Soul

Chapter 2

By ZionAngel

… …

After the handfasting, once they are officially joined as husband and wife, comes the feast. The entire village joins the celebration, everyone bringing some extra bit of food or another, with their families preparing most of the food.

There is music and dancing, drinking and laughter. He and Melinda, though, sit at a table by themselves, slowly eating as everyone comes over in turn and offers congratulations and good wishes. A few people, mostly from their own families, bring small gifts and flowers. Everyone is smiling, telling him how happy he should be, but Rumpelstiltskin feels only awkward and nervous. He wishes they weren't at the table alone. He has so very little to say to her when they are not eating or thanking well-wishers.

She asks him questions as the evening wears on, about the village, the people here, the sheep. He offers short answers, the best things he can think to say, but he doesn't add much to the conversation, doesn't elaborate or add any stories to the bare facts. He wishes he had more to say, wishes he could think of something appropriate, and then actually have the nerve to speak the words. Even he knows he ought to say something better to his new wife, something to make her feel welcome and wanted. Finally, like some tiny miracle or a gift from a fairy, when she seems to have exhausted all her questions, his mind finds something that seems like a good idea.

"You, uh…" he starts, muttering, and she looks quite surprised to hear him speak. "You look very pretty tonight." She isn't a beautiful woman, but in her flowing dress, with flowers in her hair and a little smile, she does actually look nicer than he realized when he met her last night. It is a flimsy compliment, but even so, she lights when he says it. He isn't sure if it's because of the compliment itself, or the fact that he finally said something to her without prompting.

"Thank you." She smiles, and looks down shyly. It seems to ease the awkward tension between them somewhat, and after that, dinner is a little easier to bear. That is, until the evening draws to a close, and suddenly everyone is all but yanking them out of their chairs and ushering them off towards the cottage that is now to be their home.

With a flash of horror, Rumpelstiltskin realizes what is expected of him next, and for the second time that night, he considers simply running as far and as fast as he can. But that option dies along with the heavy thud of the door behind him as they are pushed inside the house. Being married was a terrifying enough thought – now he has to deal with what he's expected to do next. He is hardly a ladies' man, and while he knows the basic mechanics of what to do, he will probably last all of thirty seconds, and he'll be left humiliated, and things will only become more awkward between them.

He swallows hard, but he can't seem to do anything about the horrified lump in his throat. After a long minute, he realizes that Melinda hasn't moved, and that it is very dark inside, only a few flickers of light streaming in from the fires still going outside. Not sure what else to do, but knowing they can't just stand around in the dark all night, he fumbles over to the table and lights a lantern. He looks around until he finds another, and lights that as well, and then sets about starting a fire, desperate for anything that might delay the inevitable.

He watches her out of the corner of his eye as he stokes the fire to life. She wanders through the room, taking everything in and familiarizing herself with the place. He turns back to the fire and sets another log on top. Suddenly, she is at his side, and he jumps as he looks up at her. Surely she doesn't simply want to do it now, does she?

But she only grins at him, and reaches down to take the crown of flowers from his head. She places it on the mantle above the fireplace, then sets her own beside it. She wrings her hands together, as if she too is nervous. "I could make us tea, if you'd like," she murmurs.

He nods a little to enthusiastically, glad to buy a little more time. It's nice of her to offer, at any rate. She quickly finds the kettle and the fresh water and sets it on the stove. He wonders how long her good mood and happiness will last, how many days or weeks she might be moderately happy before she realizes that she has married a cowardly little nobody.

His thoughts are cut short as she wanders over to the weaving loom in the corner of the room. Even if it won't be a particularly happy marriage, he thinks, he should at least make an effort. It might make things easier, at any rate. He follows her over to the loom, where she is examining the half-woven piece of fabric he is working on.

"It looks so complicated," she says.

"You've never used one?" he asks, grasping for some topic of conversation.

"No. I've never even seen one used. I only sew. The fabric I use is already made by the time I start working on it. My cousins did all the weaving."

She touches the fabric he's working on, made with fine wool and carefully woven. "This one I'm working on is a little bit finer than I usually make. A family the next town over asked me to make it for them. They're going to make shirts out of it, I think." It's a flimsy contribution to the conversation, but it's better than what he's managed so far.

