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.
Belle's first impressions are confused, muddled from the fear and dread that's gripping her tightly. She sees houses and a long street stretching away to her right, the road muddy and icy, snow swept clear and the path below churned to hard ridges of mud that show where people have walked. There are people about, in the street and in the houses and cottages that line the road, peering through windows and hiding behind curtains.
Rumplestiltskin offers her his arm, and Belle takes it, keeps her eyes demurely lowered. He huffs a dark chuckle, and she glances up to see what's amused him.
"Stand tall, dearie," he advises her, in quiet tones so nobody else can hear him. "You've no betters here to bow your head to." Belle nods a little, tries to obey. She's his lady, she reminds himself, there is nobody more powerful than he, and she must try to be as he wishes her to be – in public, at least.
It's her duty. She can demand nothing less of herself.
He seems to ignore the people staring at them, leads her a few steps from the carriage to the closest cottage, a ramshackle affair at the end of the street. It seems to almost squat in a garden that, when there's no snow, must be simply overgrown with plants. The gate hangs from its hinges and squeaks loudly when Rumplestiltskin pushes it open. He doesn't bother close it behind them, and Belle clutches his arm a little tighter as he leads her up the path to the front door.
He glances down at her, a faint smirk twisting his mouth, but he says nothing, and Belle thinks in some ways he is acting a part now as much as she is.
The door springs open at his touch and he sweeps into the cottage, into the dark, cramped space, and Edith's waiting for them. She sits at her hearth, her hands busy knotting together bunches of dried herbs with twine. A basket rests by her feet, filled with more herbs; her livelihood, Belle deduces. A hedge witch, Rumplestiltskin had called her, and Belle supposes Edith sells herbs and simple potions, as well as small spells, to keep herself fed and housed.
Rumplestiltskin slams the door behind him, and Belle flinches a little, hides it as well as she can. Edith looks up at them, and Belle's not sure what she expected but she can see a trace of fear in the old woman's expression, in the tightness of her mouth and the slight shake in her hand.
Rumplestiltskin carefully – tenderly, almost – removes Belle's arm from his and steps towards Edith. Belle stands back, barely further into the room than the doorway, and watches as his shadow falls across the old woman, as Edith drops her bundles and looks up at him.
"You," says Rumplestiltskin, and the danger is clear, his voice low and practically dripping with malice, "owe my wife an apology."
"It's a rare thing brings you to town," Edith says, and she leans back in her chair, peers up at him. "I think I should feel honoured."
"I think," snaps Rumplestiltskin, "that you should apologise to my wife at once, or you'll find your insolence will bring more misery than you could dream of."
"Threats, deal-maker?" Edith grins, baring gaps in her teeth, but it's all bravado, a mask she's wearing. If Belle can see it – Belle who has only met Edith twice – she knows Rumplestiltskin must be able to see through Edith's pretence to the fear beneath. "There's little enough you can do that I'm afraid of," Edith continues. "Death'll take me before long, I'm not sure I fear you hastening it."
"Then fear what I will do before you are taken," Rumplestiltskin says in a snarl. "You will apologise." He turns, gestures Belle to come forward, and Belle hides her pique at being summoned so by him – hides it because they are in public, not alone in his castle, and she will be his dutiful wife, at least here. She takes three steps to reach his side, and he rests his hand on her shoulder, looks back at Edith with an expression that's maliciously hopeful.
He wants Edith to refuse, Belle realises. He wants her to continue this façade of boldness, so that he can do what he wishes in revenge for the spell Edith had placed upon her.
She wonders if it's because he cares for her, for the woman who is his wife, or whether it's simply that he takes joy in vindictiveness. If he's doing it because he wishes to protect her, and wishes to make it known that she is beyond reach, or because he likes such cruelty. If it's for care of her, she thinks she might be able to accept it a little better. But if any part of his motive is protectiveness, there is another part – perhaps the greater part – that's vicious and that wants Edith to refuse so he can…punish her.
But Edith does not oblige him; she looks up at Belle, and Belle looks back at her, stands tall and says nothing and waits.
"I – I apologise," Edith says at last, stuttering a little, and whatever she may claim, Belle knows she's afraid. "I beg your forgiveness, mistress."
Rumplestiltskin is still by Belle's side; he might as well be a statue for all he gives her when she glances at him, hoping to be guided in her response. But he keeps his gaze on Edith, and so Belle nods at the witch.
"I forgive you," she says, and her voice is steadier than she had hoped for. Rumplestiltskin exhales, almost a sigh, and she knows he's disappointed that the apology has been offered and accepted. But Belle could do nothing else but give her forgiveness to Edith, and it's been made easier by the chain around her neck, the pendant that hangs above the neckline of her gown. She is protected from such a thing happening again, and that makes it so much easier to accept the apology that Edith has been forced to make.
"You'd do well to remember, Mistress Edith, that you are here on my sufferance," Rumplestiltskin says then. His fingers are tight on Belle's shoulder – not painfully so, but enough for her to sense something of his anger, something of the restraint he is showing. "Do not trespass on my good will again."
Edith says nothing, and Rumplestiltskin seems to expect no answer; he drops his hand from Belle's shoulder, offers her his arm once more, and then escorts her from the cottage. He glances back through the doorway then, and his snarl is all glittering malice as he flicks his fingers at Edith. Belle tries not to flinch, but when she looks back at Edith she can see the woman trying to speak. Trying, for no sound comes from her mouth, not a cry or a word, and when Belle glances up at her husband she finds him pleased.
