Title: A Price To Be Paid
Rating: T
Word count: ~107,300
Characters: Belle, Rumplestiltskin, minor appearances from Maurice, Gaston, Regina, and sundry original characters.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from 'Once Upon A Time' does not belong to me.
It is not easy, trying to tell her father what she has done. She's managed to get him alone, at least, which means she can break the news to him without having to deal with the reactions of his advisors, his friends.
She kneels at his side and holds his hands in hers. She can't look at him, speaks to his knees as she explains what she's done, the deal she's made. The price that was asked.
There is silence for long moments when she's finished, and he holds her hands tightly, so tightly it almost hurts. When he speaks, he sounds more broken than she has ever heard him. Heart-broken, and it makes her want to cry.
"Belle," he says. "Oh my sweet Belle."
"It's done," she says, dull and tired – so tired, because she barely slept after Rumplestiltskin left her, had spent the long hours until dawn in bed but too restless to sleep. She must try to sleep, tonight and the next night, even if she has to go to the apothecary and ask for a sleeping draught. She will need to be strong, to face her new life.
"You shouldn't have done it," her father whispers, agonised. "You shouldn't have to pay any price for this war."
"Everyone else is paying for it," she says, curt suddenly. "Do you think I am protected by the castle walls? If the ogres come, they'll kill me as if I were anybody else." He flinches, tugs his hands from hers, and Belle sighs. "I'm sorry, Papa," she says, and means it. "But…it had to be done. And the village will be safe, now."
"Only if you keep your deal," he says. "You don't have to, Belle – we can find a way out for you. You're already engaged, after all."
"No."
Maurice lifts a hand, covers his eyes. He's silent, and Belle looks up at him, waits for him to process her answer. She has no intention of trying to break the deal she's made. She will not try to trick or deceive Rumplestiltskin. She will not run from him. At sunset in three days, she will be ready to go with him as his bride.
He sighs, drops his hand into his lap. "It's done," he says. "I wish…but if it's done, it's done." He reaches out to her, strokes her hair back from her face. "My poor girl. You should have had so much better."
Belle thinks of Gaston, and wonders whether her father thinks Gaston is better than Rumplestiltskin. Perhaps he is; she doesn't know the deal-maker well enough to know that, yet. But somehow she thinks Rumplestiltskin has a measure of respect for her that Gaston seems to lack, and respect is something many wives do not have.
It will be something to treasure, if it's true. If it is true, for Belle knows she may be hoping and wishing for something good to come out of this deal she's made.
Then she reprimands herself; it will be enough to know that her people are safe. That is all she can ask for, and it will be enough, even if she has to remind herself of it every day for the rest of her life.
"I don't…I don't know what women need, for marriage," says Maurice then, hesitant and a little afraid. "If your mother were here…" He trails off, and they share their grief for a moment. It has been long years since she died, but Belle's mother is a constant absence, a constant ache in their hearts.
"I will ask Laura Cooper," she says at last. "She is a good friend. She will help me."
Maurice nods, wearied and grief-stricken. "Go, then," he says. "Make whatever preparations are necessary. I…I will tell the council, and Sir Gaston." Belle nods, rises and shakes her skirts out, and he stands up too, surprises her with a hand on her shoulder. "Belle," he says, "if I could change this fate for you, I would. But…I am proud of you. And I think your mother would be too."
There's a lump in her throat and tears stinging at her eyes, but Belle refuses to cry, refuses to be so weak when she knows she can be braver than that.
"Thank you, Papa," she manages. "I hope she…" But she can't finish her sentence, and Maurice lifts his hand, turns away from her as if he can't bear to look at her any longer. Belle doesn't blame him; he has lost his wife, and now he will lose his daughter. But she has saved the village, and she knows eventually that will be a comfort for him.
She goes through the castle and keeps her head down, avoids meeting anybody's eyes, even though nobody knows the deal she has struck, not yet. Soon enough the word will spread, and people will be afraid for her, she knows. People will cry and shout and protest, because although Belle is not vain, she knows she is well-liked by the people who live and work in the castle, and further afield in the village.