"How does it work?" she asks, running her fingers over the fine texture of the cloth.

"Uh… well," he mutters, sitting down at the stool. "These threads are tied from that rod to this one, and I can turn them as I go along." He points and gestures as he explains, and as he does, she comes up behind him and rests one hand on his shoulder. "Uh… and then every other thread is hooked up there… and when I press these pedals it either pulls them up or down. And then I just pass this other thread from one side to the other each time."

She smiles down at him and squeezes his shoulder, and somehow she makes him feel as if he has done something incredible, rather than just explain a boring machine to her. "Well that doesn't sound so complicated."

"No… not really," he stammers, as she moves away from him and heads for the spinning wheel. "Not once you get used to it." Belatedly, he gets up from the loom and follows her.

She turns the wheel slowly, watching the mechanisms move. He is about to sit down and show her how to use that as well when the kettle whistles, and she goes to make tea for the both of them. He sits at the wheel anyway and takes up the lump of wool waiting there. His wheel's powers have served him well thus far in life – he only hopes it can calm him enough for what is to come.

After a few moments she returns with two cups of tea. He smiles faintly as he takes one, and then his jaw goes slack as Melinda slips between him and the wheel and sits on it. Her smile is shy, at odds with her bold actions. She sips her tea for a moment, then rests the cup in her lap, staring at it.

"I'm very glad to have been betrothed to you," she murmurs, and he can't possibly be hearing her right. He hoped, at best, that she would feel contentment or acceptance to be with him; happiness and gratitude were completely outside the realm of possibility.

"You… you are?"

She smiles a little, then frowns down at her cup. "I've seen a lot of marriages in my life. So many of the women in my village were betrothed to… awful, horrible men. Men who were cruel or hurt them or ignored them or were just… unkind to them." She shakes her head, and her face brightens with a smile. "But you're polite and sweet, and I don't think you would ever treat me poorly. And I think you'll be nice company once we get to know each other better."

He can't help but laugh at that, a little embarrassed. "Not so nice. I made lousy conversation at dinner."

She smiles again, and he realizes that it does something to her face, lights it up and makes her look prettier than he first realized. "You're just shy. We hardly know each other yet."

Rumpelstiltskin imagined many things about his new wife. This gentle kindness, this sweetness, was not among them, and he finds himself wonderfully surprised. "Uh… yes, well, I'm… I'm glad to have been betrothed to you, too." He could swear she blushes as she sips her tea.

And suddenly, it's not nearly as awkward as it was before, and for the first time, he actually feels himself starting to relax. He finally drinks his tea, and finds it somehow much better than any he has ever made for himself. Better, perhaps, than any he has ever had. Maybe that's a good sign.

"I'm sorry you have to live away from your family," he says after a few minutes of almost-comfortable silence. "That can't be easy."

"Oh, it's not so bad. I'll still be able to visit them." She turns her cup in her hands. "And to be honest, I always hoped I wouldn't have to stay in the same place my whole life. What's life without a little adventure?"

"A safe one," he quips.

"A boring one," she counters, but she smiles affectionately all the same, and he can't help but laugh.

They both finish their tea soon, and after that things grow very awkward very fast. He managed to forget about it while they talked, but now the nerves and anxiety flood him again. She actually seems halfway happy to be with him – he doesn't want to ruin it with a brief, awkward coupling, doesn't want to embarrass himself, or worse, hurt her.

She still twirls her cup in her hands, and he wonders if she feels as awkward as he does. Finally, she says quietly, "Rum?"

"Yes?" he asks, swallowing a lump out of his throat.

"If it's all the same to you… do you think tonight we could just go to sleep? Get used to sharing a bed and being next to each other before we… do anything else?"

He sends silent prayers of thanks to every god he knows as he tries not to show his complete and utter relief on his face. He gives her a small smile. "I think that's a good idea."

