A/N-This little drabble popped into my head when I was listening to the Lady Antebellum song of the same name from their new album (fantastic song, go listen to it!). Many thanks to my lovely friend and Beta Woubazoid for her input and edits. Everyone who reads this should go and read her story Long Live the Queen. Or anything by her, really, as she is a phenomenal writer!
Disclaimer-I don't own OUAT, or either character. I also have no claim to "My Soul To Take" by Rachel Vincent, an excellent series, or the Lady A song
Sitting in a dark burgandy armchair in the study of his house, he idly stirred his steaming cup of earl grey tea, and rested the spoon in the handy wedge provided by the chip. Really, he should get into the business of selling chipped cups; it provided a lovely resting spot for the spoon. He carefully took a sip of the tea and set it onto a coaster, turning the page of his novel with the other hand. This Tolstoy was quite an intriguing author. He was thoroughly enjoying The Death of Ivan Ilych. Although given who had recommended it, he wasn't surprised.
His eyes left the page and looked across the room. Belle was curled up in an overstuffed leather recliner, her eyes eagerly scanning over the page at a visible pace. His formerly neat study had become her own personal library, as well as a way station for books she ordered 'for the library'. Most of these, she felt, needed to be broken in before being released to the general populous. He had refrained from pointing out that, should the books be released to the general public, they would probably be broken in as well. He didn't mind the extra clutter in his library, however. It made the house feel more lived in.
The book she was consuming tonight was from a book stack she had dubbed 'literary candy'. When she'd coined the term, she'd described it to him as "Books that have little to no depth, and you shouldn't read too many of them but you do anyways." She turned the page, shifting so he could see the title; 'My Soul to Take'. Brushing some hair out of her face, she looked up and noticed him watching. She smiled, blushed, and looked back down.
When she moved, the soft glow of the lamp caught the hair at the top of her head and gave her a golden brown halo. He felt his breath catch in his throat, but he swallowed the sound, not wanting her to move. Tea forgotten, he picked up the strand of leather he used as a bookmark, and laid it in the book to mark his spot. Distracted by his movement, she glanced at him, a question in her eyes. "Don't get up," he said quietly. "Keep reading, I'm just going to...spin a bit."
She smiled at him, and returned her gaze to her book. Fortunately, her movement hadn't disturbed the colour, and he waved a hand, pulling his wheel out from the corner of the room. He walked out of the room to get the straw, and recalled the first time he had seen this particular colour.
Her soft hair tumbled down her back as she tilted her head and groaned. "Mmm Rumple.."
"Honestly," he said in a dry tone. "I have no idea why women wear these torture devices."
After a long day at the library, she had come home, kicked off her shoes and fallen onto the nearest available seat. "I am never wearing heels to work aga-" Her voice broke off and she groaned again, as Rumple's careful hands worked at her pain wracked arches.
He glanced at her face, and smiled when he saw that her eyes were closed in bliss. Her hair, in the light from the dying sun was gilded. "You're beautiful, dearie," he whispered.
He returned to the study, only to find that she hadn't moved a bit. He settled down at the wheel, fed some straw into the mechanism and began working. He quickly fell into the familiar rhythm. Even though he had done this a thousand times before, he still felt the thrill that he had felt the first time the coarse straw had fallen out the other side a shining golden thread. And he could remember the first time Belle had watched him spin.
She was running a damp rag down the trestle table in the main room. In the corner, she could hear the clacking sound of the running spinning wheel. He was aware that she was watching him, but tried not to make it obvious.
She was curious. She was interested in knowing if the rumors were true, if the Dark One could actually make gold. He had confirmed it at her old home but it was one thing to hear about it, quite another to see it happen. When the shining thread began coiling into the basket beside the machine, she gasped and dropped the rag she was holding. He looked up at her.
"Problem dearie?"
"No, I was just...I didn't realize it was true."
He looked from her, to the yellow coil. Picking up the silken metal he allowed it to trail back down into the basket. Looking back up at her, he cocked his head back to her and giggled. "Pretty...Isn'tit?"
Picking up the thread that came out, he studied it in the light of the room. No, he decided. Not the right colour. Opening a special box he had beside the spinner, he perused the collection. After so many years of being able to spin gold, he had, long ago, begun to experiment with different coloured gold. Adding a touch of clover, to the straw he spun produced a gold tinged with a light green. Honeysuckle produced a rose gold. It just depended on what plant he added.
Now, the conundrum arose, what would produce the colour he so desired?
In order to tint gold any shade away from yellow, the colours needed to be strong. Shifting vials in his collection, he landed upon a fine example, petals from a dark brown Calla Lily. He opened the vial, and poured out the pieces of petal onto his lap. Carefully, every few inches, he wove the petals into the straw. After a inches of gold had been spun, he reached to the other side and cradled the strand in his hand. He shifted the strand into the light, turning it back and forth. Glancing at his subject, he smiled when he saw that the colour was just right.
He continued to spin, weaving the petals into the straw, until he had spun roughly two feet of the precious brown gold. Clipping it off, he pinched the ends and whispered a few words. At his summons, the gold at the end of the string turned into a clasp. He clipped the string together so he had a long loop of the brown gold. He coiled the bottom of the loop into his hands and rolled it back and forth. When his hand opened up, the bottom of the loop had braided itself into an inch long pendant.
Satisfied with his work, he stood and stretched. While he had been working, Belle had fallen asleep in her chair. He wanted to pick her up and take her to her bed, but his leg prohibited that. Instead, he limped to his desk, pulled out a rich cream coloured sheet of paper. He wrote a quick note, and left it, with the necklace, on the table beside her. She would wake up soon enough and come join him in bed.
He looked at her hair in the light and, smiling to himself, left the room.
With the sound of the cane receding down the hall, Belle felt herself rousing from her light nap. She stretched, arching her back and let out a groan. She marked her spot and closed the book. Reaching for her tea to drink the last bit, she noticed the paper and the gift.
I noticed that your hair has a marvelous golden brown look to it in the light. Unfortunately, this is as close to the shade as I could get.
She lifted the chain up, marvelling at the fine workmanship. The gold had been tinted a rich chocolate brown, but in the light, the shimmer revealed the origins of the metal.
Belle smiled to herself. It didn't matter if he gave her gold. She didn't care if he gave her diamonds, emeralds, or pearls. The necklace was more of a reminder that Rumple noticed the intimate details about her, and thought to share them with her.
She slid the necklace around her neck and clasped it. After doing so she turned to leave the study, wanting to show, in intimate detail, how much she loved him.
A/N-Read and review!