Belle slept poorly that night, all her excitement for the events of the day preventing her from closing an eye. She felt it in the butterflies raiding her stomach, in the warmth of her cheeks and the obnoxious heaviness of blankets, felt it radiating off of her and sneaking out of her chambers to seep into ever brick of the castle, into every book in her library and every drop of their wine. It changed the world around her, made it brighter and there, and filled her heart with hopes, her head with thoughts of again and more. And when she finally, stubbornly, managed to close her eyes, it also sneaked into her dreams and mingled with all too present fears and long forgotten plans to show her glimpses into the past and various outcomes for her future. In lesser words, it was the best bad night's sleep Belle has ever had.
The following day Belle spent barricaded inside the library, digging up every tome she could find that spoke of the Dark One and ending up rather displeased with what she'd found, for neither depiction of him felt truly accurate.
The clerical books described him as evil incarnate, a malevolent imp from whose sinister ways anyone who had ever had the misfortune of dealing with had to be cleansed. Belle skimmed through those pages, unconvinced that evil was to be fought with a greater evil.
The castle's library was sparse on books regarding magic, and the couple that Belle did manage to find mostly referred to fairy magic, the counterpoint to Rumplestiltskin's. It was why Belle was most surprised when, in one of them, she spotted a note written in the smallest of letters about how the Dark One was to be summoned; apparently, incanting his name three times was far more efficient than wailing into one's own misery, which was the common way of summoning the fairies. Belle also found mentions of objects such as mirrors, slippers and beans that could easily act as portals within or between realms, but none of the recollections bore any resemblance to what she had witnessed the other day.
The historical books seemed to Belle to be the most reliable. They treated the ill repute of the Dark One as something universally acknowledged, and proceeded to merely register his apparitions throughout kingdoms and centuries. He was often depicted as interfering with the course of wars and the policies of kingdoms, though the reasons for his support for one party or the other always remained a mystery.
The oldest entry that bore Rumplestiltskin's name was also the one that most touched Belle. It spoke of how he had stopped the First Ogre War - the one that had lasted for more than fourteen years and whose casualties were ever so severe that they ended up bringing children to the battlefield -, and of how he had led those children home.
Then came innumerable stories of Rumplestiltskin causing mischief here and there, trading for babes, striking his nefarious deals that most often than not left the people who summoned him with less than they had originally possessed. He could make people dance on his golden threads without them ever noticing, this Rumpelstiltskin. He could spot weakness like no other, have it grow as a weed inside the souls of the desperate while his alluring words would promise them to mend it. He always warned on the price of his magic, however, but it seemed that very few took the time to ponder on it or inquire about what that price actually was.
By the time evening fell again, Belle was at least feeling a little closer to understanding why Rumplestiltskin seemed impossible to understand. He had met so many men, played a different character for each of them, layered himself so much that he ended up losing himself, losing who he had once been. But that man was still there, layers of scales, skin and soul deep, the man who had saved a thousand children from certain, horrifying death. She would start trying to understand him from there. But she would start… tomorrow.
Exhausted, Belle decided to excuse herself from dinner and Gaston's company on counts of an imaginary headache, which turned into an all too real one the moment she found herself alone in her chambers and trying to fall asleep. It wasn't new to her - spending an entire day reading did take its toll on her sometimes -, it was just… annoying.
After a couple of hours of tossing and turning and not managing anything but entangling herself further in the bedclothes, Belle huffs and sneaks out of her room. She makes her way to the kitchens, not a single soul around to lecture her on how improper it is when she does not call upon her maids in the middle of the night or when she traverses the castle's corridors in nothing but her nightgown - that, Belle concedes, she hasn't thought through. But she has made it to the kitchens undisturbed, and so she merrily puts a kettle on the stove, and soon enough she has fetched herself a nice, steaming cup of tea. Belle scurries back to her room, porcelain warm in her hands, pleased with at least this small adventure and the absence of any watchful eye of guard or maid to spoil it. A princess fetching herself her own cup of tea, how rebellious… Belle is just about to let out a self-deprecating laugh when she opens the door to her room and, as light falls upon her, she spots something in her tea. No, not something, someone.