She smiles back brightly then turns down with a little sigh of relief and a blush on her cheeks. "Good. But, I do want to do this." His heart pounds in his chest as she reaches out and gently places her hand on his leg, just above the knee, and leans in. Her boldness surprises him again, and he leans in a little, not wanting her to feel unwanted. Again, she is the one to close the last few inches between their lips. This time, though, the kiss is more intimate, soft and gentle instead of stifled and formal. This time, he is able to notice how warm and soft her lips are, as she parts them just enough to take his bottom lip between hers. This time, he finds that kissing her is actually rather pleasant and enjoyable. When she pulls away and gives him a small smile, he actually wants to kiss her again.

She stands and takes their teacups back to the wash basin. "I'll just go put my things away, and we can go to bed." She takes the small sack she brought from home into the bedroom and shuts the door. As he rinses out the cups and snuffs out the lights, he hears rustling in the next room as she puts away the clothes she brought. When she emerges, she has changed into her night dress, a white shift that – thankfully – is not too thin. She trades places with him to let him change into his own night shirt, and when he is finished, he invites her back in, and blows out the last candle.

The bed is brand new, soft and free of uncomfortable lumps. He settles under the blanket first, moving to the side and holding the corner up for her to join him. They settle and shift and move the blankets around, struggling for a bit to find a suitable position. Eventually, he winds up on his back, and she curls into his side, draping her arm over his chest and her legs across his, with her head resting beside his on the pillow. He can just make out her features in the dark. After a few minutes more, the awkwardness fades, and he finds a kind of comfort in sharing his bed. Her body radiates a soothing warmth, which he thinks will be wonderful in the cold months of winter. Her weight against his side presses into him firmly, but it is a very pleasant sensation. He soon drifts off to sleep, and his last conscious thought is that it might not be so bad to share a bed for the rest of his life.

…

With his arm still gripping her waist tightly, Rumpelstiltskin transports his new caretaker to his castle. They appear on the stone steps in front of the main doors, and the night has already descended in this part of the world. He smiles gleefully, thrilled to have a lovely new pet to keep him from spiraling into loneliness and misery.

Now, he just has to figure out what to do with her.

Rumpelstiltskin, sorcerer feared throughout all the lands, the man who always plans twelve steps ahead of everyone else and who considers every possible flaw, contingency, and bump in the road, has absolutely no idea what to do next.

Beside him, she stumbles out of his grasp and nearly falls to her knees, and she gives a dry heave. Teleportation isn't exactly easy on the stomach for those unprepared for it. He doesn't wait for her to right herself and adjust to her sudden change in surroundings before he starts up the steps to the entry. He hears her scrambling after him just as he opens the massive double doors with a flick of his hand.

"Is – is this your estate?" she asks breathlessly. The doors shut behind her just as she turns to take in the sprawling lawns between the here and the guard walls.

"The Dark Castle, yes," he says, turning to her and gesturing to the dreary grey stones with his usual grandiose flourish. "Like it?"

"It's… huge."

"Yes, you'll certainly have your work cut out for you." He shoots her a wicked smile as he points to her. The sarcasm is as natural as breathing after all this time, his perfected means of inspiring fear and subservience all at once.

"So glad you decided to take a step up in the world, dearie," he continues, circling the bare table in the entryway. As he makes his way around, he strides up behind her until he's nearly pressed to her back, far closer than any woman would want a monster like him. He leers at her over her shoulder as he continues, "Your service will be of great use to me."

If anything, she only stands taller, and turns to look him in the eye. He can feel her breath on his face as she speaks. "I'm here for my loved ones. Not for you."

There's sorrow in those eyes, and pain, but still, he sees no fear, no revulsion.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he brushes past her and through the doors to the dining hall. Again, she hurries after him, as though she is some lost puppy chasing its master. A fitting comparison, he supposes.

"Where are you taking me?" Her tone is halfway to bright and cheery, and it rubs him exactly the wrong way, and this simply will not do. He can't have his little pet thinking she's as important as she really is, thinking she's anything but a servant – he can't afford to let her have any power over him, let alone that much. He needs to that cheery little bit of hope, and quickly.

It had seemed only logical, just minutes ago, to put her up in the servants' quarters. But now, with her attitude, he thinks something a bit more drastic will be necessary to get the message across, show her just who holds the power in this castle. "Let's call it… your room." Something much more drastic, indeed.

