A/N: This is another pretty long chapter, but I'm having a good time writing this story so far. I hope everyone else enjoys it as well. I want to thank those that have been kind enough to leave reviews: DragonRose4, beverlie4055, orthankg1, riverrunner11, El loopy, CosPalp, and 1994omi.
"Welcome home, Princess," the imp drawled, bowing gracefully before her.
The words seared into Emma's brain like poisonous fangs and from there her nerves turned to coils of ice. She surveyed the magnificent entrance hall of the castle with new eyes, wondering how someone like Rumpelstiltskin had acquired it.
Was it magic alone? A deal that worked in his favor?
He had extended an invitation of his home to her. Did that mean he intended to keep her here? As a personal maid or a prisoner? You must have heard the rumors. I am a man that grants-and demands-the most unholy of requests. That was what he told her, back in the mines. Was this his way of proving to her that he could assume the role of the beast? By bringing her here and imprisoning her?
Surely the panic was written plainly on her face. She took a step back, toward the door.
"Settle down, dearie. That one was a quip." Anger and irritation blended and burned away the ice clinging to her nerves. Blood pooled in the apples of her cheeks. "This is my home, not yours. If you wish to call it your own, you must earn the right."
Instantly one of his eerie lamb-shrieks pierced the air as he whirled and led her deeper into the castle. She had to wonder if he was hinting at an unnatural union between the two of them or simply the act of her begging. Neither option appealed to her. Besides, she had her own castle, one that wasn't so...gloomy.
"Home," she repeated skeptically, taking in every fine detail that passed her by. How many years had Rumpelstiltskin haunted these halls, living alone in the shadows? It was only a step up from the mines in terms of comfort.
Rumpelstiltskin didn't seem to mind it. He was eager to show off his fancy living quarters.
"Yes, home," he replied impatiently. "You know, the place to which you return after a tiring day. The place where you're free to be yourself, to kick off your soiled boots." With a flick of his hand, Emma was startled to find that they were barefoot. The floors were painfully cold beneath her feet. There would be no fleeing now, unless she wanted to trudge barefoot through the snow. "The place where you prop your feet up in front of a roaring fire." His R's rolled beautifully off his sharp tongue. Another flick of his wrist and every torch in the hallway burst to life with flame. He paused at the end of one long corridor, his hand pressing against the wood of one door. "The place where you..."
His velvety voice trailed off, his brow wrinkling. She had not yet seen him at a loss for words.
"The place where you're surrounded by family, by those who love you unconditionally regardless of your flaws. The place where you're supposed to find happiness," she finished for him. The crease in his brow deepened, his golden eyes glazed with troubled thought.
"Yes. Let's go with that," he said, though his enthusiasm had soured.
"I know what home is," she said crossly. Rumpelstiltskin had been about to open that door, but he turned with a fresh challenge to present to her. He didn't look like he believed any word she said.
"Oh, really? You know what home is. Then why, oh why, are you running away from it so desperately? Are you certain the only reason is twoo wuv?" He clucked his tongue to scold her, as though she were a foolish child.
Emma balled her fists. It was never a good sign-it meant her anger rose to a dangerous level and she transitioned from words to actions. The boys she used to play with as a child learned early on not to tease her because it would earn them a solid punch to the nose. She never really dropped the habit.
Rumpelstiltskin didn't appear worried.
"I've always had a home. I know I can go back to it whenever I want. I never knew love. Not romantically," she argued.
There had been silly crushes on handsome princes, until she discovered how pompous or boring most of them were. There was a timid kiss or two if someone dared it, but she had never experienced that spark of true love her parents often went on about. They had found it together. Now it was her turn to do the same. She figured she would know it in her heart when she found the man she was meant to be with truly.
"Have you ever loved someone that way?"
It must have been a question that no one asked Rumpelstiltskin very often. Or ever. The golden tint of his skin shifted and lessened, the way someone might lose the color in their face. He stumbled against the door hard enough to crack it open. It was dark inside, like the rest of the castle, and Emma couldn't tell if it was a washroom or a bedroom.
Her gaze flew back to Rumpelstiltskin's face. His eyes widened until they resembled those of a frightened deer, his normally smug mouth quivering.
"A few times...here and there. Truly, only once. None of those encounters ended well," he spoke almost inaudibly. The pain of those memories was evident on his face.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, her head drooping. He was alone in his castle, which meant that anyone he had loved before, he most likely lost. I shouldn't have asked that question, she realized. She had never learned how to filter her thoughts.
How did anyone in this world not believe that this creature could feel love or pain when his emotions warred so heavily across his face? Anger, hurt, regret, longing.
