11

Discussions and Deals

" . . . I have discussed the many types of places and magical beings and objects that focus power in the realms. Of special interest to me, however, have always been the most ancient of objects. I have made several studies on them, and have told you of some of them tonight. One of the most ancient is the Dark One's dagger, or kris, which legend says was forged from the dark metal of a star fallen from the heavens. It was said that the weaponsmith who did the forging was one of the best of his sort, and though his name has been lost to the ages, the quality of his work can be seen still in a few pieces of armor and a spear as well that he forged from the nightdark metal. The armor, a breastplate, helm, and shield, is now within the royal vault of King Stephan's realm, while the spear, it is rumored, rests now in the dragon Tiamara's horde deep in the Southern Desert," Belle informed them.

Rumple found he enjoyed listening to her. She was bright and lively, speaking of the objects and the magical emanations and their powers and origins with interest and knowledge, citing well-known legends and stories, as well as manuscripts. Clearly she was well-read and knew how to research objects and separate fact from the mostly fiction which surrounded it. Her voice was mellow and had a slight accent to it that he found pleasing.

He leaned forward on his bench, resting his hands on his knees, and drawing his hood tighter about his face. Luckily it was rather chill in the hall, so no one remarked on him keeping his hood on. Not that Rumple would have cared in any case, he would have simply told them he had a tendency to bad lungs and drafts bothered him, deflecting any curious onlooker with a harsh cough and shivering.

"Now, only the current Dark One knows exactly what the dagger looks like," Belle continued. "But I've seen a few pictures in my ancient texts and heard that it is, despite its cursed nature, a thing of beauty to those who admire a well-made knife. It has a wavy blade, thin and tapered, and scrollwork upon it. It is a deep black color, yet at the same time it shimmers with rainbowed hues in the light. Its handle is simple wrapped black leather, though there must be a spell upon it, or else it would have rotted away long ago. I have read that it is a little longer than a traditional dagger, yet not quite a short sword, and can fit comfortably in a sheath on one's belt. But of course, only the Dark One knows for sure!" she said with a slight laugh. "And since he's not here . . . you'll just have to take my word for it."

More laughter followed this statement, and even Rumple chuckled, thinking at how surprised she would be if she knew who was watching her. Though she was correct, even though it had a long association as an object of evil, the dagger was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. A pity, really, that such a weapon was meant to serve only darkness.

Belle paused to take a sip of water from a silver chased goblet on the lectern, thinking sadly how much she would miss giving these lectures, to people and scholars like herself, who were fascinated by the rich history and culture of these magical objects and beings. But this was, of course, her last lecture . . . as agreed upon with her father, Maurice, and her soon to be fiancée, Gaston.

After moistening her throat, the duke's daughter continued, determined to enjoy these last precious hours of freedom.

"And now we come to the topic of realm jumping, as it's more commonly known, or the travel between various worlds beside our own. There are a handful of objects, or people with a very specific power, to create the resonance required for movement between the realms. One being a magic pipe crafted by the ancient satyr, Pan, who was a natural realm jumper (that, of course is Pan's pipe) and the now famous but lost instruments, the lute of the Jester of Ionia and a singing harp, the prized possession of the Giant of Abaddeon. . . . there are magic beans, of course, but they are closely guarded by the giants who inhabit the skies above the Southernmost kingdom of the Enchanted Forest. These beans take a century to grow, and only a handful of the harvests actually have the power to form a portal.

"The last is the most elusive: natural born portal jumpers who have the ability to focus their "gift" on an object which they can use to transcend the realms. Though a few have made a career of this gift over time, most are said to have been driven mad by their occupation, as realm jumping produces ill effects on those who transcend the realms too often. There are three living in the world today: an old gentleman by the name of Peter of Milanta, but he is now retired from that activity and bedridden; Sylvia of the Bitter Mountain who is reported to have slipped into a catatonic state and is in seclusion; and last, a man who shared his knowledge with me under the promise of anonymity, who is as yet untouched by the perils of his occupation.

"And of course, there are magical beings who can realm jump—like fairies and mermaids, but those creatures are born with such capabilities, and are not driven mad or made ill by using the portals, as it is as natural to them as breathing," Belle finished.

Rumple bit back a gasp as he realized that Tinkerbell might well have the ability to travel between realms . . . and might even be able to get him to Neverland . . . if she would agree to help him. Or was permitted to help him, he thought bitterly, since he was certain her superior would have plenty to say about giving aid to a corrupt dark sorcerer, no matter how desperate he was, or what he had once been.

