Rated: T
Pairings: Gold/Belle
Disclaimer: It could not be less mine. Once Upon a Time belongs to Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis, ABC and Disney. The Village belongs to M. Night Shayamalan. This disclaimer applies for the whole story.
Spoilers: Massive spoilers for The Village!
Summary: He'd grown used to fear, but it was Belle that he wanted to protect. Or, the one where Spinner!Rumple lives in M. Night Shayamalan's ' The Village'.
Genre: Romance/Angst
Chapter 1:
The first time he came upon a skinned fox cub, he stared at it for long minutes, fixed on the spot with horror. Flies were already swarming the bloodied carcass, the sound of their angry buzzing filling the air, causing his stomach to revolt, the bile rising in his throat.
Leaning heavily on his cane, he crouched down and inspected the poor creature. Surprisingly enough, its small head was mainly untouched, save for some specs of blood marring its fur. Its mouth was wide open though, showing tiny, sharp teeth and the eyes, although black and lifeless still expressed terror.
The small animal had met a vile, violent end and his heart ached for the futility of it.
Then it occurred to him that the blood might attract the creatures and that thought snapped him out of his stupor. Scrambling to his feet, he limbed towards the small shed behind his house were he kept his tools and retrieved a small gardening scoop and an old cloth.
Walking to the edge of his garden, he quickly dug a small, deep hole and then returned to the remains of the cub. Carefully folding it into the cloth, he carried it over to the makeshift grave and disposed of it, covering the hole with enough earth to ensure the blood and color were gone permanently.
Still, he couldn't shake off the terror that had taken root in him upon seeing the dead animal. The relative safety of their village was surrounded by evil and now that evil had come near his house and was buried in his garden.
He had to fight the urge to dig the carcass back up and take it to the edge of the forest to dispose of it there, to have it as far removed from him as possible. Merely burying the evil, covering it with a few layers of earth wouldn't make it disappear.
He followed the rules meticulously. There wasn't a thread or spot of the bad color to be found inside his house or on the grounds surrounding it. He was in the habit of inspecting his garden two times a day to make sure nature itself didn't infiltrate the bad color on his holdings and at the first set of dusk he lighted the lantern at his gate to keep the darkness at bay.
And yet, it never felt like it was enough.
Returning into the house, he washed his hands for a long time until the shaking stopped. Only then he donned his dark brown coat, gripped his cane tightly and made his way into the village towards his workshop.
The buzzing of frantic, frightened whispers greeted him as he arrived at the center of the town. Apparently more dead animals were found lying scattered across town, one even lying as near as the porch of the school building.
He turned the sign on the door from closed to open, aware he was opening up later than usual, but also knowing that amongst the commotion of the dead animals found, not a soul would pay attention to that.
He crossed the shop and entered the workroom at the back, hoping his customers would remain away on this day.
He needed to spin.
Opening a new bag of sheep's wool, he sat down behind the wheel to prepare. Soon the wheel was spinning and the rhythmic tapping of his left foot on the pedal finally easing his heartbeat.
The elders called a meeting at the hall at the end of the afternoon to appease the worries that had been drumming through the village all day.
The place was packed and he could see the trepidation and fear on every single one of the faces in attendance. In the way children huddled close to their parents, husbands grasped their spouses' hands and held tightly, their backs and shoulders ramrod straight, mothers wrapping their arms around their children like birds tucking their chicks underneath their wings.
Alice Hunt was in charge of the meeting and he watched, from his slightly secluded spot at the side of the hall as she explained how all the signs indicated that there was some kind of predator on the loose, most likely one that was suffering from madness.
He kept his eyes down, shaking his head imperceptibly. It was utter madness and a foolish deceit on the part of the elders. No coyote or wolf would ever maul a prey in the way the fox cubs had been battered.
Alice Hunt continued to caution the villagers to be vigilant for the next fortnight or so and he had to give her credit for the way she was turning the town's panic into a protective stance by urging them to watch over the children, the adorable little girl on her hip proving to be quite the incentive.
In front of his eyes, the assembled crowd relaxed ever so slightly, eyes filling with determination.
Only then, after exchanging a brief glance with the council, she said something that really sparked his interest. "As for the other notion, we do not believe our boundaries have been breeched. Those We Don't Speak Off are much… larger creatures then coyotes. We would known if they had been here."
He exhaled slowly, his mind slowly progressing the words. There was no doubt in his mind that whatever it was that had killed those cubs, it had not been coyotes. That left the other notion a very plausible possibility. The elders would know if the boundaries surrounding the village were breeched, or if the truce was violated. But not for the first time he wondered how they could be so certain, what kind of power was vested in them that made them able to discern between what was seen and what was.
And then the familiar feeling of resignation washed over him. There was no point in debating the issue, even with himself. Whether it were coyotes or the creatures that resided in the woods that were responsible for the killings, either way he was useless to do anything about it. He was lame and unimpressive and all alone. Except for his own life, which was insignificant to begin with, he had no one to worry for, no one to protect. He would do well to follow the elder's reasoning. A coyote, even a mad one could be dealt with, would be dealt with expertly by one of the strong, well-abled young man of the village.
The truce had not been breeched for many years. It would not break now.
When the meeting was adjourned, people poured out of the building, wavering off across the village and he lagged behind to watch as he often did.
He watched as Alice Hunt exchanged a few words with Edward Walker, the man's posture rigid and stiff for the entire duration of their conversation and the way the woman's shoulders had dropped ever so slightly by the time their talk had come to an end.
He watched as Walker's wife, Tabitha walked up to the pair and spoke a few words to him, completely oblivious to what was happening in front of her and he watched the flicker of burning guilt flicker inside her husband's eyes as he looked at her. Eventually they said their goodbyes and took off and the brief, intense look of longing on Alice Hunt's face was seen by no-one but him.
Love wasn't supposed to be this complicated or cruel.
Soft laughter caught his attention, making him instantly forget about what he'd just witnessed. A young woman, dressed in a blue frock with white, lace trimmings, slipped her arm through that of a slim, red-haired girl that was walking slowly with a cane stretched out in front of her.
"Belle!" the red-haired girl cried happily, pulling her cane back and leaning into the smaller woman. They started walking together in his direction, chattering and laughing and he watched as a sudden ray of sunlight spilled over them, making it impossible for him to move. When they were only a few feet away from him, Belle suddenly looked up, a polite smile gracing her lips as she greeted him with warm eyes.
"Good evening, Mr. Gold."
"Good day, Miss French… Miss Walker," he relied stiffly, griping the handle of his cane, the one thing grounding him as he was all but drowning in the blue of her eyes.
The two women continued walking and he watched her leave, gazing at the chestnut curls braided loosel, held together by a piece of blue ribbon and danced on her back with every step she took.
Love wasn't meant to be this cruel or complicated. But more often than not, it so very much was.
I'd love to hear what you think!