the battles we fight

by adaughterofzion

In a village fraught with injustice, there are few who rise to the almost impossible task of battling against it. One is the noblewoman, Lady Belle. The other is the masked vigilante known as the Dark One. Zorro AU. For siesiegirl for Rumbellesecretsanta on Tumblr.

Title: the battles we fight

Rating: G

Prompt: Zorro AU. For siesiegirl for Rumbellesecretsanta.

Summary: In a village fraught with injustice, there are few who rise to the almost impossible task of battling against it. One is the noblewoman, Lady Belle. The other is the masked vigilante known as the Dark One. Zorro AU. For siesiegirl for Rumbellesecretsanta on Tumblr.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just using them for fun.

AN: God, I hope you like this. It turned out a tad longer than I expected, but I quite enjoyed it.

I.

The people secretly revere him.

The nobles are outwardly enraged by him.

By day, he is a crippled spinner; not overly wealthy, yet not poor. He has a title, but not much to show for it.

By night, from behind a mask and the steel of his sword, he robs the rich of their excess, passing it along to the poor who need it more than they ever will. He is the mischievous vigilante, leaving his mark at every heist, confident in his ability to remain uncaught.

He is Rumpelstiltskin.

He is the Dark One.

II.

Their village is headed by Madam Mayor Regina, whose cunning and greed is only outdone by her zeal to capture The Dark One. She has offered a reward for his identity, even more for his capture, but she is unable to obtain either.

She wonders if the people truly don't know or they won't give him up.

Colonel Gaston is none the wiser, despite his efforts to apprehend the glorified thief.

And so she is left with a masked man thwarting her plans before she can enact them.

III.

With Lord Maurice ill, it has been left to Lady Belle to manage the household, to represent her father at certain functions. Council meetings, dinners, events where she could speak to people with the power to change the order of things in their village, to alter the power divide between the rich and the poor, between those who lived in excess and those who lived on too little.

Thus far, her entreaties have gone unheard.

She is a woman in a predominantly man's world, surrounded by people who believe only in perpetuating their own lives of luxury.

This is never more obvious than when one of the elite will host a dinner, where they all heartily agree to discuss important matters further but in a less formal setting than the courthouse.

Belle knows better.

Knows that it is all a pretence, a flimsy veil to poorly conceal their indulgent lives.

Belle dislikes these occasions, but attends out of courtesy and deference to her father.

It is on a night like this that she finds herself (once again) in the presence of Gaston, the Colonel of the Mayor's Guard. He is everything she dislikes in a man; arrogant, boorish and worst of all, obtuse.

He cannot seem to accept that she is not at all interested in being courted by him, that she has been attempting to escape this conversation (if it could be labelled as such) for the better part of the night. She doesn't wish to be rude, but Gaston continues to wear at what little is left of her patience.

"Lady Belle, when will you allow me the pleasure of your company?"

She gives him a half-hearted smile that doesn't reach her eyes, her response dry, "I'm currently in your company, colonel."

Gaston chuckles, looking at her as if she's missed something, "Milady, you know I was referring to a more private setting."

Belle slowly clasps her hands in front of herself, feigning an apologetic smile, "With my father ill, colonel, I regret that I have very little time for leisure."

"But you still have time?"

A voice abruptly cuts in.

"Colonel Gaston."

They both turn to see who has addressed him.

Before them stands Sir Rumpelstiltskin, a rare attendee to such affairs, but dressed as if he belonged there, complete with his cane to aid him.

Gaston's nose turns up at the sight of the other man, "Rumpelstiltskin."

Rumpelstiltskin small grin is meek, his stance rueful as he draws closer to the pair, "I apologise for the interruption, but I'm afraid I must speak with Lady Belle."

Gaston raises his chin, brow furrowing, "She and I were conversing."

"It concerns her father."

Gaston may be a brainless solider, but at the core he is supposed to be a gentleman. He concedes with a frown, "Very well."

Rumpelstiltskin offers Belle an arm, "Milady."

She takes it and farewells Gaston with a dainty wave.

Rumpelstiltskin leads them to a table with no other guests, far enough away from the clamorous festivities to be private, but not too far to arouse suspicion.

When they take their seats, Belle leans forward, anxious and concerned, "What news do you have of my father?"