You're no longer a man, Rumple, you're an imp with golden skin and black nails, reptilian eyes, and the power to crush armies. You're a monster, and no one would ever help you willingly, especially not a fairy like Rhuel Gorm.

Belle came out from behind the lectern and bowed to the audience. "I would like to thank all of you for attending my lecture this evening, and say it has been a great pleasure speaking with you. I shall have a short question and answer period in the small room to the right of this one, if you would like to speak with me." She smiled prettily at everyone before leaving the stage amid a standing ovation.

Rumple rose and made his way through the crush of people towards the hall's entrance. He would definitely attend that question and answer session, as he hoped to speak with her about the dagger's origins and see if she would strike a deal with him to help him find his son.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Highgarden Fairy Bower:

Tinkerbell stood before the large archway, or at least it was large by her standards, it was actually about a foot high, of pretty sculpted wood painted with a white paint that sparkled iridescently in the sunshine, that led to the high garden where the Blue Fairy, her superior, had summoned her to report on the status of her mission. Her mission had been to find a person or creature within the Enchanted Forest or its environs to aid in some manner, in true fairy fashion. Tink just hoped that Blue wouldn't find too much fault with whom she had chosen to aid, though the choice was always one that was left up to the fairy, who was supposed to demonstrate compassion, kindness, and fairness in choosing to help someone.

Tink smoothed her dress, which for some reason was rather crooked, and wished she were back in Rumplestiltskin's living room, eating cookies and drinking chamomile tea with honey. It was odd, but she found she was much more relaxed around the sorcerer than she had ever been around other fairies . . . and her superior in particular! Blue always seemed to make Tink feel awkward, like she had mismatched shoes on and her wings weren't shimmery enough and her hair was a wreck. Rumple, on the other hand, never made her feel like that, even when she had jam dripping down her leaf tunic. He would simply hand her a napkin and say, "Got a bit of jam on your dress, dearie." No frowns or sighs of disapproval, or lectures on how a fairy should and should not do something. He'd even mended her tunic when he saw it fraying at the hem, not with magic, but with a needle and thread!

She forced her wings to lie flat against her back and not flutter nervously like a stripling's just out of the bluebell nursery.

Finally, she heard Blue's dulcet tones. "Green, you may approach."

Tink flew through the archway and into a lovely garden with all sorts of flowers. There were climbing golden ivy, jasmine, bluebells, roses, tulips, wisteria, lavender, hollyhocks, pink flox, white lilies of the valley, crocuses and daffodils. A crystal clear pond lay to the right, where acanthus and water lilies floated. The whole air was perfumed with the scent of flowers and shafts of sunlight slanted down through the blossoms.

There was a fairy-sized small three-sided gazebo hanging from a larch, it swayed in the breeze. Seated upon a golden throne made of beechwood and covered with a tiny blue velvet cushion stuffed with dandelion fluff was the Blue Fairy, her puffy indigo skirt folded demurely about her legs, wearing the small silver and sapphire circlet of her office as current Monarch.

Several other attendants fluttered and giggled nearby, but she waved a hand and said, "Leave us. I would have private counsel with my newest wishmaker."

The other fairies tittered and bowed and flew away, leaving Tink and Blue alone.

"Good morrow, Green," the Blue Fairy greeted.

"Good morrow, Monarch," Tink responded, giving her a small bow, then blushing when she nearly toppled over. She had never got the hang of doing that.

The Blue Fairy rose from her throne and fluttered over to Tink. "So, Green, how went your first mission? Was it successful?"

Tink nodded rapidly. "Yes, it was very successful! I followed the trail of pixie dust and it led me right to someone who was desperate." That certainly was true, she reflected.

"Good! And how did you help this poor soul?"

"I . . . I agreed to help him find his son," Tink answered honestly.

"I see. And did you find the child?"

"No. Not yet. He . . . he was taken away by . . . a very powerful evil entity. The . . . the villagers called him the Pied Piper, but . . . he's sometimes known as Peter Pan."

Blue's eyes widened. "Peter Pan! Green, you aren't strong enough to go up against the likes of that one! Even I would hesitate to do so."

"But Blue, I wasn't going to fight him . . . I was going to help Rumple find a way to Neverland to get his son back . . ." Tink began.

Blue frowned. "What is the name of this person you're helping again?"