"Rumplestiltskin!" She shrieks, and there is no way to hide the contentment in her voice.
Her shock at seeing him again so soon is short-lived, quickly making way to cheerfulness, but her clumsiness surely isn't, and as she rushes inside the room, she winces when her cup and then her shoulder collide with the door frame. She doesn't pay much attention to herself, though, her sole focus on Rumplestiltskin. This time he is seated near a large wheel… The Spinner, the words from her books supply… and yes, it is his spinning wheel, of course.
He too jumps in surprise at her voice, and it takes him several moments before he stares down at his own cup and sees her.
"What are you trying to do, make me prick my finger? That might prove… tedious," he says, but Belle can tell there is no real mortification in his words, mainly… curiosity.
"I'm sorry, I was just so happy to see you", she smiles at him. "The wine was gone, you see… the glass, too… and you said… I just, I thought I might never get to see you again."
"Happy to see me, you say?" His brows furrow, and he seems quite puzzled now, yet Belle is quite delighted.
"Very much so! Don't you see? This means we can communicate! It was not just a one time happenstance!"
"You mean to say I won't be able to get rid of the pesky little thing popping uninvited in my drinks?" Rumplestiltskin wiggles his eyebrows, and Belle wishes for a larger portal so she can throw something at him. A pillow, perhaps?
"Nope," she declares instead, grinning. Rumplestiltskin watches her attentively as she gently cradles her teacup in her hands and cuddles herself back into bed, pulling a stray pin out of her hair.
"What are you doing?" He asks, dumbfounded.
"Just making myself comfortable", Belle says as she leans on her mountain of pillows and pulls the blanket to her lap.
"Comfortable… with a monster in your chambers…"
"There is no monster under my bed, Rumplestiltskin. I checked when I was four," Belle says sternly. She can hear his sigh more than she can see it, and takes it as a small victory.
"Were you spinning straw into gold, like the books about you say?"
"I-I was, yes."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you spin? You probably already have more gold than you could ever spend."
"Indeed I do. Is... is your cup chipped?" Rumplestiltskin suddenly asks, frowning.
"What?"
"Your cup. There's a piece of it missing," he repeats, pointing a finger at her.
"Oh… I might have bumped into the door frame when I came in," Belle says, cheeks aflame.
"Careful not to choke on the chip then, dearie," Rumplestiltskin cackles.
"Oh, shush," Belle says but she can't suppress a snicker of her own. He laughs at that.
"I don't suppose you have a potion against clumsiness," she adds playfully.
"It helps me forget."
"The potion?" Belle frowns.
"Spinning."
"Oh…"
A silent moment passes between them, not uncomfortably. Belle is the one to break the silence.
"How do you take your tea, Rumplestiltskin? It is tea what you're having, right?"
"Just like my soul, dearie. Black," he grins at her and bends slightly over his own cup.
"I think… two lumps of sugar," Belle counters.
"Nothing about me is sweet, dear, and neither is my tea," he declares, matter-of-factly.
Belle cocks an eyebrow expectantly.
"Three lumps, a spot of milk," Rumplestiltskin says begrudgingly, and Belle giggles.
"So we're having sweetened tea tonight. Together. Deal with it."
Rumplestiltskin blinks once, twice, and purses his lips. He looks at her long moments after that, only looks, strange eyes curious and warmer than before, and Belle finally gets to look at him as well.
There was no one in the remaining sips of her tea, in the dimness of her room to greet Belle good morning. She couldn't tell exactly when she had fallen asleep, but it must have been some time after Rumplestiltskin resumed his spinning. The rhythmic sounds of his wheel lured her into closing her eyes, and when she drifted into peaceful dreams, she knew that any headache had long since been forgotten.
