This is a long, feels-laden story that has been floating around in my head for many months. As you'll not from the tags and the summary, this fic does focus a lot on Rumple and his first wife (Bae's mom), but I do promise this is first and foremost a Rumbelle story. (I know that a lot of us, although we may ship Belle with every Robert Carlyle character ever (Faery) really can't imagine Rumple with anyone else. Although it may appear otherwise at first, I promise that is not something you need to worry about with this story.)

… …

Soul

Chapter 1

By ZionAngel

… …

Rumpelstiltskin sits at his wheel and spins, alone in his massive castle, as he has for centuries now.

He isn't quite sure how long it's been since he last went out into the world to make any deals – a few days, a few weeks? All he knows is that he has been stuck here, alone in the castle, for too long. A hopelessness has settled over his soul, as it always does in times like this, when he feels even more bitterly lonely than usual.

At times like this, he forgets what it is that he's working so hard for. With nothing else to occupy his thoughts, he misses his wife and son so very, very desperately. He misses his wife's kind, sweet smiles, her soft, gentle touches, and the warmth of her company. But he has been missing her for a very long time now, far longer than his son, and he has always known there was never any hope of seeing her again. Even before he took on the curse of the Dark One, he knew that there was no magic capable of bringing back the dead. Baelfire, on the other hand, he might actually be able to find again. But after so many centuries of working and searching and dealing for a way to get him back, the hope that was dim to begin with has only faded more. And on days like this, he loses all but the very faintest hope, and the wheel is the only thing that keeps him from giving up entirely.

He can't afford to give up hope of finding Bae. Not only because it may mean his son is left alone in an unfamiliar world – he may very well have been left alone already. But because, as it was the day he lost Bae, and as it was the day he lost his wife, without the hope of seeing his boy again, he has absolutely nothing to live for, and he may as well die and fade away to dust.

Rumpelstiltskin hates days like today.

Without warning, he feels a tug of magic, pulling on his name. Someone is calling to him. Part of him is grateful for something to do, some distraction to pull him away from his miserable thoughts, but another part of him wants only to wallow in his loneliness and be left alone. But he can't resist the promise of a deal to be made, so he stands from the wheel and plucks the strand of magic from the air.

He watches and listens from hundreds of miles away, curious to see who would use magic to call to him, instead of just speaking his name. It's a quicker and stronger way to contact him, to be sure, but few have the nerve or the will to do so.

He follows the magic to its source, a battered castle in the Marchlands, on the coast of the Endless Ocean. He finds a very beautiful woman, a princess no doubt, kneeling on the floor of a darkened room, an open spellbook in front of her and his name scribbled in chalk on the floor. This in and of itself is strange. She's a very bold woman, to be trying such a thing.

He listens as she speaks her troubles into the empty room. Her circumstances are a bit more dire than his usual clientele – death and destruction, her people sure to perish at the hands of the ogres without his salvation. He can't help it if the mention of ogres makes his blood boil with vile, hateful memories, and makes him that much more inclined to answer her call.

He watches in rapt fascination as she finishes her spell and stands, gasps and drops her candle as she sees his apparition in her room, and then he severs the connection to stand alone in his castle once again. He takes a few minutes to consider this unusual request and circumstances.

It is a rare thing indeed that someone should summon him with magic, a woman rarer still. Only the blasted little miller's daughter comes to mind. But this one, this lovely little princess, is beautiful and strong, and bold enough to try it. She is a fascinating little thing, and he finds himself intrigued by her. He is eager to go and deal with her and her people, if only to learn more about this curious little creature. And best of all, she is so very, very desperate – just as he likes them. She must be foolish to think he'll accept her pithy offer of gold, but he decides to pay her a visit anyway. Everyone has something valuable enough to offer, whether they know it or not, and with ogres pounding at the door, she and her lot will no doubt be desperate enough to pay any price.

With a flourish of magic, he dresses himself in his most intimidating dragonhide coat, and transports himself to the chambers of the Marchlands war council, where he watches, and waits.