Tink bit her lip. "He . . . said to call him Rumple. It's short for . . . Rumplestiltskin."

"The Dark One!" Blue gasped in horror. "Green, are you insane? You're a fairy, and fairies do not help dark sorcerers!"

"But he's desperate!" Tink cried angrily. "He might be a dark sorcerer, but he needs my help! The dust led me to him, Blue, right to his castle . . . and he told me about Pan stealing away his only child . . . he loves the boy, Blue, and he misses him and wants him to come home something awful! He . . . he cried when he told me how Pan stole Baelfire!"

"Ha! As if the Dark One would ever shed tears over another, even a child!" Blue snorted. "Green, don't you know that the Dark One is the worst of all evil sorcerers? He tortures and murders and slaughters all at the whim of the one who holds the dagger! And you want to help him? That accursed imp?" Blue demanded scornfully.

"It was where the dust led me, Blue!" Tink argued. This was exactly as she'd feared. "He was the one most in need of my help."

"The only help the Dark One needs is to be helped to an endless prison!" Blue snapped. "I knew I should have waited before sending you out on a mission. You were too young, your judgment clouded . . . to have chosen, out of everyone in the forest . . . to help Rumplestilskin . . . the Dark One . . .honestly, Green, even a young fledgling would know better than that!"

Tink wanted to cringe at the censure in the other's tone, but she didn't. Instead she stood tall and defended her reasoning. "Blue, I know we have obligations to help where there is need, and believe me, Dark One or not—he needs my help! He's not . . . not at all like you said . . . he didn't do anything to me when I arrived at the castle . . ."

"Because he wished to lure you inside!"

"No. Because he was shocked that I would even think about helping him," Tink countered. "And he . . . was kind to me, Blue. He's a man, but under a curse . . . he's not the monster you think . . ."

"The Dark One has no heart . . . because he bartered it away in exchange for power," Blue countered.

"Maybe that's what the other ones did, but Rumple didn't, Blue! Or else why care that his son is gone? And he does care, Blue! He still loves the boy! He showed me a picture he keeps in his pocket and a shawl he made that he uses sometimes, because it reminds him of the child. He was just a spinner before he became cursed . . . he was trying to move to another town because the duke wanted to recruit his boy to fight . . . and he was only twelve, Blue! And Rumple was poor and crippled."

"Rumplestiltskin was a coward," Blue said dismissively. "And in any case, it hardly matters what he was, since now he's the Dark One. And I forbid you to have congress with him any longer!"

Tink shuddered. There it was. The ultimatum she'd feared. But it wasn't fair! She thought rebelliously. The dust had led her to him, because he was the one who needed her most. She squared her shoulders and spoke up. "Respectfully, Monarch, you can't do that. According to fairy law, I must help my chosen person to the best of my abilities."

"Don't be ridiculous, Green! You made a mistake, and now you can fix it by not going back to that . . . that gold-skinned monster!"

"But Blue . . . I want to help Rumple!" Tink cried.

"I have spoken, Green. And there's an end to it," Blue said coldly. "Go and refresh yourself and greet your sisters in the bower."

Tink bowed, saying softly, "My name's Tinkerbell, Monarch."

Blue waved a hand. "Go now. It is done."

Tink flew off through the bower, thinking angrily that it wasn't done at all. No fairy had ever left a mission unfinished . . . and she wasn't about to start now, no matter what Blue said. Blue might be Monarch, but Fairy Law always stated to follow your heart, and that's what Tink was going to do.

But first she would see her sisters and drink some nectar and eat some honeycomb and chestnut seed cakes.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Rumple waited until all the other people had approached Belle and asked her their questions and listened to her replies before he came over to her. She stood near a small chair and a table with some books, a lamp, and a quill on it, gazing sadly out the window at the university campus.

Rumple approached, softfooted as a cat, and murmured, "My lady, you seem . . . troubled. Sad, even."

Belle looked up at this last visitor, a medium-sized man in a maroon cloak with a gold border around the hood and brown leather pants and boots that . . . she could swear were made from iridescent black dragon scale. Surely this was some powerful noble, to wear such clothing! And yet . . . she didn't recognize him.

"Troubled? Well . . . in a way, but . . . I always knew this day would come," she replied. Her blue eyes grew dark with sorrow, but it was a sorrow too deep for tears.

"You mean because you're no longer researching magical objects?" he queried gently. "This is your last lecture, right?"

