Belle couldn't stop staring at the kitten.

Bad enough that she was quite literally stuck in the past, now she needed reminders of her childhood as well? Astounding what memory could suddenly conjure up when it wanted to. She'd always remembered what had happened to Ria quite clearly—a child didn't just forget seeing that kind of pain, their first understanding that being alive didn't mean living. Yet she'd entirely forgotten what the little kitten had looked like, it's appearance obliterated by the understanding of a snapped back and mangled legs.

Except now Belle did remember… Ria looked exactly like Dinah.

She pressed a hand to her forehead.

"Lady Belle?"

Rum and Bae both looked at her with concern. Dinah did too. Belle did her best to straighten out her features, despite the sudden spike of adrenaline that had ripped through her—pain pouring through not her skull, but through her very memories. Belle had the unmistakable sense that something had suddenly slotted into place.

Why was she here?

"I'm fine," she said, belatedly realizing that they were still waiting for an answer. "Really. Just the day catching up with me, that's all."

"You should rest," Rum said. He immediately ducked his head as if ashamed to have told her what to do. Bae nodded vigorously though.

"You can take my bed tonight, Belle. I don't mind sleeping by the fire."

Rum started. "A-absolutely not. You'll take my bed, please—"

Belle waved her hand. "Oh both of you hush. I'm not taking either of your beds, end of discussion. Besides, I can't sleep just yet." She did her best to smile at Bae, ignoring the kitten rubbing up against his chin. "Didn't I promise to teach you more letters tonight?"

It took a moment. The day's events had cast a shadow on them all and Bae's own tired mind was tripping to catch up. When it did though, his face positively glowed with delight.

"Really?" he cried, sending his fork flying. Dinah screeched in surprise and bolted for the space between the fireplace and stove.

"Absolutely. We must always keep our word."

"An excellent lesson," Rum murmured and pressed a kiss into Bae's hair. Belle's body felt like a warm little pool at the image. It helped to combat the uneasy sense of completion she'd felt at Dinah's arrival.

No doubt this was somehow connected to Time's manipulation. Damn him.

"I'll worry about him later…" she muttered.

"Lady Belle? Did you say something?"

"Nothing of importance."

Belle stood with a small groan, enjoying the rather flabbergast look Rum developed as she raised her hands above her head, stretching, her body arching towards him. Bae was luckily absorbed in the rest of his food.

"Dishes can wait," she announced. "Tonight is a night of rest and leisure. Unless you think reading is too much work?"

"Nuh-uh!" Bae garbled. He wiped his mouth and hopped down from Rum's lap, running off to fetch his tools. Alone for just a moment, Rum glanced up with an expression overflowing with gratitude.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"This will help."

"Got it!" Bae came tearing back in, nearly launching himself at Mistress Lina's Book of Household Management. "Can we start now, Belle? Can we?"

She saw it then, what Rum meant. The joy of words and stories helped sooth numerous wounds, including the deep ones caused by lost friends, and in no-one was such medicine so potent as in the young. It was ultimately a superficial kind of healing, but the best that Belle could provide. She looked to Bae vibrating on the floor, charcoal in hand, a book in his lap, and understood Rum's gratitude for just a moment.

She curtsied. "If my Lord commands it."

Bae laughed.

"Really now…" Rum said. From the corner of her eye Belle saw him blushing all along his cheekbones.

"You'll join us too, won't you, Papa?"

"Ah… I'm not sure… I…" Rum stopped, turning to Belle with eyes wide with fright. Or shame?

"I don't think I'd be very good at learning such things…"

"Nonsense," Belle snorted. "Anyone can read provided they have a willingness to learn—and a halfway decent teacher." She grinned. "Besides, the more you learn the more you'll be able to help Bae when—"

When she was gone. That feeling rocked Belle again, literally shifting her weight backwards, poised perfectly between remaining in her current state or falling backwards. It was a feeling of completeness, circularity… but now also inevitability. Words held truth. She knew that much well. Regardless of what kind of magic was at play here, Belle was all too aware that these words in particular held more truth than she was willing to deal with. She would leave.