Rumpelstiltskin then shuffles awkwardly in his chair, twirling his cane before he looks up at Belle bashfully, "I apologise in advance for having deceived you, Lady Belle."

Belle's body goes rigid, "I beg your pardon?"

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes widen as it dawns on him that he is a moment away from being on the receiving end of the Belle's temper. He quickly stammers, "I don't actually have news of your father, but you appeared to be trapped in a conversation you did not wish to be in."

His gaze is imploring, as if silently willing her to understand.

"I've found that the colonel can be quite stubborn when he fixates on something." He pauses a moment, whispers earnestly. "I hope I have not offended you, milady."

Any indignation Belle had felt moments before swiftly leaves her body, a vague sense of guilt sweeps over her when she realizes that there was no malevolence to his intentions.

She touches his hand in a show of apology, smiling in a way she hopes will convey that he has not roused her ire, "Hardly, Sir Rumpelstiltskin. On the contrary, I'm actually grateful to be saved of Gaston's attentions."

Seemingly glad that he hasn't upset her, he chuckles softly, "A woman not swooning over the handsome colonel?" His Scottish brogue adds an amusing dryness to his words. "By the Gods, I've seen it all."

Belle can't help the unladylike laughter that erupts, "You're quite terrible, Sir Rumpelstiltskin."

"Please, no 'sir'. My name is enough of a mouthful without having to add my title."

"Only if you too greet me in kind."

He stares for a moment, before ducking his head, maintaining their gaze through the curtain of his hair, "Very well…Belle."

He enjoys seeing how much this pleases her.

Time passes in silence, but it is thankfully neither stifling nor stilted.

Belle breaks it.

"I don't often see you at these gatherings."

He gestures to his cane, "These functions are hardly conducive to those with my condition." His voice then lowers. "That and I find them rather tedious." He motions to their decadent surroundings, his lips slightly curled in distaste. "It's all about the wealthy celebrating their wealth. It's cyclical in the most unfortunate of ways."

Belle is taken aback.

She has always thought she and her father were the only nobles who seemed to find distasteful the way the rich seemed to care solely for themselves.

Anything and everything else was beneath them.

Belle regards him cautiously, still unsure where she stands with this man in spite of his good intentions. She picks imaginary lint from her dress, her tone casual, "You truly think so?"

Rumpelstiltskin's reply is a sheepish grin, immediately darting his eyes to the side as if to avoid giving something away.

What exactly she isn't sure.

Belle frowns, confused at his response, "What is it?"

His smile fades somewhat. He then subtly bites the corner of his lip, his gaze cast low as he chooses his words carefully, "I hope you don't take offence, but you are not meant for politics."

Her ramrod back tells him otherwise, "I'll have you know—"

Rumpelstiltskin quickly intervenes, "What I mean, Belle, is that you possess far too much honesty to play the game. You cannot lie. You are…" His hands tighten on his cane. "…untainted; you care, which is far more than I could say for anyone here."

Belle feels a little out of breath and out of her depth. Thus far, their conversation has consisted of her feeling almost affronted at least twice with Rumpelstiltskin having to quickly assuage her.

She's never really spoken to him, only exchanged pleasant courtesies should they encounter each other on the rare occasion. She knows of him the same way people in the same village know one another.

Commoners know him as the odd, reclusive, crippled nobleman, neither cruel nor kind. He is, however, one of the few nobleman to actually work for his livelihood instead of tasking a multitude of servants to do his bidding.

The nobles see him as an outsider, unbefitting of his title. He's likened to a stain that they cannot wash themselves of, someone who – solely on paper – is one of them, but never seems to act the part.

He rarely participates in council meetings, rarer still does he attend their dinners.

He is quiet, withdrawn, but as Belle discovers also unfailingly polite, despite how his sentences seem to begin with insults.

"You seem to know quite a bit about me."

Rumpelstiltskin smiles shyly, "Everyone knows of the generous Lady Belle, a noble fighting for the good of the people."

In spite of herself, Belle blushes, brushes off his inadvertent compliment, "I merely want equality."

"It is a brave thing to want."

She pauses for a moment, stares, "You don't believe it's possible."

Rumpelstiltskin then sighs, smile gone as he surveys their surroundings, "I believe that the greed of the rich outweigh the plight of the poor." A beat. "I believe this will not change."