… …

Rumpelstiltskin sits at his wheel and spins, as he has so very many evenings in his twenty-two years of life. He thinks he ought to be doing something a bit grander or more meaningful the night before he is to be married, but then again, he hasn't even met his fiancée yet, and the rest of the village is handling what few preparations are necessary. So he spins.

His father announced his betrothal barely two weeks ago with no warning at all. He simply came to him one afternoon after returning from the market, and said he had reached an agreement with a man from a town to the south, and Rumpelstiltskin was to be married to the man's daughter. She knew how to sew and make garments, apparently, and would make a good match for a spinner and weaver like him. He hadn't bothered to protest – he knew the matter was already decided and he would have no say in it. He's been quiet and withdrawn since then, not sure what else to do but resign himself to his fate.

He shouldn't really be surprised. In the back of his mind, he always knew he would be married eventually – it was just a fact of life. But he had never relished the idea, had never been in good favor with the girls in his village, and always preferred not to think about marriage at all than to consider the inevitable truth that he would probably end up betrothed to a woman who was bored with him at best, who hated him at worst. Given the way his life has gone so far, he has no reason to hope for anything better. The only thing he can hope for is that this woman will be able to tolerate him, that he won't be entirely miserable with her. Granted, his life up until this point hasn't been especially happy, but it hasn't been so terrible, and now only time will tell how much worse it may become.

She and her family are to arrive late this evening, and the closer it gets, the more anxious he becomes. What if he doesn't like her? What if she can't stand him? What if she resents being betrothed to him, blames him for separating her from her friends and family and taking her away from her village? Or worse, what if she sees the kind of man he really is? What if she sees what a cowardly little nobody she's stuck with, and spends the whole of their life together hating him for it? What if-

"Hello," comes a quiet voice from the doorway, and Rumpelstiltskin nearly jumps out of his seat. "You must be my fiancé."

He stares at the stranger standing just inside his cottage door, a woman with dark hair and faded brown shawl around her shoulders. It takes him a moment to realize that this must be his betrothed. "Oh, uh… Melinda?" he chokes out, hoping that's right.

She smiles and nods. "And your must be… Rimpin…" She grimaces as she stumbles over his name, like she knows that's terribly wrong.

"Rumpelstiltskin," he offers.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She bites her lip and smiles at the floor in embarrassment. She's not a very pretty woman, though she's not exactly ugly, either. Her features are mostly plain and unremarkable, though he doesn't know what else he was expecting.

"It's all right," he says. "Everybody calls me Rumple or Rum. You can too. If you like, I mean." Belatedly, he realizes he should have stood up to greet her, introduce himself properly and welcome her. Instead he's still sitting at his wheel, the lump of wool still in his hand, and he thinks it would probably be too awkward to get up now. So he stays where he is.

"Rum it is, then," she smiles, then gestures to the door behind her. "I uh, we arrived earlier than we had expected, so I just wanted to meet you and say hello, and… I guess I'll see you tomorrow." She shrugs, like she doesn't know what else to say.

"Yes. All right." He wishes he had something better to say, something grander that would make a better first impression on his fiancée than this.

"Good night to you, Rum."

"Good night, Melinda." She smiles a little, and then she's gone as suddenly as she came. He returns to his spinning.

It's not till several long minutes later that he realizes he should have made some sort of promise to her, some grand, chivalrous gesture, and told her he would give her a good life, that he would protect her, and all of those things a husband is supposed to do for his wife. But she is already long gone, and anyway, he probably wouldn't have had the courage to say those things to her even if he had thought of them sooner.

It doesn't exactly bode well for his future marriage.

… …

Their handfasting takes place in a meadow near the edge of the village, where all the handfastings and ceremonies take place. It's just before sunset, and brightly colored sky and clouds should be beautiful, but he's far too nervous to appreciate them.

They stand side by side facing the altar and the priestess, surrounded by everyone in the village. Melinda's mother, sister and two brothers are here, her father not well enough to travel. A pang of guilt fills him, that she now has to live away from all the friends and family she's ever known, and will probably only be able to see them once or twice a year, at best, from now on.