She'd leave soon.

"—when you need help," she finished lamely. Her boys looked away. They'd already heard the truth in her words too.

"C'mon," Belle insisted. "Let's make ourselves comfortable."

They did just that, leaving the dishes for another time. Bae opened up a chest to reveal an impressive collection of firewood, stoking the blaze while Belle collected all the blankets and pillows she could find, creating a cozy little nest for them on the floor. Rum wandered back over to the bed. At first she thought he was retrieving that wretched poison for some reason, but when he hobbled back he had the material he'd purchased at the market, the remains of her dress, and a small sewing kit. Belle saw him hesitate for a moment, then he determinedly pulled out the spool of gold. She smiled. It was his to do with as he willed.

Bae tilted his head curiously.

"Where'd you get that, Papa?"

"Ah…"

Belle knew she shouldn't laugh, particularly when she was the cause of his distress. She watched Rum dither a moment: moving to hide the gold behind his back, realizing how foolish that was, pulling it back and covering as much of it with his hands as he could, eyes darting between the two of them. Bae must not have realized what his Papa possessed because he still just gazed at the spool, absently picking a splinter out of his palm. Surely there'd be more of an uproar if he realized it was gold.

Rum must have realized the same.

"Just thread, son," he said, extending it before snapping it back just as fast. "Lady Belle… ah, she gave it to me. Kind of her, yes?"

"Yeah!" Bae cheered. "It's beautiful! Did you bring it from home, Belle?"

Belle smiled. "I did indeed. Admittedly it's pretty rare, but who better than your Papa to make something fitting with it, hmm?"

Bae nodded, satisfied, and continued with his work—but not before he cast a proud look at his father, making him blush. Belle caught Rum's eye for just a moment, shrugging minutely. They weren't truly lies. It was thread (of a sort…), she had given it to Rum, had brought it from home (sort of), and yes, she did believe he was the best to work with it. Besides, Bae would find out its true worth eventually. Either Rum would sell it when she was gone or else keep it for sentimental reasons—either of which would result in an explanation in his own time.

Time. For just a moment Belle allowed herself—somewhat narcissistically—to imagine that Rum kept the shirt. Would she return to her own time then, clean some disused room of Rumple's castle and find a shirt there, persevered through the years by magic?

A fanciful wish no doubt. Still, it was comforting in its way.

"Let me help," Belle sighed and took some of the wood from Bae.

Not that her thoughts remained untroubled for long. The entire time they worked Belle had the distinct sense that they were being watched. She turned her head subtly while spreading out a blanket, spotting a pair of eyes peering out from the crevice between stove and fireplace. With another sigh, Belle slowly crouched and held out a hand.

"Psss, psss, psss," she whispered, trying to entice Dinah out. "C'mon, puss. I won't harm you. It's not your fault you're trapped in this mess with me."

"What mess?" Bae asked, dumping more wood next to their nest.

"Forced to live with you two of course."

Belle gave an exaggerated yelp as Bae tackled her around the neck, falling backwards onto the pillows and dragging him along with her. The wrestled a moment, lightly, Bae still mindful of her healing injuries and her of his. It was a relief though, to dispel some of the day's—this time's—sorrow through laughter, as forced as it may have been. Belle saw Rum pull up a chair and let out a tiny chuckle of his own. That was a miracle in and of itself. When she'd first arrived he would have never been comfortable with their roughhousing, thinking it improper or some such nonsense. Now Rum laughed, small as it was, and Belle felt a pang at the thought of leaving this.

She'd never really heard Rumplestiltskin laugh before. Cackle, yes. Titter and giggle, but never laugh. It was joyous to hear, even moreso because of how unexpected it was. He realized what had left his mouth a second later and Belle was sorry to see his head duck in embarrassment. She propped herself up on one elbow, rolling Bae to the side, and stared until he looked at her.

"That was nice," Belle said softly.

Bae started messing up all her hard work, collecting the blankets for himself. "What was nice?"

"Nothing, son," Rumplestiltskin muttered. His cheeks were still aflame.