Belle raises her chin, proud and defiant, "I believe I can make a difference."

His smile returns, small and hopeful, "If there is anyone who can, it will be you." His eyes then dart to his pocket watch. He then stands gingerly. "I'm afraid I must bid you farewell. This old man has done his share of mingling for the night."

Belle levels him with a feign glare of chastisement, "You're hardly old, Rumpelstiltskin." She pauses. "And saving me from Gaston to discuss the unfairness in this village is hardly mingling."

"I'm sure we will meet again another day, milady."

Her look of mock rebuke has Rumpelstiltskin correcting himself.

"Belle."

She nods, inordinately pleased, "I should hope so." Belle flushes a comely shade of light crimson. "You are quite an interesting character."

"That's very generous of you." He then bows. "Good night, Belle."

She curtsies, "Good night, Rumpelstiltskin."

IV.

When Belle returns home that night, she wanders onto her terrace, welcoming the sweet scent of jasmine permeating the air.

Her father's condition show no signs of improvement, but with a raspy voice and weak grip on her hand he continues to encourage her in all she does, thanks her for the responsibility she has assumed with grace.

Belle warms at his gratitude, but is nevertheless exhausted from all that she's now required to do.

She sits down on the bench she has stationed there, setting the cup of tea she'd made on the table. Belle soaks in the peace of the evening, feels it wash over her like a cool stream.

She thinks about Rumpelstiltskin.

More of a gentleman, if a little timid, than the likes she usually comes across. Sweet and rather funny. She doesn't know much about him; is he married? does he have children? what else occupies his days when isn't spinning?

Belle wants to know more.

She's thrown from her musings when she hears a sound to her left, in the shadows. Her chest tightens, fingers grip the layers of her dress, she calls out into the blackness, "Who's there?"

A voice as dark as the night, rich and smooth like a fine wine, responds, "You have nothing to fear."

Belle's eyes dart from the shadows to the door to her chambers, "Who are you?"

A kerchief comes sweeping from the shadows to land gracefully on her lap, a telling mark finely embroidered on the edges giving his identity away.

She gasps, "You are the Dark One."

Belle still can't quite see him, but she can make out the line of his body, slim and lean.

He is every bit the enigmatic figures all speak of but have never seen. His presence enthrals her, his aura electric.

She watches him bow extravagantly, his teeth visible as he smiles, "The one and only."

His voice is hypnotic, dulcet and deep, she wills herself to focus, "What brings you here, sir?"

"Other than the company of a beautiful woman?"

Belle really shouldn't be this flattered by compliments from a mysterious stranger, but to her horror, she finds herself blushing. She reaches for her tea, sips at it casually, "There are many other beautiful women. Perhaps even more so."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, milady. There are not many like you."

She arches a brow, "How so?"

Belle hears him chuckle, "A noblewoman who doesn't value her wealth. 'Tis a rare thing."

"You flatter me."

"Hardly, I merely speak the truth." He pauses for a long moment. "I hear that the chapel is in need of repairs and our leader unwilling to provide assistance."

"Catch, milady."

A purse goes sailing through the air, which she is just able to grab with both hands, her breath hitches when it gapes in her lap, the lustre of gold staring back at her.

She turns to look in his direction, "Where did this come from?

"Call it a change of heart from our generous Madam Mayor."

Belle bites the corner of her lip, unable to hide her forming grin, "Somehow, I don't think she's aware of her sudden bout of generosity."

His voice is teasing, "Trivial details. You do know that it is rude to decline a gift?"

"Is it still rude to decline if the gift is stolen?"

"Why, of course. It's all in the thought."

She laughs, despite herself, then whispers, "Thank you."

"No need, milady. I know you'll make good use of it." She sees him crane his neck to look into the distance. "Thank you for indulging a stranger, Lady Belle. I bid you farewell."

"Going to round up more gifts?"

"Something of the sort."

She watches him turn to leave, calls out to him, "Wait."

Belle then realizes she doesn't quite know what to say.

"Take care."

"I shall. Sleep well, milady."

Then he disappears.

V.

Rumpelstiltskin attends more functions and somehow finds himself in Belle's company, after she's either dismissed Gaston or waits for him to intervene.

