I do not own any of the once upon a time characters.

Sorry for not updating in so long! I have been very busy with school and all so here I am, updating again. Hope ya'll like it! And please review! They are always such an encouragement to me.

Hidden Age in a World of Glory

"Isabelle French, Gaston will be your dance partner tonight –"

"No, he will – " Belle feels a sharp sting on her cheek as he slaps her. It burns, and she tries to bite back her tears.

"He will, do you understand!" her father yells. She stares up at him and he slaps her arm firmly. She nods, agreeing to his arrangement teary eyed. Rumple had never hit her, not even once. Yet she always felt the need to obey him, like a second father.

After he walks away, the maid takes her to her room and begins to prepare her, covering the bruise on her arm. She scolds her as she begins to tear up, hurt by her father's actions. He had rarely hit her, but tonight he had done so twice. It seemed as she grew he longed for more control over her, doing anything to keep her under him.

The maid stares at the crown before she places it on Isabelle's head, perfecting her attire. At the sight of his beautiful gift, she smiles, imagining how proud Rumpelstiltskin would be at the sight of her going to her first dance. She walks downstairs to her father, who gapes at her.

"You are gorgeous, Isabelle," he says. "Gaston won't be able to get enough of you." Isabelle walks towards him slowly, taking his hand. The king stares at her strangely as she smiles up at him.

"Will you dance with me tonight daddy?" she asks. "Just once...please." He looks around as he nods, quickly pulling away from her grasp. She sighs, trying to bury the pain. He couldn't even answer her, her own father would hardly speak to his own daughter out of embarrassment.

Gaston walks out, handsomely dressed in a navy outfit and tall black boots. His good looks though, are ruined by the memories that run through her head. Everyone stares at him as Isabelle looks longingly at her father, wishing him to change his mind. He glares at her, and at the sight of his firm hand she decides to quiet the protests screaming within her. Gaston giddily takes her arm and leads her into the ball room, making many crude remarks about her figure. She tries to brush it off, however, at the first song feels as if she must run away as he refuses to look up at her face.

"Look at me, Gaston," she whispers. He looks up, dazed.

"I am."

"I mean at my face," she replies harshly.

"Your face isn't the only place that holds your beauty." His grip on her waist tightens and she intakes sharply. "Shut up, doll," he seethes. She stares ahead, ignoring his gaze. Song after song they secretly argue, him having the upper hand as he shows her off like an animal or grasping her with the strength similar to her father, causing her to tear up or wince. She can't imagine the pain she will be in tomorrow.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the king calls, standing. "I would like to offer a toast, to my fortunate daughter Isabelle and Gaston!" The glasses clink as the dance continues and she stares at her father. He drinks with several other men. Excusing herself, she walks up to him, taking his hand. He rips away, glaring at her.

"What do you want," he asks.

"I want to dance with you, remember?" He stares down at her and shakes his head.

"I don't think so, sweetheart," he says softly. "You should be having fun with Gaston."

"But you promised," she answers. He pats her head and goes back to talking, signaling that the conversation had ended. She eats a bit and watches as Gaston throws another girl against the wall, pressing his lips against hers as the girl wraps her arms around his neck.

At the last waltz, he finds Isabelle once more, roughly dancing with her all across the room. She complies, to tired and hurt to spend much more time fighting. As soon as the lights go out, and all the people have left, thankfully, including Gaston, her father carries her exhausted body to her room. She sleeps on his shoulder before he wakes her, lifting the side of her dress after she winces. A horrible, giant, purple bruise the size of that boy's hand circles her waist, along with the bruise on her arm. Her father stands in front of her.

"He bruised you, didn't he," he says firmly. She nods drowsily. "Why."

"Maybe he didn't like my dancing."

"I want the truth, Isabelle French!" She looks down.

"We were arguing." He shakes his head and paces the room.

"I suppose you have been punished enough by now," he says. "But arguing with Gaston? Why can't you be content with him; I have provided you the best boy in the country."

"Why must you and him hurt me when I speak my mind?" He approaches her and she looks down, anticipating her punishment. He lifts her chin roughly, and looks at her sternly. She begins to tear at her fathers continual disappointment in her and the tears fall gently into his hand.

"Isabelle, I just want your obedience. I want the best for you." She looks down.

"I am sorry, daddy," she cries. "I will try harder. Tomorrow is a new day." He removes his hand and walks out, mumbling his disappointment. Half asleep, she changes clothes and does her best with her hair before scooting her bed away. She climbs through the tunnels, looking for her friend. After an hour, she arrives at the door and hears the wheel creaking. It stops, and she sits behind the door, petrified. What if he was mad at her too? The door opens and she falls back on the floor. Up above, Rumple stares at her, his arms crossed. She creases her brow, wondering what that was supposed to mean. He soon walks over to his bed, sitting as she scrambles up to follow him.

