Rumple materializes in the Dark Castle striding through the great hall, shrugging off his long spiked leather coat, tossing it haphazardly onto the large table in the center of the room. There was a time he would have scolded Bae for tossing his clothes in such a careless way, but it isn't as though he can expect to have dinner company. Hence, this is where his coat lands as he determinedly makes his way to his spinning wheel. He needs to forget what he felt in the last minutes. There is a weakness in him which he cannot abide, so he spins – and spins. Shades of dark brown, amber, and umber swirl in a visual symphony as he watches the wheel. His movements become more erratic with every turn, and all he can see is her iolite eyes looking at him expectantly.
"Who is she to expect something from me? I healed her. Isn't that enough?!"
The wheel wobbles as he jerks his hand back realizing he somehow managed to get his fingers tangled in the golden cord he's spun. "That's never happened before. What in the Hell did she do to me?!"
As he disentangles himself, he wonders if he's truly that lonely to be undone by a chance encounter with a random animal. "Pathetic!" Still, something tells him this isn't a random animal. There is something extraordinary about the creature he encountered. He decides eradicating her memory via spinning is a fruitless effort tonight. Thus, he opts for drinking some warm milk and hoping to sleep her away. At some point in the wee hours, his blanket ends up hurled across his bedchamber in a fit of rage worthy of a two year old. He can't seem to find a comfortable position in which to rest. His pillow feels scratchy and his mattress feels lumpy – both of which he rationally knows are not true, yet rational thought left him hours ago.
The first rays of daylight filter into the room, and Rumplestiltskin grumbles as he gets out of bed and his feet touch the frigid floor. Being the Dark One typically means being impervious to exhaustion from a missed night's sleep, yet he's tired – tired and agitated. An incredibly strong cup of tea is his next logical step. He recalls the spinster ladies, who raised him after his father's abandonment, were quite sure that a cup of tea could sooth most ails of the world. However, on the way to get his tea, he feels something is amiss with the castle. He questions whether his irritable energy is impacting the magic surrounding the castle – not that a foul mood has ever done so before. He's drawn to the castle door.
Assuming his feeling is based in the desire for fresh air, he opens the door, simultaneously breathing in the crisp chilled air as he views the snowy mountains painted with shades of orange and gold, and the sky is infused with brilliant blues and purples from the ascending sun. He nearly chokes on the exhale as his eyes drift down to see a panther – his she-panther lying on his doorstep looking yet more wary than even he feels.
"You expect that you can just show up uninvited, and I'll let you in?" He tries and fails to keep a tone of relief from his voice. She stretches pressing the front of her torso to the ground while hoisting her hindquarters in the air swinging her tail back and forth.
"Alright, in you go. I supposed formal introductions are in order. Rrrumplestiltskin, at your service." He bows dramatically with a sweep of his arm and quips, "I'd eat my boots if you could ever say my name."
After she enters looking studiously at her new surroundings, he instructs, "Now, let me make one thing perfectly clear. You do your business outside. This door will let you in and out at will. I have no intention of cleaning up your droppings. The Dark One is not a scat scooper!"
The feline's jaw goes slack as if she is mortified by this conversation. The end of her tail twitches side to side. Closing her mouth, he could swear she nods in the affirmative, and then sticks out her chin, licks her paw and begins using it to wipe her face.
"Preening, are we? Well, that can wait my feline fr.. friend," stumbling over the word which is alien to his experience. "Come with me. It's time for breakfast, and I'd hazard a guess you could use a meal. And I am most definitely not on the menu." She looks insulted by the implication, but follows obediently behind him through the great hall, briefly dawdling by a shelf with books.
"Don't even think about it. Books are not for eating."
There is a look on her features which he can't decipher, but she quickens her pace to keep up with him, and they enter the kitchen. Her nose twitches at the onslaught of appetizing smells. She watches intently as he acquires food items from the ice chest and various cabinets. He watches her from the corner of his eye noting the calculating expression on her face, and says, "You are not to raid supplies on your own." She looks away with a fake look of innocence. Her large tongue swoops out wiping across her whiskers, and she walks the perimeter of the room, then sits by him as he cracks an egg, prepares two sausage links, and cuts a loaf of pumpernickel bread - the scent of rye hanging tantalizingly in the air.
"This is my breakfast." After he places a pan with egg and sausages in it onto the cast iron rack above the hearth, he pours some water in a bowl placing it in front of her, and then reaches for a raw side of boar, putting the pork on a plate next to the bowl on the floor. She looks at the meat like it is alien to her.
"That's what those boars you hunt look like after a human butchers them."
She makes no move towards the uncooked slab of meat, and he sighs in exasperation. He plates his meal and pours himself a cup of tea. He can practically feel her eyes bore into him. After eating a few bites from his meal, he looks at her lost expression. "Oh she's good. My sheepdogs had nothing on her ability to use her beautiful eyes to coax food from me. But I will not be trained to suit her whims."
"No. You are not getting table scraps. You eat what I give you, or you can hunt for your own meal outside like any self-respecting panther."
