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 does not stop raining, or at least it does not stop for more than a few minutes at a time, for three days.
When it does finally stop raining, it's mid-morning and Belle is in the kitchen baking bread. She's decided to try to cook at least some of the food she eats. Bread is something she was taught to make as a child, something reasonably simple that she can produce without mistakes, and if the rest of her food isn't up to much, Rumplestiltskin hasn't commented.
The rain stops, and Belle leaves her bread in a bowl to rise, puts a clean cloth across it, and goes to the kitchen door. The wind is cold when she opens it, but the air is fresh and it's not raining. Belle thinks she would weather any amount of cold for some relief from the rain, and she stands on the doorstep and breathes in the air, smiles at the puddles that have overcome the small walled yard. It's wet and muddy still, but it will dry soon enough.
Rumplestiltskin's there when she turns to go back into the kitchen, has appeared without any sound to alert her to his presence, and she jumps at the sight of him. She hasn't seen him much over the past few days; they've shared supper each evening in the great hall, as he instructed, but he's been absent during the days. Not gone from the castle, she's sure, but he hasn't been at his spinning wheel.
She thinks he must have a study or workroom somewhere in the castle, somewhere she hasn't explored yet. She has wandered over more of the castle now, confined within the walls by the rain, but she's gone with a duster and broom, cleaning as she goes, and so her progress has been slow.
Some doors have not opened when she tried the handle, and she's left those, remembering his words of warning. Some rooms have been filled entirely with spools of gold thread, and she's left those too, made uneasy by the sheer quantity of gold contained within the castle.
He cannot have a use for it, she thinks. There must be some other reason for him to spin. Nobody could ever need that much gold.
"It's stopped raining," she says, and flushes at the inanity of the comment, lowers her gaze to the floor when he lifts an eyebrow and smiles a mocking smile. He says nothing, however, and Belle shifts her weight from one foot to the other, rubs at her cheek self-consciously to remove the flour she's sure is there.
"Would you like some tea?" she offers at last, lacking anything else to say.
"Yes," Rumplestiltskin says, and he steps aside to let her move around the kitchen. The fire in the hearth is well-fuelled, and the kettle is filled already, so she carefully swings it over the fire, goes to the cupboard to fetch cups. She hears Rumplestiltskin scraping a chair across the floor, glances over her shoulder to see him taking a seat at the kitchen table. He peers at her bread, and Belle bites her lip to keep from smiling.
"The castle will provide, you know, dearie," he comments then.
"I know," says Belle cheerfully. "But I like doing it. And your castle does many wonderful things, but I don't want to rely on it."
"Hm." He leans back in his chair, folds his hands together and watches her. "Most noble ladies wouldn't know how to bake," he says, the emphasis making it sound derogatory, as if it's something she shouldn't stoop to doing. Belle shrugs her shoulders, goes to fetch the milk jug from the cold larder.
"I like it," she says again when she returns. "My father never…" She can't continue, her throat choked with emotion, and Rumplestiltskin watches her with narrowed eyes. Belle swallows, presses her lips together until she can control herself again. "Anyway," she says at last, "it was my duty to help where it was needed. Even in the kitchen."
"Duty," Rumplestiltskin mutters, as if it's a foul word, as if he dislikes the shape of it in his mouth. "That's why you called to me. Duty."
"Yes." The kettle boils, and Belle uses a cloth to pull it from the fire, pours a little water into the teapot to warm it, then discards the water and puts the tea leaves into the pot. She fills it, brings it to the table. "You were surprised," she says then, not quite looking at him. "You said that…that most nobles don't think about the people who fight their wars."
"True enough," says Rumplestiltskin, and he flicks his fingers, gesturing her to sit opposite him. She can find no reason to refuse, but she can't look at him as she sits, keeps her gaze on the wooden surface of the table. "I've found most nobles think not about the lives they waste," he adds, and there's a bite in his voice.
Belle nods slowly. "But I do," she murmurs. "It's not fair, to ask them to die for me." She lifts a hand to forestall the words she's sure are inevitable. "I know," she says. "Life isn't fair."