Belle decided to give him an out. "Will you be starting that tonight then?" She gestured to the shirt.

On the one hand it seemed obvious that he would—what with every material in place—on the other hand, Rum only ran the gold gently between his fingers, flicking his gaze between it and Belle's eyes. Finally, he gave a small shrug.

"Lady Belle… you must understand… this is still a miraculous thing just to hold it in my hand, let alone stitch with…" He trailed off, retuning to running the thread between thumb and forefinger.

"Whatever you stitch will be perfect," Bell proclaimed. She didn't doubt it either. Even if Rum had no skill at all (which she knew to be a blatant untruth) she had fully given him that with the expectation that it was his. To hide away, ponder, sell, or yes, stitch into something that others would recognize as beautiful. It wasn't just that Belle felt she owed them a monetary debt for taking her in, it just felt fitting to come full circle like this: Rumplestiltskin taught her to spin with magic, Belle gave some of that spun gold back to him, perhaps when he needed it most. The action made her feel… complete.

What had Time said? Smoothing things over?

"It will be perfect," she repeated, jerking a thumb at Bae's agreeable nods. "Now, pick up your needle as I run through this again. Pay attention."

It was with a shy smile that Rum did just that. The gold glinted in the firelight as he cocked his ear towards her and rested his eyes on the silken material.

Belle was just about to crack open their book when a tiny meow startled her. Dinah crawled back out, sniffing at Belle and Bae sitting close together. Still on her haunches, she pulled herself up to Belle's knee and dug her claws into the material there. Luckily Morraine's dress was of good sturdy stock and Belle barely felt the wound. Still, she raised an eyebrow at the kitten.

"Oh, do you like me then?"

"Of course she likes you," Bae said, scooping Dinah up. "Don't you like her?"

Belle felt distinctly as if she didn't have a say in the matter, but Bae didn't need to know that. She merely inclined her head ambiguously and picked up Mistress Lina's Book of Household Management.

"Now, we went through the letters of your name, but there's a lot more to learn. Explain 'A,' 'B,' and 'E' to your Papa…"

The next few hours passed in as companionable a mood as Belle had ever experienced. She went through the entire alphabet, giving well-known examples for each sound ("'s' as in 'silver,' 'k' as in 'kitten' – the same sort of sound as…?" "C!") and before long she was throwing in the occasional compound to challenge Bae. ("Sh-sh-sheep.") When it became clear that he was growing tired of sounding out the letters, Belle gave Bae his charcoal and directed him to the back of the book once more—his newly learned handwriting cramped and shaky to conserve as much space as possible. Bae wrote with a single-minded intensity.

Belle didn't know what it was exactly. Part of it was no doubt Morraine, his mind needing to think about something other than the tragedy and reading proved the perfect distraction. Perhaps Bae had a fire to better himself… perhaps he just had an instinctual love of reading, like her. All Belle knew for sure was that he picked up the lessons with quick, confident ease. She had no delusions that he'd be reading fluently anytime soon, but if he retained the basics then he already had the foundation for teaching himself the rest. Bae was smart enough to do it.

Belle was certainly under no illusions that she'd be around to keep teaching him.

Despite the camaraderie, the uneasiness she'd developed remained. Despite obviously being attached to Bae, Dinah had hardly left Belle's side, digging her claws into various parts of her dress and then resolutely staying there, sometimes kneading the material, often just staring at her. Whatever hesitance Dinah had was long gone. Belle took to subtly shifting her weight as she read to Bae, scooting this way or that, and each time Dinah moved with her. Belle made to stand at one point and the kitten expressed her displeasure vocally, letting out a yowl that had Belle smacking her butt back on the floor fast.

"She likes you," Bae had said, sounding relieved. Belle didn't have the energy or the heart to explain her feeling that this somehow went far beyond 'like.'

How the hell was a cat connected to Time? And what was Belle supposed to do about it?