She nodded. "Yes, it is. My . . . my father and my . . . intended agreed that it should be . . . since it's not proper for a duke's daughter and the betrothed of a lord to be . . .occupied with such intellectual pursuits. A noblewoman's duty is to her family, her husband, and her household." Belle recited the familiar litany in a dull tone.

Rumple snorted. "You make it sound like the worst fate imaginable. But then, I guess for a scholar like yourself, it would be."

Surprised to find a man who was sympathetic to her, Belle said, "I . . . I agreed to this . . . err . . . I didn't catch your name, sir . . ."

"Call me . . . Mr. Gold," Rumple said swiftly, for he didn't want to frighten her away by revealing who he really was just yet.

"Mr. Gold . . . I gave this lecture knowing it would be the last time I did so, but . . . knowing doesn't prepare one for . . . feeling as if you have just given up your firstborn child, so to speak," Belle laughed softly. "Not that I have anything against having children, or running a household, or being a mother . . . I just wish . . . that time were not yet. There's still so much I want to do and to read about . . . and it's not enough for me to just run my husband's estate while he's away serving the king or in the army or whatever. My mind is as good as any man's, sir! And was I born a male, I could have become a professor, like I wished."

She broke off abruptly, flushing. "Forgive me, Mr. Gold. I . . . I apologize for letting my emotions run off with me. It's one of my greatest flaws . . . Gaston always says I feel too much . . . and I follow my feelings . . . I'm sorry!"

"Dearie, it's okay," Rumple said, giving her a sympathetic smile. "I don't blame you for wanting more than a woman's traditional role. You're bright and you love your subject, that's plain to see. And it's sad that you need to give it up now. Couldn't your . . err . . . betrothed be persuaded to let you resume your studies in a few months or a year?"

Belle shook her head. "Gaston is . . . he's very . . . traditional. He believes my papa indulged me too much, letting me have tutors in magical history and legends and study courses with the masters here at the university. He says it filled my head with a lot of nonsense and . . . rebellious notions. And he wants a wife who . . . knows her place and her duty." She made a little face.

"You seem like you . . . don't care for him very much," observed Rumple.

"He's . . . he's nobly born, a knight, blooded in battle, and he's quite handsome. All the eligible maidens in Avonlea think he's a great catch."

"But you don't."

"I . . . I want to like him . . . Papa chose him for me because he would be able to give me a decent home and everything . . . he's quite wealthy . . ."

"But you think he's dull as dishwater, you've got nothing in common, and you don't love him," Rumple finished.

"How . . . how do you know that?" she stammered.

"Because I've been there before, dearie," Rumple stated. "And it's really rather obvious. If you loved him, you wouldn't mind giving up your studies. But you do . . . and if he loved you, he'd never ask it of you . . . but he does. He wants you to be something you're not. And you feel obligated to let him."

She couldn't believe how he was speaking to her . . . he said things no man ever had right to her face . . . and they were dead on target. "Sir! You shouldn't say such things to someone you hardly know."

"Why not . . . if they're true?"

She flushed, now with temper. "No one decides my fate but me!"

"Really, dearie? Then why are you looking like you've lost your best friend?" he countered. "You've been put in a position where you have to choose duty over happiness." He shook his head.

"So?" she retorted, stung. "Lots of women make that choice."

"True. And then lots of them are miserable, and they go through life wondering what they missed."

"You have no right to judge me. You're a man!"

He chuckled. "In a way. And I'm not judging you. Just stating some facts."

"The fact is, sir, that as a man, you are allowed to be and do what you wish. While ladies are . . . not."

"True. But it seems you've defied convention before, Lady Belle."

"Yes . . . because I was lucky enough to have a mother who loved learning and reading and saw to it that I was encouraged in those pursuits," Belle agreed. "And she . . . when she passed from a lingering sickness, she made sure I had something set aside so I could . . . continue with my scholarly pursuits. And my papa honored her wishes . . . for a time. Until Gaston showed an interest in me."

"And therein sealed your fate," Rumple remarked. "The death of all your dreams. Hardly the thing most girls dream about. No wonder you're so sad."

"Well, wouldn't you be?" she demanded tartly. "Or has your life been the stuff dreams are made of?"

Rumple actually laughed. "Mine? More like the stuff nightmares are made of," he muttered softly. "But . . . what if I were to offer you a way out of your dilemma, dearie?"