Dejected, she sniffs her meat looking rather disgusted. After another couple of minutes, she takes an experimental bite of the boar and looks distinctly like she might vomit. He tries not to worry over her, but is at the ready should her meal make a return visit. She makes a few more tentative bites and seems to tolerate them better. Whatever apprehension she has melts away in favor of satisfying her hunger, and she takes ever more hardy bites with her crushing jaws, and she wraps her massive paw around the bone to hold it in place.
"That's my girrrl." She looks up licking her whiskers to savor every morsel. Popping the last bite of buttered pumpernickel into his mouth, he reaches down to scratch her broad brow, and she nuzzles his hand in appreciation.
"You know, it occurs to me, I should give you a name if you're going to be a regular fixture in my castle." Her heavily lidded iolite eyes gaze lazily at his large amber eyes as he continues to massage her scalp. "Well, m'dear, what should I call you?"
Pressing a finger from his free hand to his chin staring out the window in contemplation as the she-panther licks and sucks the fingers of his other hand. He looks back at her eyes which have been seared in his brain since they met.
"I shall call you, Ios, in honor of your lovely eyes. Does that meet with the lady's approval?"
Upon his announcement, she looks at him with an expression he assesses as sentimental gratitude. While he knows better than anyone the power of names, bestowing a name on her is merely a simple act of respect since he doesn't know her real name in 'Pantherese.'Regardless of it not being a grand gesture – indeed, it only took a few moments while at breakfast, she seems to have more regard for this gift of a name than all the people for whom he's secured enviable futures with his deals – "Or even the few women in my lifetime who've feigned affection for me."The notion that he just compared this large feline to human women makes his eyes go large and shift about the room. Trepidation implores him to create space between he and his new house-guest. He pulls his hand away and jolts out of his seat. He finds he suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. He opens them wide appearing ready to make some lordly declaration, then dropping them to his side feeling the leather of his pants beneath his fingertips wishing his form-fitting britches had pockets into which to shove his gangly appendages, and finally folding his arms pinning his hands against him.
"I have things to do," the edge to his voice evident. "I can't spend my day gabbing to you. Feel free to roam around thisfloor of the castle. Magic will prevent you from going anywhere dangerous." Unceremoniously vanishing only to re-materialize in his tower feeling like a damn fool, he wonders why he feels so discombobulated. Her brow furrows in consternation causing ripples across her fur which reflects the sea of emotions she's experienced in recent days. A mournful sound rattles from the back of her throat. Ios moves forward tiredly deciding to get acquainted with her new surroundings.
When Rumplestiltskin pulls himself away from his tower around mid-afternoon, instead of magically transporting himself to the kitchen, he walks wearily through the corridors contemplating whether Ios may have come to the realization that a castle is not appropriate residence for a panther and left. He takes in the empty kitchen with only her used plate and bowl on the floor marking her existence. He sighs getting the teapot ready. He knows Ios may be elsewhere exploring the castle, but he also knows she may well have gone. For the life of him, he can't suss out how he feels about that. Part of him feels that is as it should be. Panthers are meant to run free, and his multitude of machinations certainly don't need a wild animal under foot – no matter how domesticated she may seem. Regardless, the prospect of never seeing her again simply doesn't set right with him for reasons he'd prefer not to scrutinize. He enters the great hall to see Ios lying by the fireplace rather forcefully pushing her tongue into the webbing of her paw in an effort to clean herself. The corners of his mouth ascend to greet his cheeks feeling a giddiness at the sight of her. Watching her diligently cleanse her digits, he notes he is glad to have a comfortable bathtub for himself to attend to such maintenance.
"Cleanliness is next to godliness, eh?"
She whips around to see him looking almost embarrassed. "Do panthers blush?"
He finds he cherishes her dainty qualities which belie a body that could rip a man to shreds given the right provocation. Steam wafts upward from the teapot as he pours the liquid which resembles the color of dark henna. As he stirs in a bit of honey, he notices Ios has migrated to the table with a needy look in her eyes. Before he can stop her, she's on her hind-legs front paws pressing demanding against the table top, her head jutting forward as her tongue darts out to lick the rim of the cup where a bit of sweetened tea beaded on the edge. The cup is knocked from his hand and clatters to the table. She looks as shocked as he is. Her countenance battles between guilt and desire, then a decision is made, and she attempts to lick up the tea spattered and puddling on the wood.
"No!"
She promptly jerks herself back to a sitting position with her head hanging low. He wonders what on earth possessed her to want tea so desperately, then reason takes hold and he remembers he's dealing with an animal who acts upon her senses, and the tea does smell alluring.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I don't know if this will make you sick. Besides, your paws are hardly designed to accommodate a tea cup."
It is then that both panther and Dark One look at the tea cup suddenly aware it's been chipped. Her jaw goes slack and her eyes water, and she uneasily steps forward to rub her head against his thigh.
He strokes between the ears and says, "It's just a cup. Nothing to fret about, darling." "'Darling'? What's happening to me?"