Rum, for his part, appeared far more content. Everyone seemed to be leaving reservations behind this night, for as soon as he'd forced himself to begin his project it looked as if he was unable to stop. His movements, stiff and unsure at first, melted into a graceful confidence the longer their night wore on. Belle saw from the corner of her eye Rum continually running the gold through his fingers, picking up coarser thread and shears to shape it into a garment, returning to the gold, stitching now in the front where a pattern began to emerge. At one point Belle did stand (calm yourself, Dinah) in order to show Rum the letters they were discussing and as she did she caught a glimpse of the emerging design. They were gold flowers, roses by the looks of them, weaving along the collar of the shirt, down the sides and up both sleeves. Rum outlined the work astoundingly fast, soon hiding behind a curtain of hair as he began adding details. Belle spotted a figure in the background of the image (a fairy?) but before she could look closer her hand moved on its own accord, sweeping Rum's hair away so that she could see his eyes instead. He startled at the touch, crinkling the shirt and pulling it close to his chest. Belle snatched her own hand back in embarrassment.

"I just wanted..." she started, then stopped due to a dry throat. "That is…"

"It's fine," Rum squeaked. "You…?" he pointed to the book.

Belle breathed out in relief. "Yes," and she set about showing him the alphabet he'd only heard verbally up until now, careful that she didn't sit too close or let her gaze linger too long.

This was how they passed the night. Nearly all of it, for none of them wanted to sleep after such a day, sure that nightmares lurked near. Belle and Rum didn't chide Bae for staying up far past his bedtime, even when his yawns interrupted each word he tried sounding out and his hands were too sluggish to write. Rum didn't try to convince Belle to take his bed again. Bae didn't remind his Papa to rest. The three of them remained exactly as they were, unwilling to break the small measure of peace they'd managed to find.

Only Dinah slept. She curled up in one of the blankets, her tiny body pressed between Belle's knee and Bae's. She slept long and peacefully, no doubt because she was the only one in the group with nothing to hide—either from others or themselves.

Belle kept her own council, if only out of shame. It didn't escape her notice that her arrival had brought great change to this little town and only a small portion of it may have been good. Perhaps Morraine would have still been taken this day even if Belle had never arrived. She couldn't know either way. All she did know was that she'd sat at Rum's wheel with hardly a care for the consequences, spinning gold in an attempt to get him to trust her, perhaps even get him to like her. Selfless on the surface—giving a poor spinner gold— but Belle had happily ignored the one fundamental rule:

All magic comes with a price.

Was this her price then? Seeing Morraine carted away by the former Dark One, just so Rum could stitch by firelight?

Still… Belle couldn't deny that it was a kind sight on her eyes. There was an ache in her lower belly from Morraine's absence, an anxious ball in the top of her throat from Dinah's arrival, and a general tension throughout her body as she wondered where, when, and how she'd possibly return home. Rum's hunched form was a soothing balm to all of that.

His stitching stilled.

"You're… staring, Lady Belle."

Had she been? Probably. Belle smiled and gestured to Bae.

"Look who finally lost the battle."

Bae was curled into a ball much like Dinah was, the two of them breathing in synch. He'd drifted off sometime between learning the words 'the' and 'that,' head drifting closer to the ground until his body had just given up completely, flopping onto the nearest pillow. With gentle hands Belle gathered up a blanket and laid it over the three of them. She carefully stretched her toes towards the fire.

"Thank you." She heard.

"Don't thank me, Rum." Belle couldn't see him now, but she could hear him putting his work away, the soft whoosh of him folding fabric. She arched her feet and closed her eyes.

"You realize I'm not supposed to be here, right?" She said. "You've figured that out. Perhaps you've figured out far more than I've been able to say. But the point is I'm out of place here, Rum. I'm wrong."

There was silence.

"…You're never wrong to me."

"No?"

"Never. You saved Bae. You… you're teaching us to read. And the market… what you said there…" Rum's voice haltered a moment. "None of that could ever be wrong, Lady Belle. And—and—I don't think I appreciate you saying that it is."

Belle chuckled, tilting her head back to get a look at him. "Look at you then, talking back to me. About time I'd say."

"If it pleases you."

"Oh stop that."