Belle stared at him. "A way out? You mean break off my engagement?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Rumple crossed his arms over his chest. "First, I need to tell you a story. Once there was a man who had a little boy, he was a poor man, but he loved his son deeply. The boy meant the world to him, for his wife . . . his wife had run off and left them for another man, a handsome scoundrel who could give her the life of adventure and riches she craved. But the man and the boy got on fine without her. Until they moved to another town . . . and the boy fell in with some bad company . . . local village lads who had more mischief than sense, and they were led by a troublemaking brat named Peter."

"Go on. In fact, have a seat," she gestured to the chair opposite the small table. This was proving to be a most interesting tale!

"Now Peter was the kind of boy who encouraged others to do all sorts of devious things . . . stealing food and cakes, sneaking away from chores, drinking, swearing . . . playing tricks and that sort of thing. At first, the man warned the boy against such company, but the boy was fooled into thinking there was no harm in what they did, and he joined in their little games, and ended up drunk and in quite a bit of trouble with his papa."

"What happened then?"

"The lad realized he made a mistake and tried to tell Peter he was leaving, but Peter . . . wasn't the sort you left . . . he was like the leader of a gang of thieves, and he didn't want to lose his playmates. He also possessed some dark magic, and with it he stole the boy away, taking him to another realm."

"How awful!"

"Yes. And so the man lost his son, the only person he had ever loved and who loved him. Because he couldn't find a way to cross worlds and bring him home."

"But . . . didn't he try to find someone who could realm jump or use magic?"

"Oh, he did. He tried many things . . . but they all failed. Now tell me, if you were able to, would you help this poor desperate soul?"

"Of course!"

"Good. Because that's why I'm here."

Belle gave him a sharp look. "So you know this man and his son?"

"Oh, yes. I know them well."

"And you think I can help him find his son?"

"I do. From the way you spoke tonight, my lady, I could see that you were more knowledgeable about magical objects and realms travel than anyone I knew . . . you have the equivalent of a university level education and remind me of a professor. You are certainly more than some showpiece to decorate a man's arm with."

"And you know that this . . . person will want me to help them? I'm to be their . . . companion?"

"Research assistant, dearie," Rumple corrected. "Nothing improper. And if you agree . . . it'll get you out of your thorny dilemma."

"My papa won't like it much . . . me going off with some man I've never met."

"Can it be any worse than you bound for life to a man you despise?"

"No, but . . . how do you know this man will agree to having me along?" she asked shrewdly. "You know him that well?"

"I do," Rumple assured her. "Because, dearie, I am the man I was telling you about."

"I knew it!" she cried. "You seemed far too . . . assured when you spoke of someone else's wishes, for one thing. For another, you told that tale with such feeling that I couldn't help but be moved by it, and that sort of thing isn't usually possible unless you've lived it. And third, you don't seem like the type to do another's bidding."

"You're right on all counts. Like I said, I need your excellent mind, lady Belle. I wasn't always the man you see before you," he admitted.

"You fell in with bad company too?" she guessed, cocking her head at him.

"In a manner of speaking," he answered. "There's one more thing you need to know before you strike a deal with me. Two things, actually. One, all magic comes with a price. You know my price for helping you. And two . . . I'm not what you think I am. I'm under a curse . . . one you are familiar with . . . and this is the true Mr. Gold."

He threw off his hood.

Belle's blue eyes became huge in her heart-shaped face. She knew of course who he was . . . everyone knew what the Dark One looked like.

"Rumplestiltskin, at your service!" he said, presenting himself with a flourish. "Also known as the Dark One."

"And you . . . need my help?" she repeated incredulously. "But you're a powerful sorcerer!"

"Yes, well, even powerful sorcerers don't know everything. Or can do everything. What I told you was true. My son was stolen from me by a boy named Peter Pan. Boy, ha! Say fiend, and you'll be closer to the truth. And I have to get him back. I came here tonight hoping you might know something that could help me . . . and you know far more than I ever expected. So . . . you help me find my son, and I help you find the life you were meant to lead and get out of that blasted engagement. What do you say? Do we have a deal, dearie?"

Belle gazed at him, this enchanted imp with the odd golden skin, almost like a crocodile's, and his piercing reptilian eyes and black nails. He looked almost like the boogeyman out of all the scary stories she had read as a child. Yet, perversely, she wasn't afraid. She could sense, in her own odd way, that he meant her no harm. She had a strange magical Talent, a gift of Empathy and intuition, and right now it served to tell her that though the sorcerer before her was evil, there was also a spark of goodness still within him. And that spark fought to keep from becoming drowned by the evil curse upon him.