He glances at Melinda herself out of the corner of his eye. She wears a violet dress made for the occasion. There is nothing terribly special about it, but as he looks closely, he can see that it fits her well, and has tiny runes and symbols stitched along the edges. It was clearly made with love and care, no doubt with the help of her mother and sisters. A crown of wildflowers sits on her head, and he has on to match. He watches her as she follows the priestess' instructions, lighting a candle and reciting blessings and drinking wine from the chalice. She seems nervous, stuttering over a few words, her hands shaking a little, though she is surely not nearly as nervous as him.

He goes through the motions as instructed by the priestess and before he realizes it, it's time for the actual hand binding, and he thinks his heart might actually pound right out of his throat.

He examines the cord as the priestess takes it from the altar. It was made in her village by her family, and this is the first he's seen of it. Bright ribbons in many colors are woven and braided and tied together. Beads and small charms are tied at each end, no doubt enchanted to bring them fertility and good fortune and all the rest of it. The beads are glass and the charms are metal, not wood, and the ribbons are made of fine silk. His heart wrenches with new anxiety as he realizes the expense her family put into it, wanting their daughter to have a happy marriage. She probably expects to be a great deal happier than she actually will be.

Melinda holds out her left hand as instructed, and the priestess places the center of the cord in her palm. He places his left over hers, his right below, and she finishes with her right hand on top. He hopes she can't feel his hands trembling as the priestess wraps the cord and binds their hands and says blessings he can't quite focus on.

He risks a glance at her, and she meets his eyes, smiling shyly, but genuinely. Her eyes are nervous, but she seems happy, to his great surprise. He grins a little in response. She squeezes his hands, just a bit, and he notices how very soft and warm they are, between and around his. Hesitantly, he squeezes back. He studies her face, her eyes, her nervous smile, and slowly his anxiety fades, just a little. Then it spikes again, and his heart races as she tugs him towards her with her hands, and he realizes that the priestess pronounced them husband and wife and told them to kiss. He's kissed a girl only once or twice in his whole life, and he would seriously consider running if it weren't for the fact that their hands are physically tied –

But then she presses her lips to his, chaste and closed-mouthed, and although his heart racing with nerves, he has the presence of mind to notice that her lips are soft. After a moment, she pulls away, amazingly, still smiling.

… …

Rumpelstiltskin watches the princess and her war council from the shadows, hidden by sight, waiting until he can decide what his price should be, and letting them grow desperate enough to pay it.

The princess is mesmerizing, drawing him to her like a magnet. She is exquisitely beautiful, in her shimmering yellow dress with her smooth, fair skin, silky brown curls and sparkling eyes, but he soon realizes that is not what draws him to her. No, what fascinates him is something deeper that he can't yet pinpoint. There's some deep fire in this woman, something that makes her feisty and bold, something that gives her the courage to stand with head held high while surrounded by men in a war room.

Once, a very long time ago, he found such courage rather endearing in another woman. He wonders if he might, perhaps, find them endearing again.

Watching her move around the war table, telling how she sent him a message, talking back to some oaf who tries to dismiss her, and seeing her hold her own is quickly dispelling his earlier lonely, miserable mood. Then, all in an instant, the pieces fall into place, and he realizes what a wonderful opportunity has just presented itself to him. She will be his price for their protection, as well as his own protection from his loneliness.

If he has someone else with him in the castle at all times, someone to see every day and talk to, no matter how briefly, no matter the conversation, perhaps he won't be so withdrawn, won't grow so miserable, left alone with his own thoughts. He'll call her a servant, give her chores to do, something to keep her busy, something that will give him an excuse to talk and interact with her every day without her realizing her true purpose in being there. He doesn't actually need a servant, of course, but if she can stave off his misery, she never need know that.

