She could never quite figure out why she loved him. He was harsh, manipulative and cruel. He laughed at the stupidity of others, and reveled in it all the more when he had managed to manipulate them into doing something stupid. He lacked empathy, cared only for his own goals, and crushed anyone he didn't use. And even some he did. He was a monster.
But not to her.
From the moment he whisked her away to his castle, he had treated her differently. He yelled and cursed at her; demanded she see his dark, blackened heart. But he never raised a hand to her, never used magic against her, never threatened her. And because of that, she never feared him.
She looked him in the eye where other cowered. She argued where others agreed. She stood tall where others ran. She could see, objectively, why they feared him so. But she refused to do so. He had not given her cause, and she was convinced he never would.
She had no illusions about the sort of man he was. He'd been prepared to skin a man alive for simply attempting to steal from him. But, he also failed to punish her when she had set the captive free and denied him his toy.
Some men showered their women with useless trinkets. He offered her a library of knowledge and insisted she spend hours there 'keeping it clean'. She had been given gold and jewels by hopeful suitors in the past, fine cloths and magnificent geldings. He gave her nothing but the ability to be independent.
He didn't change for her. Not that she could see. He was still rude and cruel, enjoying the games he played. Nothing she said or did would cause him to soften the harsh details of his contracts. And nothing enraged him faster than the suggestions that a deal be allowed to lay fallow, unfulfilled.
But for all that, there were changes, she had to admit. In him...and her.
The next man caught stealing wasn't skinned alive. He was branded with the word 'thief' across his forehead and sent on his way. A horrible fate, to be sure. But he had escaped with his skin intact.
Belle, through Rumpelstiltskin, saw more of the world than she had ever dreamed she would. Living as she had, she'd only ever seen the good side, the happy side. Oh, there was starvation and poverty; she'd seen the beggar women on the streets, witnessed the stick-thin children with distended bellies and wept for them. But those were not the ones that she saw through Rumpelstiltskin. He had told her once that people only approached him when they sought power. She'd not believe him - or perhaps not understood. But when the third thief arrived, seeking only to raid Rumpelstiltskin's overflowing room of gold, she had commanded the Dark One to stop with a haughty, "no!" sure in the knowledge that she would be obeyed.
And stop he did.
With one negligent wave of his hand, the thief was bound and gagged, left to slump awkwardly in a chair while Rumpelstiltskin stalked around and behind to twitter nervously in Belle's ear.
"No? No? You dare command the Dark One?" he giggled, a horrible, high-pitched sound.
"I dare, only that you would listen."
"Yes, yes? And what is that? What heroic deed do you think this one seeks to perform with a fistfull of my gold?" Rumpelstiltskin paced back to the man, lifting a lock of his hair and sniffed deeply. The man's eyes widened into a look of panic as he tried to wriggle away. He managed only to tumble over and land on the stone floor with a deep, fleshy sound. Belle winced in sympathy, Rumpelstiltskin twittered, then she winced again as he stepped on the man as he passed over him. He balance for a moment, one foot planted on the man's hip as he giggled. The Dark One ignored the man's muffled groan of pain as he stepped away to stand in front of Belle, eyes wide with amusement.
"Well now, dearie. Hurry up, hurry up. You haven't got all day - even if I have. What is your thief going to do with my gold?" He held up a finger, cutting her off as she opened her mouth to speak. "Guess right, and I'll let him go free, pockets stuffed with all the gold he can carry."
She frowned as she thought, studying the man. There wasn't much to go on, he was dressed no better or worse than any other man she'd seen. Finally, she spoke, making the broadest statement she could, fighting for the man's life. "He wants to buy necessities. Food, clothing, shelter for him and his family."
Rumpelstiltskin grinned, blackened teeth gleaming, and she knew she'd gotten it wrong.
"Oh, dearie. Still so innocent, after all these months. My heart may be black, but it is not the blackest in the room. This man seeks to do what I never would."
She lifted her chin stubbornly, unwilling to believe. "Oh? Then what do you say is his aim?"