Laura Cooper is the wife of a tradesman in the village, daughter to the woman who cared for Belle when her mother died, and Belle's oldest and closest friend after her father. Some years older than Belle, she has three children and a fourth on the way. Her daughter is barely four, the twins just two and barely toddling, but when Belle arrives at their cottage, Laura looks at her and sends the children outside.
"Tell me," she commands, and sets Belle to kneading dough for bread while she talks. Belle is weary of the story already, but she tells it, explains how she called for Rumplestiltskin and the deal he struck with her. She asks for help, and Laura, who knows Belle well and knows all that Belle has hated and feared for her future, agrees at once.
"You have your trousseau," she says, soft now, gentle. Belle nods; she has been sewing linens for years, finishing the work her mother had started before she died. Sheets and tablecloths and fine undergarments. Rumplestiltskin has not asked for a dowry, but Belle will take with her the things she has prepared for her marriage. "But no wedding dress."
Belle shrugs her shoulders, shapes the dough into a round loaf. "I do not think he is interested in a wedding," she says. "I am the price he exacted." Laura purses her lips, brings her a paddle to put the dough onto and then takes it to the bread oven.
"Perhaps not a wedding," she says. "But there are things all men are interested in." Belle tries not to blush, because this is why she has come to Laura, after all. "He'll like to see you looking nice."
"He's not a man," Belle tries to claim. "He's…you know what he is." But he walks like a man, and talks like one, and Belle knows what will be expected of her as a wife. If he does not take her to bed, she wonders, would that invalidate their deal? Quite possibly.
"I know." Laura is silent then, stands still with her back to Belle. Her hands are on her hips, her head lowered. Belle brushes flour from her hands and wonders whether Laura is right, whether Rumplestiltskin would have her dressed appropriately when he comes to collect her.
"I have my mother's wedding dress," she says at last. "It would need altering – she was taller than I am."
"Altering is easier than trying to make a dress from scratch," Laura agrees, and she turns now, her eyes sad even as her mouth smiles. "And it's fitting, I think. Your mother…she was a good woman." Belle nods. Her mother was the best of women, and Belle hopes she can one day be something like her.
"How will he marry you?" Laura asks then, her voice soft again, and she comes to sit at the table, reaches out and takes Belle's hand. "I don't think the clerics would…"
"No." Belle looks down at their joined hands. Laura's hands are work-roughened, and her own are smoother, paler than her friend's. "The old way, I suppose," she manages. She will make a vow to be his, in front of witnesses, and he will give her a ring. It's simple enough, and it will make her his wife.
"And after?"
"I don't know." Belle closes her eyes. "I don't know what he wants from me. I don't know where he lives. I doubt I shall ever come back here. I –" I'm scared, she wants to say, but she can't allow herself to admit it, not even to Laura. She has chosen this fate, and she will save the village. She must be brave, she must lock away all fear deep inside her heart and never let it out.
She thinks he would think less of her, if he knew how afraid she is. But then, he must expect it; he must know that she will be afraid. And why, she wonders, should it matter what he thinks of her? But it does matter, it will matter. She will be his wife for the rest of her life, and it matters what he thinks of her, because she must make the best of the situation. She must learn to be his companion, and to please him.
That is her duty, now.
"You say he is not truly a man," Laura says slowly. "But if he is a man, or enough of a man, there are things…" Things Belle must know; that is why she has come here. If her mother were alive, Belle would go to her and would somehow have to find the words to ask about the things she must know as a wife. But her mother is dead, and Laura is a good friend. She will tell Belle what she needs to know.
"Yes," she says, and pulls her hand from Laura's, clasps her hands tightly together in her lap. "Will you tell me?"
Laura sighs, looks weary for a moment. "Some men are kind," she says, blunt and unsparing. "Some men take care that it will not hurt much. The first time always hurts, though." Belle is blushing, her cheeks burning, and she drops her gaze to the table top. "There's pleasure too, if…if the man is kind."
Belle swallows, reminds herself that she cannot be afraid. "And…if he's not kind?" she asks, a barely-audible whisper, because her husband will be Rumplestiltskin and he is…not known for being kind. He has shown her generosity, it's true – he did not have to give her these three days to say her farewells and pack up her belongings. But he's not known for his kindness.