"I didn't mean to rip open old wounds," she continued when he failed to respond. His mouth opened and closed, twisting this way and that. He turned his head and his lanky hair shielded his face. There was a formidable wall between them-Emma didn't know how to break it down.
"What's done is done," he growled and shoved his weight onto the door, pushing it fully open. The acrid smell of ash and age hit her nose. "Right this way," he demanded and slipped inside the room. It was still too dark to see inside, the curtains drawn over the windows, and Emma was reluctant to follow Rumpelstiltskin.
"Where are you leading me?" She asked uncertainly, lingering on the threshold. She didn't bother to raise her voice-she knew he heard her perfectly, even if she whispered.
"The most comfortable room in the castle, of course," his voice floated from the somewhere in the room. There was no trace of coldness in his voice anymore. A small flicker of light appeared, illuminating the shadows. Rumpelstiltskin had lit a candle and now she could tell what sort of room it was. A bedroom. No, not just any bedroom. His bedroom.
Rumpelstiltskin set the candle on a bedside table and crawled atop the bed, stretching out to full length across it. A pleasurable moan escaped his throat.
"That...is...heavenly. Don't be shy," he taunted, beckoning her to step inside. She had never been in another man's bedroom before. It was supposed to be his most private, sacred place. Shared only with the woman he took as his lover or bride.
Emma took a cautionary step forward, with Rumpelstiltskin watching her closely all the while. The drapes were not only drawn, but nailed down. There were dozens of vials, rolls of parchment, and quills cluttering every surface. Pairs of leather boots and leather pants littered the floor. A vase containing one dried-up rose decorated the bedside table, next to the candle.
"So this is your room," she mused. Rumpelstiltskin now had his eyes blissfully closed and she would have thought he was asleep if not for the gentle bobbing of his foot. "We're not supposed to be sleeping. You promised you would help me travel to other worlds."
Rumpelstiltskin held up a finger.
"Yes, I did, and I always keep my word. However, you failed to specify precisely when we would depart on this journey. The only prequisite was breaking me out of my cell. I could make you wait an entire year, but as long as I take you to other worlds eventually, I would stay true to my word. Thank your lucky stars that there's something in it for me."
He didn't clarify what that something was and Emma didn't ask. He had shared enough personal information tonight. Soon she would have to reciprocate. Rumpelstiltskin rolled over on his side and buried his face in his pillow.
"We'll go wherever you want, after I freshen up. I've spent too long in that cold, cramped cell."
There would be no arguing with him. Emma sighed miserably and eyed the other half of his mattress. Had he brought her to his bedroom because he expected her to share it with him? Or was it his way of opening up to her?
"I'd rather sleep in the dungeon," she muttered. Rumpelstiltskin waved his hand toward the door.
"Sleep wherever you wish. I won't force you into my bed, if that's what you're afraid of. Believe it or not, I'm willing to respect your honor. My feet were sore, I missed my own bed, so I came here to rest. You followed. End of story."
Emma was relieved to hear it, but she was strangely bothered by the way he dismissed her so quickly. She started to retrace her steps to the door, hopping over discarded clothes on the way.
"Oh, Emma?"
She stopped halfway to the door, nearly tripping over one of his boots. He hadn't spoken her name since she gave it. It was either dearie or Princess. When she glanced back, he was sitting upright in bed, legs crossed, and watching her carefully, his amber eyes glowing in the candlelight.
"You're free to explore to your heart's content, but a word of warning: do not set foot inside the library. That's where I work on my spells and I don't need you blowing my castle to bits while I snooze."
Emma huffed. Did he really think she was that naive or clumsy? The fact that he strictly forbade it only made her want to find the library first. On the way to the door, she passed an ancient, cream-colored wardrobe and swiped her hand along the front. Her fingers came away streaked with gray dust.
"You could really use a woman's touch around here," she suggested. He started to snicker. "To clean the place. Dust. Open the curtains."
"Are you volunteering?" Emma bit down harshly on the inside of her cheek. Wiping the dust off on her white cloak, she strode out of the bedroom.
She should have seen that one coming.
...
Rumpelstiltskin couldn't sleep. No matter how he tossed and turned and tossed again, he couldn't ever find a comfortable spot that would allow sleep to swoop in and take him. That must be it-the bed was too comfy. After spending so many nights on the flat, hard ground or the even flatter, harder mattress, this bed was far too soft to warrant sleep.
He knew the real reason he couldn't sleep.
