an infant close to her breast, attempting to console him.
"Who are you?" he inquired, gazing at the woman who most certainly wasn't his wife. She was much more youthful than Milah. She halted, holding her hand over her heart in surprise as she fixated her gaze on him.
"You must be Rumpelstiltskin," she remarked, patting the wailing infant lightly on the back to calm him.
"I am, but my question is, who are you?" he demanded, becoming irritated by this entire scenario. She flinched at his tone which he immediately regretted. The long trek home, dehydration, and lack of something to eat was weighing on him.
"I'm Belle French, your wife's cousin. I've been living here the past three months because my village was ransacked by ogres," she supplied, wetting her lips nervously.
"Aye...Well where is Milah?" he inquired, searching her gaze for answers.
"I'm afraid she's gone. It was a rather heartless thing for her to do, but she told me that she couldn't raise a coward's son. She boarded a passing sailor's ship this morning. She wouldn't even hold him after he was born. She passed him right off to me and told me I could do as I pleased with him, including feeding him to the ogres if it suited me. I told her that I couldn't abandon an innocent babe. I've been feeding him boiled goat's milk and staying up with him. I know this isn't what you hoped to return home to, but I'll stay and help out if you'll let me," she explained, swallowing hard at her admittance.
He sat back in the chair, the sting of Milah's betrayal far more painful than his torn ligament. She'd heard of his cowardice after all. He could handle her placing the blame on him, but not on an innocent babe who had nothing to do with his personal affairs.
"Thank you for protecting him," he said softly, averting his gaze to the hearth where the flames licked at the pot.
"You're welcome, Would you like to hold your son?" she stammered, holding the swaddled babe out to him precariously.
"Yes, I would like that very much," he expressed, as tears leaked from his eyes in awe at the child. She placed the squirming infant in his arms, and his heart swelled with more love than he believed it capable of for the boy with twin sable eyes. Belle smiled softly at their display of affection, turning her attention to the pot above the roaring hearth. She stirred the stew with a wooden ladle, placing a bit to her lips to sample. The stew was done, so she grabbed two bowls and filled them to the brim. She knew Rumpelstiltskin was famished from his journey. Belle tried not to be judgmental of his rash decision to abandon the battlefront. Milah had cursed him to the bowels of hell for his decision, but she wouldn't. He seemed like he would be a doting father and a good influence on his son from the looks of adoration which shined in his eyes.
"Rumpelstiltskin, I prepared some vegetable stew if you're hungry. If you'd like, I can show you how to boil the goat's milk yourself later," she offered, clasping her hands behind her back demurely.
"I would like that very much, Belle," he returned, causing her heart to flutter from the way he said her name. She'd had a fiance back in Durand, but he'd went off to the wars, never to return. No one returned from the battlefront alive and if they did, they were so mangled by the ogres, they wished death would take them. He handed her the infant who'd fallen asleep. She placed him in the makeshift crib by the pallet she slept on at night. She would have to make another for Rumpelstiltskin, she quietly reminded herself. He attempted to stand up from the chair but winced in pain as soon as his injured leg made contact with the floor.
"Let me help you," Belle remarked, rushing to his side. She grabbed his arm and placed it around her shoulders. He grit his teeth as she placed the majority of his weight on her lithe frame, guiding him to the table.
"Thank you," he said gratefully as she placed a piping hot bowl of stew in front of him. She filled a carved wooden cup with water and handed it to him. She joined him on the opposite side of the table, smoothing out her skirts. She placed her spoon in the broth, bringing it to her lips, blowing on it before she placed it in her mouth. He attempted to eat slowly, though he longed to tip the bowl up and pour it into his mouth. He stared at his now empty bowl, his stomach growling for more.
"Would you like another bowl?" she asked him kindly, and he wondered if she did it out of pity or if it was truly genuine.
"Yes, please," he nodded. She took the bowl and walked back to the pot which hung above the hearth, refilling it to the brim.
"Here you go," she smiled, placing the bowl back in front of him. After three more bowls of stew and five cups of water, he felt more sated than he had in days. Darkness had quickly descended upon the village, and he found himself full of queries which he didn't know how to ask. His heart still stung with heartbreak from his wife's abandonment, but he knew he couldn't allow it to linger. He had to think about the well being of his son and how it would be best to raise him. He would have to get back to spinning and bringing in a steady income to the household, but what of this Belle? Surely, she would be on her way within a few days, a month at most. Hopefully, she would show him the best way to care for his son before they parted ways. He observed as she made him a comfortable wool pallet on the floor.
"I have a few herbal salves in the cabinet if you would like for me to examine your leg. Perhaps I could even create a splint for you to aid in the healing process," she told him, filling him with disbelief.
"Surely you have better things to do than to nurse a cripple. You're a young woman, Belle. There's certainly a whole world out there for you to explore," he admonished, flourishing his hand in the air for the full effect.
"Which lands exactly? The entire realm has been ransacked by ogres, and I have no family to return home to. My cousin wasn't very agreeable, but she provided me with sanctuary after I'd lost everything. I worked as the town healer back in Durand, but the ogres destroyed my village. The only reason I escaped was because I was in the mountain valley collecting herbs when they attacked. I ran nine miles here on foot and asked if anyone knew which residence was my cousins. We'd only spoken a few times during our lives, but she told me I could stay as long as I promised to help her out with the baby. She changed her tune once word reached the village of your cowardice. It isn't any of my business, but why did you run?" she inquired with her piercing azure irises.
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair timorously. "A seer told me that I was to be a father, but I would die in battle and never see him grow up. I couldn't leave my son fatherless, so I took a sledgehammer and smashed my foot so that they wouldn't make me fight. The whole world can spit on me and curse my name, but I would do it all over again for him," he declared, pointing his finger to the snoozing babe in the crib.
Deep within her heart, she longed to reach out to the spinner and comfort him, but she refrained, unwilling to overstep her bounds. "I have no reason to judge you, for your reasons are your own, Rumpelstiltskin. Later tonight, I'll show you how to properly feed your son," she told him, settling down under her pallet.
"I would like that very much," he returned, slipping beneath the sheepskin blankets. Sleep overtook him instantly, and for a little while, he was able to forget his woes.
A/AN: This is going to be a verse fic, so please leave prompts!