As he continues to scratch her head and relief washes over her body, he makes a decision and carefully plucks a hair from her, hoping to do so without causing her discomfort. Judging my the way she leans into him, he assumes his effort to be a success. After using magic to send the hair to his tower, he glides his hand sideways from her brow down the side of her face to cup her chin. She looks so contented that he has trouble finding the motivation to leave, but there is work to do. He kneels down to her eye level, and softly says, "Ios, I have some things I must do now. I'll see you again at dinner," unsure whether she could understand, yet with the nagging suspicion that she understands more than he knows. He walks out the double doors on his way to his tower workshop.
She stretches her neck to raise her head enough to see the table has been magically cleaned, and as she is about to step forward, she discovers on the floor in front of her is some meat and a bowl of water. After she's satisfied herself, Ios goes to lay by the spinning wheel which smells of him.
Rumplestiltskin retrieves a small vial from the oak cabinet behind his work table and places the panther hair inside, and then sets it into a carved stone stand while he grabs a small knife. Pressing the point of the blade into his index finger tip enough to summon blood to bead up to the surface, he squeezes his finger over the vial until the drop of blood descends. He watches as the blood slowly mingles with the panther hair. He close his eyes propelling magic into the vial. This will tell him if she has ill intent towards him. His eyes remain closed a moment more as latent anxiety percolates in his mind. A sickly pea soup green is the color he fears seeing, meaning his instincts about her are wrong. His lids glide open as he breathes deep. A cheek splitting grin spreads across his face as he sees a cool blue reminiscent of refreshing seas. He's surprised by how much he finds himself smiling today. Without thinking, he kisses the vial in celebration – feeling silly a moment later at his sentimental display. He puts the vial on an adjacent shelf as he proceeds to commence with other tasks of the day, unaware the contents of the vial have begun to swirl with the hue shifting to an iridescent purple.
Entering the great hall at dinner time, Rumplestiltskin is momentarily deflated to see Ios is not there. Disappointment barely has time to register as the she-panther ambles into the room with the tell-tale signs of a frosty extroversion. The pearly snowflakes dusting her black fur quickly dissolve in the heat. As she listlessly walks further into the great hall, he notes her exhaustion.
"Have you slept at all since last night?" He internally chastises himself, "Why are you talking to her like she's human? Do you expect her to reply?" Looking at her bleary eyes, "You should sleep when dinner is over," and he feels a palpable anxiety vibrate through her.
"Yes, well, dinner is served, madam."
Ios begins to eat as she stands to the right side of his chair and wobbles occasionally, eventually leaning her body against the table leg. Dinner is far less eventful than tea time, if in no small part due to the Dark One's dinner companion nodding off periodically. After dinner, he goes to spin for a while, and close at his side is the she-panther whose head intermittently bobs as her eyes start to close, only to have her head to jerk up defiantly waking herself.
"M'dear, you're putting up a valiant fight against the Sand Man, but he always wins – unless you're the Dark One, and that job is already taken." Ios briefly opens her eyes wide in an attempt to appear attentive, and he chuckles, "My son, Bae, used to do that all the time. 'Papa, I'm not tired,' he'd say then he'd be out like a light before his wee head hit the pillow."
Rumplestiltskin is startled to realize he's spoken about Bae for the first time in centuries. However, he quickly calms himself with the thought of his test of her hair and knowing a panther, no matter how bright, could not make use of such information. It feels good to talk about Bae without the expectation of recrimination about their final minutes together. Noting the intrigue in her eyes after the mention of his son, he chalks it up to coincidence or something pleasant in his vocal tone when he talks about his son, and he begins to regale Ios with the tale of Bae, his mud pies, and Milah's favorite shoes turned shovel for a four year old. He laughs hardily recalling the look on Milah's sour face. Then he finds himself telling her another story and another. In time, he feels a warm weight on his knee and looks down to see she has her chin resting on his knee and her eyelids barely open. He strokes her head, kneading the fur behind her ears.
Softly he says, "The Sand Man is winning. It's time for bed, dear Ios." He stands up and starts walking toward the double doors, and she trots awkwardly after him. "Ah, ah, ah, I'm going to my bed, but you sleep in here." She seems surprisingly determined to follow despite barely being awake enough to stand. "There is a cozy plush rug by the fire that should serve you well. Good night, sweetheart." He leaves and she paces the room still trying to fight the inevitable, but then she lies on the rug uneasy about closing her eyes. Soon, exhaustion forces her hand – paw, and she drifts to sleep.
Author's Note: To answer some questions, the panther idea popped in my head last weekend. I've always had a fascination for panthers. When I was in college, I wrote a poem titled "Panther" which was chosen for publication in the annual college literary magazine, and before we started dating, my eventual husband bought me a ceramic black panther for my birthday. It's definitely a new challenge writing Belle with animal qualities, but it's given me the excuse to watch a lot of panther videos on YouTube. The next chapter has some of Ios' point of view and back story. Thank you for all the favorites, follows and reviews, they are appreciated. Guest reviews are welcome. Enjoy your weekend.