It hits him, then, that this is the first time in a century or more that he has walked into a deal blind, that he has bargained for something without thinking through every conceivable consequence. He has always been twelve steps ahead of everyone, ready for anything that may come, contingency plans for every possibility. He has not made a decision on a whim in ages, and now his mind is reeling, struggling to catch up, and figure out just how in the hell he thought this would be a good idea.

Could he really be that desperate? More desperate than even he realized, to have someone else to fill the lonely void?

He pushes the thought away. It doesn't matter why he did it, only that he must now figure things out as he goes.

"Shouldn't – shouldn't you show me around first?" she stammers, following him through the next set of doors and down a flight of stairs.

"All in due time, dearie. We want you to be well rested for your first day of work." He turns to shoot a sly grin at her, and still, she seems only perplexed.

"I was just thinking –"

"Oh, there's no need to do any of that," he interrupts, latching onto the opportunity. "Don't you worry your pretty little head." A feisty little thing like her surely wont' appreciate that – best that he treat her like a silly little woman, like all the rest of the men in her life surely did. That will be sure to take her confidence down a bit. Sure enough, she is silent as they descend the remaining stairs.

He hasn't been down to this part of the castle in decades. Fortunately, it's every bit as dreary and intimidating as he remembered.

"We're here," he announces brightly, as opens the door with a bit of magic.

"My room?!" she balks, with all the air of an indignant princess, and yes, this will do the trick quite nicely.

"Well it sounds a lot nicer than dungeon." He grabs her arm just a little too tightly, shoves her through the door just a little too roughly, shuts it with a satisfying thud, and lets her hear his maniacal laughter as he leaves, just for good measure. As he walks away, leaving her pounding her little fists on the door, he finally hears a note of panic and fear in her voice. About bloody time.

When he is out of earshot, he transports to his workroom in the tower, weariness and an unfamiliar worry settling into his bones. He needs to think, to figure out just what the hell he's gotten himself into, and what he needs to do now.

He slumps down in the nearest chair, and stares through the window at the night sky. He doesn't have the energy to spin, much less do anything else. The flood of unfamiliar emotions from his lifeless heart is nearly enough to overwhelm him – he is so very lonely, always, even on days when he is too wrapped up in other things to notice it. And as terrible as the idea seems to be at the moment, he is so twistedly happy to have her here, to have a little another living being around the castle. The very thought of it is enough to quell the sickening loneliness to a bearable level.

Even so, he has no earthly clue what to do with her. He barely knows how to handle a woman, and he hasn't had a servant since the last one he killed, since he upset Bae so terribly. But a woman who is to be both his servant, his captive, but also his companion – he doesn't even know where to start. He has never had anyone else in the castle, or otherwise under his control, save for the harmless infants he deals for. He has never had anyone he needed to control at all times, no one to do his bidding except for holding up their end of a deal, and that is always over as fast as they can possibly manage. They never came this close, never invaded his space, his home. Not a one of them posed nearly as great of a threat as she does, being this close to him, and sure to learn everything about him as time goes on. He should feel more comfortable in his own home, his own territory, but instead of giving him the advantage, it feels like his entire mind and home have been invaded.

It doesn't help matters any that she is not acting at all like he expected her to, like anyone else would, like everyone else has. It was foolish of him not to notice it in the war room, not to notice that she hasn't behaved as expected from the moment he laid eyes on her. He shouldn't be at all surprised by her now, and he berates himself for being so foolish and short-sighted, for giving in to his desperation. If there is one thing he knows, it's that desperation is a dangerous thing.

He wonders if he hasn't made a grave mistake, if he might come to regret this decision very soon. But, as reluctant as he is, he can't very well go back on the deal now, can he? No, there is a way to bring the balance of power back to him, to maintain control of her and the situation. There always is. He only needs to think, and process everything and come up with a strategy, and figure things out. He needs to figure her out.

Yes, by morning, he will have something worked out, some way to get her right where he wants her and keep her there, a way to make sure the relationship goes exactly as he wants it to, and doesn't bring any surprises.