It was because he had a woman in his castle. The first woman to stay since...Belle...Wandering his halls, helping herself to the food that magically restored itself in his kitchen, scrunching her nose at every layer of dust, uncovering his secrets. He wondered if Emma's curiosity was untamed, like Belle's.
Enough of this. He couldn't sleep. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he grabbed the closest pair of boots and laced them up by magic. Then he leaped off the bed, paced restlessly for a moment, and decided to seek out his guest.
It wouldn't hurt to give her a tour of the castle. That way, he could make sure she wouldn't stick her royal nose where it didn't belong.
Unfortunately, he had a sinking feeling about where in the castle she might be lurking.
...
She would have gone to the library first, if only she could find it. For a long time, she wandered the maze-like halls of the castle, poking her head into rooms that had not hosted guests in years, if ever.
Dust collected on every surface in those guest rooms, making it difficult to breathe once she opened the door. If there had been any moonlight drifting through the windows, there would be thousands of dust motes dancing on the beams. Lacking in light, even by candle, the rooms were drafty and uninviting.
There was an elegant gold-and-rose ballroom that would have been perfect for a celebration, if Rumpelstiltskin ever allowed royals to gather in his castle. There were better chances that a cow would fly over the moon.
At last, Emma discovered the library in the wing opposite the one that contained Rumpelstiltskin's bedroom. A set of rickety wooden stairs led to a tower. Shelves spanned from floor to ceiling along the perimeter of the circular room, crammed with ancient tomes. Some had titles she couldn't even read-they were either too worn or in a different language.
Did Rumpelstiltskin speak more than one language? She would have to ask.
Near the window was a spinning wheel. On one side of the stool was a basket of straw; on the other a basket of spun gold. She had heard the rumors that Rumpelstiltskin possessed the ability to spin straw into gold. She picked up one long gold string and saw that it was real. How much gold did he have? She pocketed some of it. Not for herself, but for others in need of it on their journey. She would help in any way she could.
A worktable was set up in the middle of the room. When Emma drew close to it, she saw a handful of colored bottles scattered around, an old candle with wax dripping onto the table, and a ratty tan cloak. It didn't look like something the leather-happy imp would wear unless he wanted to move unseen with the peasants.
Curious, she picked it up and unfolded it. The cloak was smaller than her, as if it was made for a young child instead of an adult.
Why would Rumpelstiltskin have a child's cloak? Did it belong to one of the children he collected on his deals? Or...?
"What do you think you're doing?"
The voice came from behind her, so close and so suddenly that she jumped out of her skin. Still clutching the cloak to her chest, she spun around to see Rumpelstiltskin standing only an inch or so away. She didn't even hear him enter the room. His face was already twisted in annoyance, but when he saw the cloak bunched in her fists, he became downright livid.
"Give me that!" He reached for the cloak and she let him have it. Clearly, it meant a great deal to him. When he yanked the cloak away, one end of it whipped across the table, toppling and breaking open several of the vials. The contents splashed the cloak and just like that the hem caught fire. "No!"
Rumpelstiltskin didn't even consider using magic to extinguish the flames. He simply threw the cloak on the floor and stomped out the flames. The fire didn't last long, but the hem was burned, with small holes disfiguring the cloth.
"I'm sorry-" Emma started to apologize, but Rumpelstiltskin cut her off, waving the burnt portion of the cloak in her face.
"Sorry? You don't even know what you could have done! If I lost this, there would be no replacing it! All because you disobeyed me and came in here when I specifically warned you not to!" He shouted on the top of his lungs, but Emma didn't flinch or recoil. He needed to lose some of that steam. Panting roughly through his nose, he pointed a finger to the stairs. "Go."
Emma narrowed her eyes. Am I a princess or a dog?
"Feel better?" Her calm demeanor nearly knocked him off his feet. Rumpelstiltskin blinked and gaped at her, his finger still hovering in the air. Obviously he wondered if he heard her correctly. "Yelling at me is not going to change anything. Besides, the cloak is fine. More or less."
"More...?"
His voice faded. He was baffled, his eyes bulging in their sockets. The rage of Rumpelstiltskin was supposed to be legendary, but so far Emma wasn't impressed or ducking for cover. He was more like a child throwing a temper tantrum and the best way to make him stop was just to let him have his say.
Throwing the cloak on the table, his fingers drove through his tangled hair, frustratingly tugging the strands.
"Why are you so infuriating?" Emma reared back her head in disbelief. She was infuriating? He was the evasive, know-it-all, smug, giggling little imp.
"Why do you have such a temper?" She shot back.
"I do not!" Rumpelstiltskin retorted, meanwhile flipping the table on its side.