"A lesson learned the hard way, my lady?" he suggests, and Belle can't work out if he's taunting her or not, can't work out why he's asking.
She thinks of her mother, thinks of the life her mother could have lead had she not died. She thinks of the terrible waste of lives in the war, the men and women she has cared for and tended and soothed into death.
"No," she says at last. "No, I learned that lesson quite easily." She pours milk into the cups, adds the tea, and passes his cup across the table to him. He accepts it, and his fingers brush against hers. Belle's learned him well enough already to know that the touch is not accidental; every move Rumplestiltskin makes is deliberate, made for a purpose, and this will be no exception.
"Most noble ladies don't dust, either," Belle says then, determined to be cheerful, determined to steer the conversation away from duty and fairness and hard lessons. "But apparently your magical castle doesn't think it's important to clean."
"It's a castle," says Rumplestiltskin with a dark look. It's almost as if he's sulking, Belle thinks with wonder. "It isn't meant to think." Belle can't help her smile then, and Rumplestiltskin huffs, leans back in his chair and glowers. "My apologies if it doesn't live up to your expectations, my lady," he snaps, and Belle lowers her eyes for a moment, tries to smother her smile.
"I didn't mean to offend," she says carefully. "It's – it's just so strange to me, this castle. Magic." She glances up at him, is relieved when his moment of offence slides away, an amused smirk replacing the frown. She decides she dares ask a question now – perhaps more than one, for he seems to be in a companionable mood, seems to be willing to sit here and converse with her. "How does it work?" she asks. "The magic – how does the food get here? It can't come from nothing – can it?"
"No." Rumplestiltskin sips his tea, looked at her through lidded eyes. "Magic is wondrous, dearie, but you can't get something for nothing, you know." Belle nods silently, hopes he will explain further. Rumplestiltskin drums his fingers on the tabletop, considering, and Belle waits. "There is a small town," he says at last, almost reluctantly. "Some five miles away. The food comes from there."
"A town!" says Belle, and there's a hint of a scowl on his face, something foreboding that warns her to be very careful. She is forbidden from leaving the castle grounds, and although he has not said anything, although she thinks he will not hurt her, she knows that disobedience will not be tolerated. That much she knows, and she does not want to be afraid of her husband, so she will not disobey him. She will not give herself cause to be frightened of him.
"I'm…glad," she says after a long, tense moment. She picks her words carefully, speaks slowly to avoid being rash, and she knows he recognises her caution by the curl of his lip. "That the food comes from somewhere," she adds. "I don't quite like the idea of eating magic food, somehow."
He laughs, but it's not malicious, not mocking. It's genuine, and she likes this sound, likes that she can provoke him to genuine amusement. It's a foundation stone for something more, perhaps, and she decides to try to amuse him more often.
"Do – do you pay them?" she ventures then, cautious once more. "They can spare the food, can't they?" She's terribly afraid he'll take the questions badly, but Rumplestiltskin sips his tea and looks at her for a long moment before replying.
"They can," he says. "And yes. They are well paid, both for their food and for keeping their distance. Not that they require persuasion on that score." He grins, baring teeth. "I'm rather well known, you know."
Rumplestiltskin the deal-maker, Rumplestiltskin the trickster. Yes, he is infamous, and Belle can well imagine that the townspeople have no wish to come to the castle unless they must, unless they are summoned – although she's seen no sign, so far, that anyone ever comes here.
The people in the town, she supposes, fear him as everyone else does.
"Remember your bounds," Rumplestiltskin murmurs then, apparently fascinated by the dregs in his teacup, and Belle nods at once.
"I haven't forgotten," she says quietly, as dignified as she can manage. "I won't run, you know. I gave my word." She won't leave, she won't go past the castle walls. Even the knowledge of the town, five miles away, will not tempt her from the boundary he has set for her.
She will not risk her village, she will not risk the people she has known and loved for her whole life. Her hand in marriage for their safety; she will not cause them harm by trying to run from Rumplestiltskin. She has given her word.