"Rumple…" Belle stops herself at the sight in her cup, the sorcerer with his eyes closed, laying back in an imposing chair, looking every bit as tired and old as the books speak of him.
"I'm awake," comes Rumplestiltskin's too quick reply, and it is quite obvious that his words are slurred with sleep.
"I'm sorry."
"What are you sorry for? I was not sleeping," he assures. "The Dark One doesn't nap."
"Of course he doesn't," says Belle, shaking her head. "What have you been working on that has got you so tired?"
At that, Rumplestiltskin looks at her sharply, and Belle immediately regrets her question. Too intimate, too soon.
"Something evil, dearie," he chirps.
"It's quite dark in there," Belle frowns, trying to peek around his chair and see more of the room he's in.
"It's the Dark Castle, dear, it's supposed to be dark," he says wryly. "Besides, it's past midnight. It's dark where you are, too."
"I think you keep it that dark on purpose. So that no one can peer inside, discover any of your secrets. Is… is it really that late? I lost track of time reading… again," Belle says sheepishly.
"So you did."
"Would you like if I read something to you? Considering it's too dark in your castle to read properly," Belle snickers, and Rumplestiltskin eyes her warily.
"I… I wouldn't object. If you aren't too tired, that is."
"I am not," she smiles.
"What are you doing up there?"
It is Belle's turn to jump in surprise when Rumplestiltskin's voice resounds loud and clear throughout the halls of her library. In her hunt for a very particular book, she has forgotten all about her chipped cup, waiting for her on the table, filled with what has once been hot tea.
"You shouldn't scare me when I'm up on a ladder," she chides gently. "I could have fallen to my demise."
"My apologies, my lady. I shall have the magic remember it."
One early morning, a couple of weeks ago, Belle was rinsing her face in a clear bowl of fresh, cold water only to plunge her hands into the image of Rumplestiltskin, soaking into his own steaming bath. After that… incident, Rumpelstiltskin had promised to look into this magic portal of theirs, and give them some control - and with it, some degree of privacy - over how and when they could speak to one another, so that such kind of situation would not repeat itself. Belle couldn't tell at that time if it was her own reflection in the water of if Rumpestiltskin had actually blushed underneath his scales. What he did then was to restrict the magic, so that only Belle's chipped cup and a cup of his own would act as a portal between them.
"Well, now that you are here, maybe you could help me find a book? I've been looking for it all morning, it must be around here somewhere."
"What book, my dear?"
"Her Handsome Hero. It's about a magic castle, a prince in disguise, and…"
"Oh, I think you are better off without that one, dear," Rumplestiltskin scoffs. "You know, I could maybe suggest some other books to you… I have a rather large library, after all" he grins.
"You do?" Belle's eyes lit up. "Do tell me more!"
They spend that entire afternoon together, well, with Rumplestiltskin pacing through his own library, pointing to one book or another, and Belle catching glimpses of them all in her cup. He has books littered everywhere, scattered upon the floor, open or interlaced with another, stacks holding each other upright, and the room itself seems enormous, the largest and, surprisingly, brightest room Belle has ever seen.
He keeps moving past different sections of his library, and Belle finds herself wishing that she could be there, with him. She doesn't dwell on this new and a bit alarming feeling, instead rejoices in the content look upon Rumplestiltskin's face. He seems at peace, and quite pleased with himself, and for some reason, that pleases Belle, too.
Eventually he has to leave her - something about a magic wand and a nuisance he has to dispel from his castle -, and Belle, in the most private corner of her heart, wishes she could be there with him for that, too.
But when the time comes for her to suffer through yet another dinner with Gaston, she finds that she doesn't have to, that he will not be there and soon he, nor she, will be anywhere at all. News from the battlefield come, and the war council meets. Avonlea has fallen, and with it, their last hope of repelling an Ogre's attack.