Rumpelstiltskin ignores the scathing look Gaston sends him as he leads Belle away.

Belle does most of the speaking, but he much prefers it that way.

He enjoys listening to her speak about the children at the local mission, their parents unable to provide them with the education they require, and that's where she spends most of her days, teaching the children to read and write.

She says she loves them all.

He's sure they love her just as much, if not more.

She invites him to visit her one day.

The next time they meet, he brings her a scarf he'd spun himself. She promises to wear it every day.

She does.

Belle starts calling him Rumpel. (He finds he doesn't mind.)

At night, he visits her as the Dark One.

He can tell she's drawn to his alter ego, the mystery, the intrigue.

He knows he should stop.

He doesn't.

She never asks him to call her Belle.

VI.

Rumpelstiltskin stumbles artlessly across the threshold of his home, one hand seeking purchase at the nearest surface that will grant him support, the other clutching his chest. He's able to shut the door right before he collapses on the nearest chair. He hisses in pain, his fingers sticky with what he tries to forget is his blood, voice hoarse as he calls out, "Hunter."

His servant emerges from the kitchen, eyes sharp and bright with concern as he quickly makes his way to his master. He kneels, quickly survey's Rumpelstiltskin's wounds. Hunter shakes his hands, his hands forming the words he doesn't say with his lips, "You can't stay here."

Rumpelstiltskin winces, but nods, "I know. Just give me a moment."

Hunter rises to his feet, waits a beat before taking one of Rumpelstiltskin's arms and slinging it over his shoulder.

Rumpelstiltskin grimaces at the sudden movement, glaring witheringly at his servant, "Gods, man. I know how you hate it when I get blood on the furniture, but I wasn't going to stay here."

Hunter returns his master's ire with a cool stare, until Rumpelstiltskin realizes that his temper (however much he's played it up for his own benefit) will not aid him in his search of sympathy. Hunter merely continues to look on at Rumpelstiltskin, until his ire fades away to be replaced by an almost-crippling exhaustion.

Rumpelstiltskin all but sags against Hunter, allowing the taller man to bear most of his weight as he's lead to the kitchen. Hunter deposits Rumpelstiltskin on a chair, tinged with a familiar shade of red. Hunter then heads to one of the cupboards, in search for the tools he utilizes on nights like these.

Hunter is brutally efficient in all he does, whether it be keeping the house or cleaning his wounds.

Rumpelstiltskin remembers first meeting Hunter, he'd been but a boy, a parentless child who'd run away from the orphanage to live the life of a thief.

He recalls vividly when Hunter had tried to pick-pocket him, thinking that a cripple would be an easy target.

Rumpelstiltskin had felt it.

He'd let the boy run away with the gold, but had been able to track him to a run-down part of the village. Hunter had tried to fight back against who he thought was a maimed noble. He'd grabbed a broken piece of pipe nearby, brandishing it as if it were a sword.

Rumpelstiltskin stared as this young boy, somewhat taken aback by his valiant attempts to protect himself. Rumpelstiltskin raised his staff to test the waters.

Hunter lunged.

Then and there Rumpelstiltskin decided.

He'd deflected the pipe, grabbing it and throwing it to the side. He watched as Hunter's eyes widened in equal parts fear, desperation and failure.

Rumpelstiltskin then offered him a place in his home.

He would do Rumpelstiltskin's bidding, but he would never go hungry, he would never have to fight for shelter, or want for food and drink.

Under one condition.

If he stole, Rumpelstiltskin had promised that he would be returned to the streets.

Hunter handed back to Rumpelstiltsin his gold. He took the boy in his wing.

Hunter turns out to be rather intelligent, not so much in an academic manner, but in a practical manner that explains why such a young boy could live all alone and still survive.

He doesn't speak, but had expressed an earnest yearning to learn how to read and write.

So Rumpelstiltskin had taught Hunter as well as to sign.

Hunter attends to him on many matters, whether it be fetching more straw to spin or sharpening his sword for a heist.

Or nursing his injuries.

However, Hunter usually treats him with far more care than he is currently displaying.

Rumpelstiltskin had unexpectedly run into patrols that evening and though he'd managed to escape, he hadn't been unscathed.

As Hunter hastily wipes the blood away, Rumpelstiltskin hisses and grabs Hunter's wrist, "What have I done?"