They let the warmth spread between them. Sometimes Belle thought that was all her life here was, bouncing between extreme emotions, never knowing which was likely to take hold next: the contentment of eating sweets on their way home, the terror of discovering a new Dark One, then joy at teaching her boys to read, fear that she'd somehow caused Morraine's capture, this simple moment with Rum… and then just as fast it too disappeared, replaced with a jolt of anxiety as Dinah stretched. With a sigh Belle ran her hand down the kitten's back, trying to calm her.

"I will have to leave," she admitted.

"… I know."

"Soon."

Rum puffed out a shaky breath. "You're sure?"

"Yes. Though not in any way I can explain." Belle's hands tightened in Dinah's fur. "It's this damned cat."

"Dinah?" She could practically hear Rum blink.

"Ria," Belle countered and then sighed again because of course that made no sense to Rum.

She turned again, careful not to disturb Bae, and settled with her knees to her chin, her arms wrapped around the rest of her. Rum made his way to the floor too, equally careful. Belle smile at the way he continually looked between her and Bae, as if fearful that something as simple as him moving might perturb them. She shook her head as Rum settled with a sigh against the chair's legs, stretching his own bad leg out to knead at the muscles.

"Does it hurt you?" she asked softly. "I'm sorry. The cold couldn't have done it much good…"

For a moment Belle thought Rum would speak. He opened his mouth before closing it again just as fast. After another second he shook is head, though whether as an answer or a refusal she couldn't say.

"Ria?" he prompted and Belle let it go.

"Ria," she echoed. "Ria was… well. Have you ever had something—experienced something—that seemed so simple at the time? Innocent even? Yet later you realize that it was… more?"

Rum drew his good leg up to his chest, mimicking Belle's pose. "Like gloves," he said.

"Gloves?"

"Milah." He gestured to, yes, the gloves on Belle's hands, donned halfway into their reading to ward off the chill. The wool was uncomfortable against her healing skin without the bandages acting as a barrier.

Rum shrugged, somewhat sadly. "I didn't think much of keeping them at the time. I… I knew she wasn't coming back." He looked to Bae. "Could have given them to someone else. Morraine mayhap." Rum closed his eyes. "I didn't though. Kept telling myself I was saving them for Bae, when he grew big enough to use 'em, but I couldn't. Just couldn't, Lady Belle. There was no reason for keeping a reminder, but I put them away and tired not to think too much on it until now… now when I was able to give them to you." Rum shrugged again. "More important than what you thought. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes, in many ways…" Belle gestured to Dinah, then scrubbed a hand over her eyes. "Gods. It sounds so foolish when I think of saying it aloud. It's just that there was another kitten, Ria, back when I was a girl. She died after being run over by a cart. Nothing unusual of course, strays and pets were lost all the time, particularly at war."

Belle's eyes jumped up. That last bit hadn't escaped Rum's notice. He knew she was from another time and certainly there were only so many creatures and kingdoms that one could wage war on… still, if he wanted to ask about the ogres his face didn't show it. Instead they both let the opportunity pass by, Rum silently letting her keep her secrets. Belle smiled.

"Lots were lost," she continued, "but Ria stuck with me. Her owner, a little girl roughly my age then, she did everything she could to keep Ria alive and ended up torturing the poor thing for weeks. Harm done unintentionally. It's a cruel lesson, Rum. Have I harmed this village by coming here? You? Morraine? Certainly harm has been done to me, though it was undoubtedly intentional." With an angry growl Belle buried her face in her hands. She pulled back only long enough to point at Dinah again. "She looks exactly like Ria."

It was dark where she hid her head. Rum's voice seeped through.

"Lots of kittens look alike," he murmured.

"Yes."

"A coincidence, surely."

"When Time and magic are involved? Perhaps. I wouldn't stake anything of import on it though."

"No… perhaps not…"

Belle was just resigning herself to this position—her face warm, her back hot from the fire, the rest of her bracingly cool—when the lightest touch landed against her shoulder. It was like something possessing wings had alighted there, just long enough for Belle to process its existence before it fluttered away. Precious and delicate and rare. She lifted her head to find Rum drawing back his hand.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

For what? Touching her? Failing? Her own emotions? Everything it seemed. The things Rum could control as well as the things he couldn't. For all the ways she chastised him for such thoughts, Belle understood them well.