"Hm." He puts his cup down, his eyes glittering strangely as he looks at her. "We'll see." Belle can't meet his eyes, although she has no reason to be nervous, no reason to be afraid of him. She has no intention of stepping past the outer wall – there is enough within to occupy her, even if loneliness is a constant nagging ache at her heart. Even if she longs to see another living creature, for more companionship than he gives her.
She focuses on what he does give her. He gives her respect, and he gives her privacy – so far he has kept his word and has never come near her rooms. They eat supper together each night, and now he is sharing a pot of tea with her and letting her ask questions. It is more than some men would give their wives, and she will focus on the good and not think of the bad.
And the rain has stopped, she thinks, so she can go outside again.
"You are not what I expected," Rumplestiltskin says then, and Belle gives a startled laugh, looks up at him again. She wants to ask what he did expect, but he rises, his expression blank and it's off-putting; she has no idea what he's thinking. She finishes her tea and stands up as well, reaches across for his teacup and turns to take the cups to the sink.
"I'm going out this afternoon," he says then, and Belle nods, crosses the kitchen and puts the cups beside the sink. "I'll be away several days."
"So long," Belle murmurs, thinking of long, lonely hours with nobody to speak to, nobody to see. The past few days have been difficult, with only Rumplestiltskin as company and little enough of that. She is not someone who thrives in isolation, she thinks, but she must try to learn how to manage without others. She had promised Laura, after all, that she would not wither away. She must learn to handle loneliness.
"Why, my lady, will you miss me?"
He's close to her now, close behind her, and she jumps. Her hand knocks one of the cups from the work surface and it falls to the floor with a clunk. Belle inhales sharply, reaches down to it; there's a chip in the rim, but the cup is still usable. She straightens, finds his eyes fixed upon her and feels swallowed by his gaze.
"It – it's chipped," she says eventually. "You can hardly see it…" She lifts it up, holds it out to him. His gaze flickers downwards, but only for a moment.
"It's just a cup," he says, and Belle nods. "I'll be back in two days," he says, and she nods once more. "Perhaps three," he concedes, tilting his head to one side, shrugging a shoulder. "Sometimes these things can be…delicate."
Deals, Belle realises. He means deals can be delicate, he is going away to make a deal with some poor, desperate soul. Just as he had made a deal with her, six days ago – only six days, but her whole world has changed and it feels like a lifetime that she stood in her room in her father's castle and offered Rumplestiltskin anything that was hers to give.
"Do not leave the castle grounds," he tells her, and his voice is dark and full of warning, his lip is curled in a sneer and Belle ruthlessly suppresses the urge to pull away from him. "You will not like the consequences, and I shan't be here to put you together again if you try."
"I won't," Belle whispers. "I promise."
He lifts his hand, touches her mouth and Belle wonders if he wants to kiss her. She wonders if she would mind if he kissed her. She wonders many things, in this moment as his finger runs across her lower lip.
"Will you miss me?" he asks again, and he seems to find something humorous in the question, giggles and withdraws his hand. But Belle answers seriously; she thinks it is a question that must be answered so, for even if she does not understand his need to ask the question, she thinks he needs a truthful answer.
"Yes," she says honestly. She will miss him, for he is her only company and she knows she will be terribly lonely in this great castle without him. He frowns – it's clearly not the answer he was expecting, and yet Belle can give no other answer. She will miss him, even if she does not yet know him well, even if he sometimes scares her, even if she cannot hope to understand him.
She will miss him.
Rumplestiltskin shakes his head, frown deepening as he looks at her. His face is so mobile, so expressive, and it will take years for her to learn all the subtle variations of it but she knows this, knows she has once again surprised him.
She is not what he expected; Belle thinks that may be a good thing.
"Do try not to get into trouble while I'm gone," he says at last, and Belle nods her head, turns to place the chipped cup in the sink, where it cannot be further damaged. She feels him watching her for a long moment, but she does not look at him, hopes she is turned far enough away to hide the heat in her cheeks.
He looks at her in such a way, and it makes her confused. It makes her feel both desired and rejected, and she feels twisted in knots by the conflicting feelings.
And then he is gone, and Belle is left alone.