Hunter levels him with a cool gaze, signing with his hands.

"You went to visit her."

A rather innocuous statement, but filled with so many implications that doesn't sit comfortably with Rumpelstiltskin. He narrows his eyes at Hunter, tightening his grip on his wrist, "What are you saying?"

"She is a distraction."

Rumpelstiltskin's breathe hitches; he cannot deny this truth. The woman he calls upon before venturing in the night as the Dark One has bewitched him like no other. Her kindness and generosity is limitless, her beauty beyond that which he can describe with words.

She is perfection embodied; everything that he wants but knows he can never have.

Lady Belle is indeed a distraction.

Rumpelstiltskin leans back in his chair, eyes darting to the side before he murmurs gruffly, "Are you going to lecture me or tend to my wounds?"

Hunter clenches his jaw, looks as if he wants to relay more, but then proceeds to cleaning and stitching his cuts. When he's finished, Rumpelstiltskin watches as Hunter looks down at his hands, stained with his blood and feels pity when Hunter then peers up at him with wide eyes that say more than words ever could.

On his knees, Hunter speaks with his hands once more.

"I do not mean to speak beyond my station, but seeing you in pain is not something I enjoy."

Hunter then rises to his feet and heads for the wash basin to rinse his hands.

Rumpelstiltskin stares at his servant's back, suddenly guilty for his defensive retort earlier.

"Hunter."

The sound of water sloshing ceases, but his back remains facing Rumpelstiltskin.

"I know you mean well, please forgive my ignorance."

Hunter cranes his neck, he shakes his head with a sad smile.

(There is nothing to forgive.)

Rumpelstiltskin rises gingerly from his seat, hand pressing against the stitched gash on his chest, "There is food for the baker's family. Stow it away until morning and then leave it at their door."

He watches Hunter nod, leaves when he sees the red of his blood stain the water.

VII.

The council meeting earlier that day had done nothing to balance the scales between the wealthy and the poor. With her father still unwell, she stands in his place. Each day is a constant battle to sway their minds, to have them believe that there were so many others who needed that which they so carelessly cast aside.

Her days are long and tiring, dedicated to a cause that may be futile, but she will not cease in her pursuit of balance and equality.

She then hears a rustling in the shadows.

What had initially frightened her now brings a sense of relief, that she is not alone in her plight for justice.

A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, "Good evening, sir."

A lilting voice responds from the darkness, quiet and low, "Good evening, Lady Belle." "I hear you were quite impassioned in the council meeting today."

Belle remains in her seat, eyes shifting to the figure in the shadows, "If only that were enough."

"You do much good, milady."

"I wish I could do more." A beat. "Like you."

"You have much more fortitude than I have ever seen in another."

Belle sighs, frustrated, "How can you say that? You are actually able to help the people, you give them food and water and clothing when they are in need."

"You have the courage to speak against the people with power; I do my work under the cover of darkness."

She sees the edge of his cloak and she's struck but the knowledge that the Dark One is real, and right there, a source of comfort even if he hadn't sought her out with the intention of offering it.

But she doesn't know who he is and she so desperately wants to.

Belle stands from her chair, eyes fixed on where he stands, "When will you allow me to see the man behind the mask?"

She hears him shuffle, as if torn between running away and answering.

She pushes him, "Are you afraid?"

"More than I wish I were."

"Really? The famed Dark One."

This is the only instance she's ever heard him unsettled, Belle hears him clear his throat, "Beneath this mask, I am an ordinary man. A man who wishes to keep you safe." His voice drops and she swears she's heard it before, but can't quite place it. "Belle, please try to understand."

It's first time he's called her by her name without any formal titles.

She sees him extend a gloved hand into the light. She clasps it in her own.

She feels him reciprocate with a gentle squeeze.

She then feels him tug her forward until she's leaning against the warmth of his chest, his lips by her ear, as he utters softly, "You are quite an interesting character."

He then pulls away.

Belle gasps.

When she finally comes to her senses, she runs to the balcony, searching for his figure.

She finds him under the cover of trees lining the garden, staring back at her.

She smiles wetly, honoured that he'd given her this gift.

She whispers into the wind, hoping it will carry her message to the man below, "Rumpel."

FIN