"Me too," she said and breached the distance to take his hand.

They sat, linked and breathing in synch.

"Can I tell you a story?" Rum asked.

"A story?"

"Yes. Like the one you gave to me and Bae. Though…" he let out a shaky laugh. "I fear it doesn't have a happy ending as yours did. Nor does it have a hero…"

Belle had a pretty good idea of what kind of story Rum wanted to tell. She gave his hand a squeeze. "I'd be honored to hear whatever story you're willing to give me, Rum. Though may I ask why? Why now?"

He was already nodding, his fingers intertwining with hers, casting occasional glances over as if he couldn't believe that he truly held a part of her—something as simple and magnificent as a hand. Rum gave a tentative squeeze back.

"You deserve to know," he said. "Lost here, confronting the Dark One as you did… you deserve the whole story. And if you must leave—gods, I know you must, o-of course you do, and even if you didn't why would you want…?"

"To stay?" Belle edged forward, reaching out to take his other hand. "I would. I would, Rum. If it were up to me, if I learned here and now that there was no going back, then yes, I would stay."

He stared at her in wonder. Belle thought she saw tear tracks carving paths down his cheeks, though that may have just been a trick of the fire.

"Tell your story."

She watched Rum draw in a deep breath.

"Once upon a time…"

Belle snorted, ducking her head to hide her laugh.

"Gods, sorry. I'm not laughing at you, I swear it—"

"It's how the best stories begin," Rum insisted, echoing her words from before. "Now, are you going to interrupt me again?" He gave her the tinniest, most tentative smile. Teasing her.

Belle shook her head. "Never."

"Good. Okay then. Thank you. Ah… Once upon a time… yes, that's right… Once upon a time two people lived in a cottage together: a man and a woman.

The woman was beautiful, at least by the village's standards. Still, she wasn't so beautiful that she expected it to get her anywhere in life. She'd grown up a farmer's daughter and the expectation was that she'd become a farmer's wife. This… wasn't a bad thing. Not at first anyway. There was honor in it, little as it might seem to others, and it would provide her with a roof, meat, and eventually a child. There were women who could expect far less from life.

There weren't many eligible men in her village, or in the neighboring village either. Crops had been hard the last few seasons and the war had steadily picked up, taking most of the able-bodied men with it. The woman's choices were poor. She could have married a foreigner—if he'd have her—but what good would that do her family? The bread maker was available, but he'd already lost a wife and child. That wasn't something she was willing to intrude on. The blacksmith's son was still too young, the farmer next door had passed from sickness…

In the end, the woman and her father settled on the town spinner.

He wasn't… bad. There were worse men, certainly. He had no family of his own, for his father… well. His father had left. The man grew up with two spinsters who had passed many years prior to all this. He was alone.

At least his trade was decent. Spinning was a skill needed and available to him all year round. In a show of good faith the man stripped his best sheep, spun as fine a thread as he was able, dyed it with berries, and presented it to the woman in her home. Her father was satisfied, she… agreed. That was it. There was no true passion within the courtship. She simply agreed.

That was more than enough for the spinner though. He was timid and weak, not known for his looks, nor his intellect outside of the wheel. Taking the woman's hand was the spinner's greatest achievement up until then and if anyone had told him, even a week before, that he would succeed in marrying the woman with raven hair and a sharp tongue, he would have laughed. She was far too good for him.

The problem was, the woman thought so too.

Their marriage was a simple one. She took the ribbon her mother had worn—faded from periwinkle blue to a dusty gray—and her father bound their hands before the town members with time available to stand and watch. The only one who blessed them was an old woman, capable of magic, who looked the spinner straight in the eye and told him to have courage. He never imagined that he'd need to strive for it quite so soon.