"Belle?" Comes the tentative voice of Rumplestiltskin and she nearly breaks a toe in rushing to her cup. It's residing in its usual place on her nightstand, the place it has occupied for the past couple of months.
"Hey," Belle whispers.
"Hey," he replies, and there's that smile again, that extremely small yet immensely warm smile that she has come to think, no, hope, he's reserved just for her.
"You have lovely ceilings, have I told you that before?" He adds playfully, a flourish to his hand.
Belle laughs, but it's weak and watery.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He's suddenly serious, but it's not his menacingly serious look from before. He is compassionate now, and slightly frightened.
Sniffing, Belle tells him all about the Ogres, about how her father and his army are now powerless to stop them, about how they will soon bring ruin and death to her kingdom. To herself. Rumplestiltskin listens, ponders, gives her the most unreadable of glances, and speaks:
"Summon me."
Belle's eyes widen. In all the time they have spent together, she hasn't really thought of Rumplestiltskin as the deal maker. Yes, she has kept that information, and everything else that she had learned from her books, in her mind, but she has also kept all his words, little glances and sweet gestures close to her heart. Now it seems that she must bring together those two halves of him.
"You could…"
"Banish an entire army of Ogres? Gladly," he grins, and Belle's face explodes into a smile of its own accord.
"For a price."
"Oh… of course," Belle says, biting her lip. "And what would your price be, Rumplestiltskin?"
There comes that unreadable look of his again, yet Belle is relieved to realise she's unafraid. She could refuse his deal, she knows, but for some reason she also knows that she will not have to, that his price to her will be fair. She trusts him.
"You," the word catches in his throat, barely a whisper.
She trusts him… but, for the life of her, she has no idea how to respond to that, no idea what it even means… but it seems that her body does, for her knees start trembling and she can feel her cheeks blushing furiously. She has never felt like this, and he is watching her, frozen on the spot and more terrified than she is, waiting for her answer, flexing his fingers nervously at his side, and her heart is pounding so hard that she's afraid it will jump out of her chest and find its way into his, and all of this can only mean one thing, that there is but one answer she can give him. For bravery to follow, she has to do the brave thing first.
"Then you can have me."
Rumplestiltskin's lips part as if he has forgotten how to speak, but she can see it, in the way his posture slightly relaxes and his eyes brighten suspiciously. He wasn't expecting her to agree, and now he is so uncertain in the face of acceptance.
How can he not know how much their time together means to her? And how could she have been unaware of it until now? Unaware that he has made her home more of a home to her than it ever was; that he has been her adventure, the only person in her world she wasn't invisible to, the only one who would listen; that he has helped her find herself. She has wished for future and now he is offering her one, and one for her people as well.
"Good, good thing," he finally says, and it's a small and confused noise in his throat, his eyes so wide that Belle thinks they could easily swallow her whole.
"You will really do this for me?" She asks, her own eyes bright with tears, just like that evening when she has met him for the first time.
"Oh, I rather think I'm doing it for me, Belle. You see, I've grown quite used to having someone's company. To having you keep me company. To being… not unhappy."
"Would you share a drink with me?" Belle suddenly asks. "A toast. For… for the future. For our future?" She smiles and raises her chipped cup in her hands.
"For our future," he rasps, his voice warm and trembling as he raises his own cup to his lips.
And they both take a sip of their tea. An almost kiss.
That night Belle retires to her chamber brimming of wonder, the grin on her face not fading once as she takes her bath and slips into her nightgown. Putting out the only candle's flickering flame and gently caressing her chipped cup, she slips into bed, cuddling her pillow under the heavy wool blankets. All she can think of, as her eyes slowly drift shut, is that tomorrow they will summon Rumplestiltskin, that he would come to help them win the war against the Ogres, and then she and her little chipped cup will embark on a new adventure. She couldn't be happier with what Rumplestiltskin has chosen as his price. She cannot wait for their deal to be struck.