The king – her father, no doubt – all but gives up, retreats to his throne, surrounded by rubble. The princess follows him immediately, head still high, and tries to encourage him and keep his hopes up, and that decides it. She's a kind, nurturing little thing as much as she is fierce, and while she certainly won't follow him to his spinning wheel and offer him encouragement when he feels lost, her presence may still make him feel more hopeful when he feels particularly dark. Perhaps she might bring some of the same warmth and comfort to the Dark Castle that his wife brought to their little cottage.

Decided, he makes his presence known.

He moves about the room, around the table and through the small crowd of knights and councilmen as much to keep them on their toes and anxious as to keep the princess in his sight. To his twisted delight, she watches him as closely as he does her. She never hides from him, never shies away from the monster, and instead watches him with open curiosity. It's a good thing, too – her father may be the one doing all the talking, but he won't make this deal with any but her. His deals may be conniving and twisted, but none can say he ever made an unwilling slave of anyone.

After a few moments, when the tension in the room is painfully intense, when he has seen the curious little princess from all angles, and watched her appraising eyes follow him wherever he goes, he decides it's time to make his offer.

"What I want," he says slowly, drawing out the words to keep them on edge, "is something a bit more special." He looks at the king only because the man stands between him and the woman, but he falls back in horror as the monster points at his daughter. "My price is her."

The princess stares at him with wide eyes, yet strangely, he doesn't think it is revulsion or fear he sees there. Rather, it looks more like surprise, like she thought he hadn't even noticed her as he circled the room.

"No!" And what a silly king he is, to think that he has even the slightest say in the matter.

The oaf pushes her back with his whole arm, shoving her around like a rag doll. "The young lady is engaged. To me."

He could laugh, but then that wouldn't give quite the impression he wants. "I wasn't asking if she was engaged! I'm not looking for love." The very idea is ludicrous, that he would even bother trying. After all that he has suffered through these past centuries, he knows better. After all, what kind of depraved creature could love a monster like him? Perhaps another day, in another world, but not here. Not like this.

"I'm looking for a caretaker," he continues with nonchalant flair, as if pretty young princesses become maids of feared sorcerers every day. "For my rather large estate." A caretaker for him, more like, to keep him from driving himself absolutely mad in his lonely castle. "It's her or no deal."

"Get out. Leave!" The king points to the door as he yells, and the oaf shoves the princess around some more.

"As you wish." He would tell them that the decision is not theirs, would make the offer directly to the princess herself under other circumstances. But this one has been watching and listening the whole time, he knows, and he saw her thoughtful looks when he named his price. No, this one will speak for herself without prompting.

"No wait." Her voice is music to his ears, the first time she's spoken since he showed himself. Yes, he knows how to spot desperation, all right, and after all these years, he has become a master at knowing just how much they're willing to pay. He turns and watches as she steps away from the protection of the others, stands directly in front of him, and looks him square in the eye, without fear. "I will go with him."

"I forbid it!" the oaf yells, and Rumpelstiltskin almost reminds the fool that it's not his choice, but then he shouldn't be surprised when she does it first.

"No one decides my fate but me!" she counters earnestly, and yes, he's going to like this one. "I shall go."

"It's forever, dearie," he reminds her. He does like to be certain.

The look she fixes him with is full of fire and spirit, more courageous and fierce than he has seen her thus far. No, this one won't trade her life away without certainty. "My family, my friends… they will all live?"

"You have my word," he promises with a little bow and flourish.

"Then you have mine," she says, quietly, somberly, but with sincerity and courage. "I will go with you forever."

"Deal!" he screeches, laughing manically at the thought of all the good this little princess might do him.

Belle. It suits her, a pretty name for a pretty face. Rumpelstiltskin may be a monster, but he is not so far gone that he can't appreciate a beautiful woman. All he had wanted was a little plaything to have around the house and stave off loneliness, but if she also happens to be a lovely, vivacious princess for him to feast his eyes on, all the better. He sidles up near her as she says her goodbyes, and takes a kind of sick satisfaction at the look of discomfort his closeness brings.

With a gleeful, self-satisfied kick in his step, he tugs his new pet along, holding her tightly against him as he leads her out the door.