A mere three days after their binding the woman's father took a kick to the head, courtesy of a darting dog and a spooked horse. He lay raving for a time before suddenly passing, his back bent in pain and his mouth agape. The spinner couldn't pull his new wife away from the body, at least not until it began to smell of ripe game. They buried him in the hardening ground, they moved until the house he'd died in. The woman grew colder day by day.

Fate is often cruel in that manner. The spinner would never know if he and the woman could have been… perhaps not happy, but at least satisfied together. They weren't given the chance because her father's death cast a shadow on the marriage and grief is anything but fair. Her pain quickly morphed into anger and anger turned to blame—blame for their dwindling food, their sorry social life… his inability to pleasure her, both in bed and out.

They hadn't consecrated their marriage. The spinner had certainly wanted to, though he'd never been with a woman, had hardly spent time with them beyond his guardians' presence, and he was nervous… not just nervous but a jittering, apologetic mess. The woman had no need for such a man. She rejected him and the man took her decree with a bow of his head.

She said she deserved better.

He agreed.

They settled into a routine then, of work and quiet and little affection, if any. During this period the spinner thought a great deal about courage, but thoughts didn't help him approach his wife in the confidant manner she craved and they certainly didn't help him challenge the status of their relationship as a whole. They did nothing for him, except perhaps to deepen the depression. Instead of acting he turned to his wheel. It helped him to forget.

Perhaps they would have continued this way until their deaths. They'd never know because less than a year into their marriage a summons came, from the Duke himself, covered in a curling script that neither of them could read. It didn't matter though, man and woman alike recognized the seal at the very top—a summons to war. This was back when the Duke still called his subjects to arms, rather than sending dark sorcerers to drag them away. That scroll of paper, one of the few the man had ever set eyes on, appeared to be the saving grace of both his marriage and his spirit. This was his redemption.

The woman agreed. She could learn to love a soldier, a man brave enough to face the ogres head on. If he returned from such a trial than she'd be proud to stand by his side. If he didn't… well, better to die an honorable death than live a life of cowardice, surely?

For a blissful week this summons brought the man and the woman together, in a way that their marriage had failed to do. With the prospect of his heroism on the horizon, the woman looked at him in new light and she allowed things she'd previously rejected, chief among them her body. Knowing that he left so soonhelped her develop something resembling patience and that night they lay together for the first and only time.

It was a fumbling affair, quick and messy under a cloud of darkness. The man had no knowledge of how to please her and when he pulled out she quickly closed her legs, indicating that he should simply return to his straw bed on the floor beside her. Some of that 'love' was already gone.

They didn't speak of their intimacy, save for his breathy, repeated, "Sorry"s throughout. He slept fitfully that night and woke with the dawn, leaving with the other troops and dreaming of a better return. The woman leaned against the doorframe as the man left her. She didn't wave him off.

Thus, the man went to war. There's… little to say here. It was brutal, horrible, and everything that was needed to confirm that he was a coward. The man couldn't turn to society for fear of his own comrades. He couldn't look to nature for fear of what lay in the woods. There were ogres to the front of him and an expectant wife at his back.

Expectant in more ways than one it turned out. A currier brought the man a letter two months into his service, one his general gleefully read to the entire company: his wife was pregnant with a boy—if the village witch had any skills left to her name. Be sure to make it back in one piece or, barring that, at least have the decency to die with honor. His son deserved that much at least.

The man agreed. Wholeheartedly, with every fiber of his being. A child. A son. He'd never pictured himself as a father, if only because the idea of guiding another seemed quite impossible when he felt so adrift himself, but now that such a decision was out of his hands the man embraced the notion with fervor. He could do right by his boy. Somehow. He'd love him in a way his own father never had.

And perhaps this child would also spark love between man and wife.

For another season the man threw himself into the labor with as much passion as he had within him. He worked to master the spear—getting up each time his fellow soldiers knocked him down—and listened attentively to strategies he never quite understood. He put his skills to good use and patched up the clothing around camp, even learning how to stitch leather for some light armor (immediately appropriated by the higher-ups). All the while they dragged themselves closer and closer to the front lines… closer to the ogres.