"I?" hands fluttered to his chest and, Dark One or not, his expression was pure innocence. "Not I, dearie." Then he twittered, and his innocence vanished, buried under dark glee. "Let us hear from the man himself!" Rumpelstiltskin turned to the man again, bent over him, and grasped the cloth muffling the man's mouth with the tips of two fingers. "Let's make a deal, shall we, pretty bird?" he whispered loud enough for Belle to hear. "You tell her what you really intend with my gold, and you can leave here alive and intact. But for every lie, you lose a toe. And if you run out of toes, I take your head. What do you say, pretty bird, your life for the truth? Hm?"
Without waiting for a response, Rumpelstiltskin pulled the cloth free. Pulled ad pulled and kept pulling. A yard or more before it jerked free, far more than could possibly have fit without the man smothering. Rumpelstiltskin snickered and shook the fabric once, twice, its color morphing from dull brown to silky black shot through with veins of gold. He wound it 'round his neck like a scarf while the man choked and retched.
Belle made to rush to the man, to comfort him, offer him water. But Rumpelstiltskin commanded her to be still and silent - and in that tone that she dare not disobey. Eventually, the man's coughing slowed, his breathing evened.
Then he began to talk.
Bound and in pain, laying in his own vomit, the thief talked and talked, rough voice unwavering as he detailed the depraved things he would have done with the power the money would have bought him. He looked at her while he talked, her eyes round with horror while his were flat with boredom.
She turned away long before he finished, his words drowned out by the roaring in her ears and the sound of her own retching. Children. He was talking about children.
Rumpelstiltskin was there, a warm hand on her back comfortingly, rubbing softly. The other vanished her mess without word of censure or complaint. She turned into him unthinkingly, wrapped her arms around him fiercely, needing him to hold her so badly. And hold her he did, just as tightly as she held him.
She pulled away, tears lingering on her face. And though his eyes were dry, she saw the anguish deep inside them anyway. He nodded, wiped her tears away with his fingers, nodded again and then turned her gently to face their prisoner. He stood behind her, bracing her with his strength, hands on her shoulders.
"One question," she told the psychopath lying on her floor. "Just one. Will you ever stop?"
"Yes."
A bitch, a female dog, escaped from the Dark Castle, yelping and snarling as it vanished into the twilight. It ran as fast as it could, leaving tracks in the dust and mud alike. Three of the footprints were distinctively canine - four toes. But the last...only had three.
Belle stood at the window as the dog vanished, to scrape and scrounge for the rest of its life. Rumpelstiltskin had put a spell on it to ensure that it would never be able to harm a child again.
She shivered, and a heavy warmth draped itself across her shoulders and down her back. Belle brought her hands up to feel the Dark One's elegant cloak laid over her. She turned just quick enough to catch a flash of him as he vanished through the doors on the other side of the room. On the table next to her favorite chair by the fire stood a mug of sweetened chocolate in warm milk and a book she was quite sure would contain a happy ending.
Perhaps this was why she loved him.
In Equal Sacrifice
Thus of old the Douglas did:
He left his land as he was bid
With the royal heart of Robert the Bruce
In a golden case with a golden lid,
To carry the same to the Holy Land;
By which we see and understand
That that was the place to carry a heart
At loyalty and love's command,
And that was the case to carry it in.
The Douglas had not far to win
Before he came to the land of Spain,
Where long a holy war had been
Against the too-victorious Moor;
And there his courage could not endure
Not to strike a blow for God
Before he made his errand sure.
And ever it was intended so,
That a man for God should strike a blow,
No matter the heart he has in charge
For the Holy Land where hearts should go.
But when in battle the foe were met,
The Douglas found him sore beset,
With only strength of the fighting arm
For one more battle passage yet-
And that as vain to save the day
As bring his body safe away-
Only a signal deed to do
And a last sounding word to say.
The heart he wore in a golden chain
He swung and flung forth into the plain,
And followed it crying 'Heart or death!'
And fighting over it perished fain.
So may another do of right,
Give a heart to the hopeless fight,
The more of right the more he loves;
So may another redouble might
For a few swift gleams of the angry brand,
Scorning greatly not to demand
In equal sacrifice with his
The heart he bore to the Holy Land.
~ Robert Frost