Glass vials flew and shattered, liquid of all colors shimmering together on the floor. The cloak settled over the puddle. It was a miracle it didn't catch fire again or mysteriously shrink. Rumpelstiltskin seethed while Emma stared pointedly at him. You don't call that a temper?
"You may have a valid point," he admitted quietly, clenching his fists as he calmed down.
"Furthermore," she continued, invading his personal space and jutting a finger in his chest. "Why do you give me demands like I'm your prisoner? Yes, I am a guest in your castle, but at the moment you're not being a very good host. In case you've forgotten, I'm not beneath you."
She poked his chest until he grabbed her hand, directing it away. That quick touch sent a hot tingling sensation shooting along her arm, paralyzing her. His anger returned and all at once he was cornering her until her back bumped into the overturned table.
"See, that's the problem with you royals," he snapped. There's that issue with royals again, she mentally groaned. "You think you're entitled. You think the world is yours for the taking and that you're more deserving of it than anyone else."
Emma shoved him back when he came too close. She kept forcing him back as she bit the line he was reeling. It was a dark dance they were performing in this tower.
"Stop putting words in my mouth! I didn't mean that. I meant...would it kill you to treat me with a little trust and dignity? Not like a possession you can claim or a contagious disease? At least make up your mind about which it is. That way, I'll know where we stand. Just remember: I saved your sorry ass from that cell tonight and you owe me."
"You'll never let me forget it," he sneered. Emma gave him a critical once-over.
"I think I'm starting to understand why you have no one to share this castle with," she said coolly. He tipped his nose in the air.
"Why is that? Because of all the dust?" She shook her head pitifully.
"No. It's because you refuse to let anyone inside that dark heart of yours. Maybe you expect to be betrayed or heartbroken. Maybe you assume you're too much of a beast to earn respect or love. Whatever the reason, you've resigned yourself to being alone."
She let her harsh words sink in for a moment. When he averted his eyes to the floor, she stepped around him, taking the opportunity to head for the stairs. Arguing with the Dark One had drained her of all her energy.
"Whatever you intend to find on this journey, I hope it cures your loneliness," she said over her shoulder. Her foot reached the top stair when she heard him laugh dryly.
"What about you?" She stopped, her foot hanging in the air. "You're just as reluctant to tear down your walls. Why is that, I wonder? Did someone hurt your feelings, too?"
He was mocking her again. Baiting her. She knew what he really wanted to hear. Something real, something personal. A sign that she wouldn't shut him out behind her walls throughout this entire journey.
Her foot stayed in the air, shaking. She could walk away, refuse to give him anything. Hadn't she given him enough when she freed him from his cell and relinquished control of the dagger?
Then there was that kiss...
Her foot soared down through the air. It didn't land on the step below, but right next to her other foot. To both her and Rumpelstiltskin's amazement, she returned swiftly to his side and stared him boldly in the eye, her mind an emotional, jumbled mess.
How could he dig so far under her skin when she had known him less than half a day? Not even six hours.
"I have a feeling I'll regret telling you this...but when you and I...kissed...I felt more with you than I ever have with any of those suitors my parents selected for me."
Their kiss had been more about dominance than...love...but it had been raw, passionate, real. No man had ever kissed her that way before, as if it were the first and last time. Whenever one of those suitors dared to kiss her, it was either too demanding and messy or rushed and fumbling. Nothing special.
Emma felt her cheeks grow warm. Why had she told him that, of all things? If anything, it would give him more power over her. Even so, Rumpelstiltskin didn't immediately wield that power. He tilted his head at her and studied her like she was a mystical siren instead of a young princess. Instead of someone he could break and control.
Clearing his throat and wiping his palms on his knees, he looked away.
There was nothing between them. There couldn't be.
"Can we...just agree that we were both wrong?" She asked. Without removing his gaze from the ceiling, he nodded once. She had to set an example. "I shouldn't have gone into the library when you made it clear you didn't want me there."
"Perhaps I...shouldn't have lost my temper," he added. When he didn't move or say anything else, she righted the table and gathered the cloak. Folding it neatly, she handed it to him. He held it close, like a favorite childhood blanket.
There was something about that cloak that set him off. It wasn't so much the cloak that was sacred, but what it represented. She didn't bother to ask, afraid it would start him up again.
"No more exploring," he ordered. She arched an eyebrow. Really? "Um...please. You should get to bed. A bed, not...necessarily...mine. We have a long journey ahead of us."
Emma wished him a quiet goodnight and parted ways with him, slowly descending the stairs. At the bottom, she heard one choked-up gasp or sob, muffled only by the cloak, followed by something that sounded like a name.
"Bae..."
...