The man had never seen one of course. There were no books in his village with such illustrations and the stories that came back from the battlefield were highly exaggerated, even he realized that. Thirty feet high and twice as thick as any tree? That was a description for a fairy tale. Surely the real thing was much more manageable.

At least, that's what he told himself. As the days grew colder and the soldiers began to hear distant cries before them, the man passed the nights with visions of… not glory (he'd never be one for glory), but success. He dreamed of ogres not much taller than his own frame, plodding and slow enough that even he had a chance at stabbing them. The man forged a vision of returning home to a wife and son, commendations in one hand and an ogre's head in the other.

Dreams indeed. The man conveniently forgot the misery he experienced during the day, or that he'd never seen a foot-soldier return. Denial is a powerful drug.

Until it wears off, that is.

The night before battle—a mere mile from where ogres were cutting down men just like him. Whatever visions he'd built up were shattered in those early morning hours. The man could hear the ogres (roars that traveled across acres, a testament to their size), could feel the vibrations of charges through the earth, could smell their rancid stench. He stood rooted beside a wagon for hours, unable to process what lay before him. The man understood in that moment that he'd deluded himself terribly. There was no loving wife waiting at home, no redemption, no courage within him. The man only had one thing of value in his life.

His son. Still unborn.

A son who could still enter this world without a father.

It was a thought more horrifying than the ogres… and far more scary. Numbly, the man reached out for something—help?—and found a mallet leaning up against the wagon. His months of training and marching had strengthened him considerably. His body knew what to do without him consciously deciding to do it.

He took the mallet and swung it as hard as he was able into the side of his knee. As he collapsed, shrieking through the pain, all the man saw was what his son's face might look like someday.

They sent him home. He was one of the few. Everyone else either stayed, frozen in fright, or made a break for the woods and never returned. His commanding officers provided him with no comforts for the weeks' trek back. His comrades did not see him off. Instead they whispered behind his back, then directly to his face, shoving him into the mud so that his knee was never fully allowed to heal. When they finally crossed that last mile the man was left to start his hobble back—it took him twice as long.

By the time he reached his village the whispers had already taken up residence.

His son was there too though, born by the witch's hand… and neglected by his mother. The man held his child in the same breathe that his wife screamed that she was through. Idiot. Simpleton. Coward. He cradled his son as she chose the tavern over him and t-then… then s-she… another man—

"That's enough," Belle cooed. She'd moved their linked hands up against Rum's chest, practically sitting in his lap as she attempted to comfort him. He'd ended the story with a sudden rush of tears, his breaths stuttering harshly as he tried not to make any noise. She carded their fingers over his cheeks and he pressed himself against her.

"It's okay, Rum. You're okay."

"Bae thinks she's dead. I couldn't… Lady Belle, I couldn't admit…"

"I know. C'mon. C'mon, Rum. You'll wake him."

Belle pulled him closer, letting Rum muffle his voice against her chest. She dropped kisses into his hair and pressed her palms deeply into his back. She'd known the story already. Not the plot, but Belle had known the characters and that was more than enough to work out the moral. Rum had been scared, for him and for Bae. That wasn't cowardice. It was love.

Belle told him as much, speaking in soft whispers so they wouldn't wake the very boy they were discussing. Bae continued to sleep deeply even as Rum ceased his tears, pressing trembling hands to either side of Belle's face so that he could steady her, look to her and press a kiss against her forehead. She helped him rise after that, Belle carrying Bae to his bed as Rum stumbled drunkenly towards his own. They were both too emotionally drained for embarrassment and already Belle missed the press of Rum's hand against hers. When she saw him deliberately move to the far side of his bed, Belle crawled in to fill up the space. In sleep they drew comfort.

The only one disturbed by these events was Dinah. She awoke, stretching luxuriously, and as she did her tiny paws caught the edge of Mistress Lina's Book of Household Management, peeling back one of the pages… setting something free.

For, out from the cookbook's middle sprung a bean. Tiny and round, it rolled a moment before coming to a stop in front of the kitten's nose.

Dinah didn't notice. She'd already curled back up and had fallen asleep.