"Did you enjoy your ball," he asks, harsher then intended. Why on earth was she here so late at night? She should have enough obedience in her to at least go to bed. She backs away a bit, startled by his tone.

"Not really," she replies, disappointed. He looks up, surprised. She was only ten, if anything she should have had tons of fun dancing.

"Why not?" he asks. She bites her lip and tries to respond, but all she can choke out is mumbles. She didn't want to talk of the night; her father was embarrassed to look at her and Gaston kept hurting her and showing her off. And while all this happened, Rumple was stuck spinning his life away, hardly able to give her any of his time. She looks up as she feels his hand on her arm, gently. Something she hadn't felt in a long time. She looks up, confusion and grief lining her face.

"Daddy wouldn't dance with me," she whispers. "I don't know why, I didn't mean to hurt him again." Rumple gets on one knee, wiping away the small tears the fell down her face. She had come here out of the innocence of a child, wishing for someone to give her a bit of attention. Maybe even a bit of comfort – but why him? Could she never see his piercing eyes and rough, scaly skin?

"Isabelle, your father is a busy man." She shakes her head.

"He has made himself too busy for me. I have been handed off to Gaston like an animal," she says quietly. He pulls her into his chest, picking her up and sitting her down on his lap as he spins. She closes her eyes, trying to fight the tears but cannot. Every now and then, he runs his fingers through her hair, a meager attempt at comfort. She must be exhausted, having been up half the night dancing. He holds her close and notices that what Gaston had done had hurt her to some extent, but what her father had done is what had shattered her sweet spirit. Her sobs become softer and he carries her to his bed, unable to offer any words.

What he would do to her father if he ever got a hold of him would be worse then what any human had ever seen. Here he takes his daughter, exhausts her and refuses her all while trying to insist that she obey him. He lays her down on his bed, trying to hold in his anger. The hurt she felt now would not compare to the fear she would have, having seen the full force fury of the dark one. She winces, and he looks at her, confused.

"What's the matter, precious Belle," he asks. She takes his hand and places it on her side.

"Gaston bruised me while we were fighting." He nods, understanding, and heals the wound.

"Better?" She smiles drowsily, and rolls over as he puts his blankets over top of her. It isn't long before he can hear her small little breaths as he spins, taking in the moment. He couldn't provide her much, only a straw bed and a little of his time but somehow, she never asked for more then he could give her.

"Goodnight, Isabelle," he says quietly. If she couldn't sleep in her room, then perhaps she could find a place here. He notices how dark it is outside, not even the stars shine. Why do you waste your time with this child, the demons taunt. Kill her while she sleeps, hurt the king like you have always wanted. He shakes his head, fighting the urge. He couldn't kill her, he just couldn't.

Isabelle wakes up, her arm sore and her legs still tired from those awful heels. Someone breathes deeply beside her and she looks over, noticing Rumple sleeping with his arm around her shoulders. He opens his eyes as she sits up and rubs her temples.

"What time is it," she asks. He sits up sharply and gets out of the bed, brushing himself

off.

"You need to get back, Isabelle. Someone is going to notice that you are missing." She makes her way to the window and looks into the garden. A long vine hangs from his window, and she grabs the top, testing it. A few minutes later, she turns back towards him. He stares at her, hoping that she would find another way.

"Thank you, Rumpelstiltskin," she says. "I am glad that we are friends." She walks up to him and gives him a hug. What had he been doing last night? Should have sent her back where she belonged.

"I will get out of here," he says. She smiles.

"I will set you free when my father dies and I rule the entire kingdom, just like you wanted." Rumple looks away, knowing that if she set him free, he would not have to come back. Would he do that for her?

"You are growing fast," he replies. "It will not be long." She walks over to the window and climbs down, walking through the garden. He stares at her until she waves, passing a corner and entering the castle. The door opens and he turns, staring at the maid who looks around the room as she sets down the tray of food.

"Isabelle is a smart girl," she says.

"What do you want," Rumple growls, walking back over.

"I just think it would be wise if you told her of the knife. She is wise, and I promise she will find it in a decent matter of time." With that, she walks out of the room. He growls, throwing the food off the counter and scratching the top of the little table into shreds. Who does that maid think she is! How could you taint her little heart with something so harsh! He sighs, sitting back at the wheel. But how little is she now? How much longer until she wouldn't come back, having been married away into royalty and baring her own children to watch? Would she remember him? Or would he simply become a figment of her imagination.