Moreover, she felt . . . drawn to him . . . in a way she did not expect . . . and did not know why. Yet one thing she did know. He had been telling the truth. He did need her help. And in return he would help her out of that trap of an engagement. It was a fair bargain.

"Yes. I will go with you," she agreed, and then she took his hand and shook it.

"Deal, dearie!" he said, then stiffened as . . . an odd sensation of warmth surged through him at her touch. It didn't hurt, but was soothing . . . and for the first time since taking the dagger curse, Rumplestiltskin felt . . . almost like a human being again . . . the curse that gnawed at his soul becoming quiescent. He was so shocked, he released her hand abruptly.

But the warmth lingered.

Belle also felt it, like a sharp jolt of static, like one felt when one brushed up against a thick wool blanket sometimes. But instead of feeling repulsed, she felt curious instead. She drew near to him, and her hands, almost of their own volition, moved to gently feel his face, the tips of her fingers brushing lightly over the golden surface.

"Your skin . . . 'tis soft . . . not slimy or dry," she mused, her facile mind filing that information away for further consideration. Her hands moved lower, exploring his dragonhide vest. "This . . . isn't snakeskin . . ."

"No. It's dragonhide," Rumple replied. "Goes rather well with my . . . skin, don't you think?"

"Yes. I like it," Belle said softly. She continued to peruse him.

Rumple shifted slightly in his chair, feeling rather uncomfortable. He was used to people staring at him, but not touching him so boldly, and looking at him . . . not with revulsion . . . but with honest-to-goodness curiosity. "You're not afraid. The beast . . . doesn't frighten you?" he quipped.

She shook her head. "There is no beast. Just a man under a curse . . . Mr. Gold."

Rumple snorted. "They're one and the same, dearie. I chose to become what I am."

"Why? Because you loved power?" she asked frankly.

"No. Because I loved . . . my son," he sighed. "But that's a tale for another time."

"We should go," Belle said then, noting that the library was now suddenly still, the way empty buildings are in the dead of night. And here she was, without an escort, alone with the most deadly sorcerer in the realms. She should have been petrified. Instead all she felt was . . . excitement and a tinge of sorrow. He believes he is a monster. I can feel it . . . here in my heart. But he's not . . . the curse hasn't taken hold of him all the way. Perhaps by helping his son . . . I can also help him . . . perhaps there's a way to break the curse over him . . . Abruptly she shook her head, and chided herself mentally for daydreaming. She was there to help him do one thing—find his son. She was not a miracle worker, that could break a curse so ancient and so vile. "We should go . . . Mr. Gold."

"Mr. Gold? Is that how you shall present me to your papa?" he asked, amused, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Yes. It's best, for now, if he just thinks you're an ordinary magician who needs help with a project for the summer or whatever," she said.

"I see. And your betrothed?"

"We aren't . . . not yet," she said quickly, a grimace of distaste contorting her features. "And once he learns what deal I've made, we will never be. Because after I've spent the summer in your company, unchaperoned, I won't be worth anything to someone like him."

"I'm not going to . . . ravish you," Rumple objected. "I want you as my research assistant, not my . . . my mistress." He could feel heat climb up his cheeks and thanked the gods his golden skin hid his blush. It was true. She was beautiful, with her rose-kissed skin and lovely smile and eyes the color of a spring sky and her hair like chestnut fire. She made him long to run his hands through her hair . . . to press his lips against hers . . . but he squelched those feelings. For who could ever love . . . or want . . . a beast?

"I know. But he'll . . . assume that's not all you want me for," Belle said, blushing slightly herself. "And so will society . . . but I don't care. Your cause is worthy and no one decides my fate but me!"

Rumple pulled up his hood again, then held out an arm. "I believe this is the start of a beautiful partnership, dearie."

Belle placed her hand on his arm, feeling the unnatural warmth of his skin. Then she smiled at him, feeling for the first time that evening as if her life had not come to a standstill, but was now moving forward, in a direction she had never dreamed it could.

A/N: So how do you like this Belle and Rumple together? And what did you think of Blue and Tink? Next up: more of Bae, Griffin, and Macha, the gwenllyan cub! And Belle tells Maurice and Gaston of her new deal.