Laura hesitates. "My mother told me," she says at last, "that there are three kinds of men. Those who are kind, and considerate of their wives. My Thomas, thank the gods, is one of those. There are men who are inconsiderate, but not malicious. They need to be taught to be kind and gentle, but they can be taught, if their wives are patient and understand that they do not…mean to be unkind."
"And the third kind of man?"
"The third kind of man will never learn, and cannot be taught. They…men like that can be cruel." Laura shakes her head. "You know those men, Belle. They consider their wives property and nothing more. With them there is always pain, and no pleasure. That is what my mother told me."
Belle thinks of Gaston, and she shudders. Gaston would be one of those, she thinks, because he looks at her as if she is a pretty, decorative thing who will belong to him once they are wed. Rumplestiltskin had not looked at her like that, but Belle knows she cannot hope to know what kind of man he is from one brief meeting.
"Belle," Laura whispers, "are you sure about this? Is there no way to break the deal?"
"I gave my word," says Belle, and she looks up at Laura, hopes her resolve shows on her face. "I gave my word, Laura. I won't break the deal. No matter what kind of a man he is."
Laura looks helpless, shakes her head and lifts a hand to cover her mouth for a moment. "Oh, Belle," she says. "You are far, far too good."
"The people will be safe," Belle says. "That's all that matters." She thinks about the people she's seen in the infirmary, thinks about the people who have died in her arms as she tries to comfort them. She cannot stop the war, cannot keep the world safe, but she can keep this village safe, and it is her duty to do whatever it takes to achieve that.
"What else?" she asks. "What else must I know?"
Laura sighs, shakes her head again. "Without knowing him, I'm not sure what to say," she says. "My mother told me that some men always want to bed their wives, and others do not. But I cannot tell you which he will be. I can tell you that childbirth hurts, and what herbs to use to ease it." Belle nods; if Rumplestiltskin is man enough to take her to his bed, he will surely be man enough to create a child.
"Tell me…tell me not to be afraid," she whispers. "Tell me how not to be afraid, Laura?" Her chin trembles with the force of the tears that are trying to fall, and Laura stands up, comes around the table and folds Belle into her arms.
"Oh, my dear," she murmurs. "My dear." She holds Belle tightly and Belle clings to her, clings to her as she would cling to her mother if she was here. Belle has made the only decision she is able to make, and she has saved her village, but she is afraid.
She is so afraid.
"You're so brave, Belle," Laura says, a fierce whisper. "We will never forget what you've done for us, and the price you've paid. Never. I promise you."
Belle nods, and the thought gives her more comfort than she thought it would. Then Laura releases her, and Belle pulls a handkerchief from her sleeve, wipes her eyes.
"I must get back," she says. "Papa will have told everyone, and…and I must find the dress. And begin to pack, I suppose."
"Three days, you said," Laura says. "I – I'll find someone to look after the children, tomorrow. I'll come and help you." She takes Belle's hand, clutches it tightly. "We'll talk more then," she promises. "Oh, Belle."
"It will be alright," Belle says. "It has to be."
Laura nods. "Yes," she says, serious and solemn. "Yes. If…if this is to be your life, you must make it be alright, Belle. Don't fade away. I've seen women fade away with a husband they didn't choose." Her grip on Belle's hand is painfully tight. "Don't let it happen to you," she says.
Belle nods, thinks of what her future might have been with Gaston. Every day would have been the same, every night would have been an ordeal. She would have spent the years bearing children until she could bear no more, or died bringing them into the world. There would have been no love, for Gaston has never spoken of love and she knows herself well enough to know she could never love him.
There will be no love with Rumplestiltskin, but whilst the uncertainty is frightening, she thinks it may be easier to bear, to be married to someone who already knows her well enough to know what she least wants to give.
Laura is right; she must make her life as bearable as possible, because she is her mother's daughter. She has sacrificed her future for her people, as her mother had taught her to do if it was necessary, and she must make it alright, somehow.