A punishment has been given, she understands at once, despite Edith's apology and Belle's acceptance of it. And though Edith's voice is gone, Belle knows it could have been so much worse. Perhaps the punishment has been eased by the apology offered and accepted. She daren't ask how long it will last, Edith's dumbness, and Rumplestiltskin gives her no time to dwell on it, draws her out into the brightness of the day. It's startling after the gloom of the cottage, and Belle has to trust Rumplestiltskin to guide her for long paces until her eyes clear.
She has to trust him, yet he has just been vindictive enough to punish Edith even after her apology had been accepted, and Belle isn't sure what it means that she does trust him, despite that. She trusts him to make sure she doesn't stumble or trip, trusts him to protect her – trusts him despite the cruelty that's so much part of his nature.
"Now you have a choice," Rumplestiltskin murmurs, and pulls the gate open. "Home, my lady, or will you see a little of the town?"
Belle blinks away the last of her blindness, glances up at him. His eyes are focused elsewhere, and she follows his gaze to see people congregating further down the street, whispering to each other. A child points, and his arm is slapped down by a harried, worried woman. His mother, Belle supposes, frightened for her child. Rumplestiltskin frightens them; some of the stories, she remembers, talk of him demanding children in return for his magic.
She pushes that awful thought from her mind, and looks up at her husband.
"I don't wish to frighten anybody," she says softly. She can't help that they're frightened of Rumplestiltskin – they're right to be afraid – but she doesn't want anybody to be afraid of her. She hesitates, glances at the people watching them, watching her. Their new lady, for Rumplestiltskin is their lord, no matter how he might like to deny it. "I would like to stay," she says, cautious in her decision. "For a while?"
Rumplestiltskin inclines his head. "As you wish," he says. "Ah. The welcoming committee has arrived." He gestures, and Belle looks down the street to see a man approaching. Past middle-aged, his head bald beneath his hat, he looks nervous but resolute. He's well-dressed, better than most of the others Belle can see loitering in the street beyond him. She lets Rumplestiltskin guide her to meet him, watches as the man bows low.
"My lord," he greets, and then, "my lady." Belle's instinct is to curtsey in return to the man's courtesy, but she remembers what Rumplestiltskin had told her and does nothing more than incline her head.
"This," says Rumplestiltskin, sounding a trifle bored, "is Tobias Oldfellow. The mayor."
"Master Oldfellow," says Belle quietly. He straightens, but doesn't meet her gaze, keeps his eyes lowered respectfully.
"Please," he says, "allow me to welcome you to Northbridge."
"Some have already welcomed her," says Rumplestiltskin, voice lilting high, and Oldfellow glances up for a brief moment, fear visible in his eyes, before he returns his gaze to the ground.
"Yes," he says. "Forgive any impertinence, my lord. It was – the women meant it kindly."
"My wife was pleased," Rumplestiltskin shrugs. "So I suppose you're forgiven." His free hand flutters for a moment, and he looks down at Belle. "Oldfellow will give you a tour," he tells her. "I've business to attend to." She's startled, but tries her best not to show it, nods her head and says nothing. Rumplestiltskin's mouth curves into what might be called a smile, and he takes her hand from his arm, bows over it. "You'll be safe enough, my lady," he says. "I'll find you when I'm done."
"Thank you," Belle says. There's something in his expression that makes her think she shouldn't be thanking him, that makes her think this is more than kindness. A test, perhaps, and the thought is bitter. She doesn't want to think that he's testing her, by allowing her to wander the town without his supervision – although she's not fool enough to think he won't be watching her, somehow.
"Here," he says then, and a purse appears in his hand, a leather pouch heavy with coin. Belle takes it, loops the strap around her wrist and holds the pouch in her hand. "For whatever you desire," he tells her.
"Thank you," Belle says again. "I'll see you later, then," she adds, and Rumplestiltskin nods at her, casts a stern look at Oldfellow and then turns and strides away, past Edith's cottage, turning right and moving down another street.
Belle watches until he's gone from her sight, and then she turns to Oldfellow and tries to offer a pleasant smile.
"A tour would be lovely," she says. "If it's no trouble."
"Of course not, my lady," says Oldfellow. With Rumplestiltskin gone he seems a little more confident; although he doesn't meet her gaze, his head is held a little higher and some tension in him is eased. "My lord wishes it, so of course it's no trouble." Belle's smile feels brittle, and perhaps he can see it because he bows slightly to her, steps aside so she can walk beside him. "Perhaps the market," he suggests. "It's market day today, my lady."
"Yes," Belle says, and her voice sounds small and lost to her own ears, but she takes a breath, pulls herself together. "Yes, that sounds lovely, Master Oldfellow," she says. "Please, lead the way."
Oldfellow doesn't offer his arm, but he walks slowly enough that Belle needs no help to walk over the ruts and furrows of mud in the road. She lifts her skirts free of it, holds her head high even as they draw closer to the staring crowd. Oldfellow makes a gesture towards them with his hand, shakes his head, and slowly the people begin to disperse.
"They don't mean to be rude," he excuses to Belle. "But we – well, we don't often see my lord in town. And he's always alone."
"I understand," says Belle. "I take no offence, I assure you. It's only natural to be curious." She smiles a little easier now, as Oldfellow guides her around a corner and onto a main road, cobbled and clear of mud and snow both. "I confess to some curiosity myself," she says. "It seems a remote place for a town of this size, Master Oldfellow. What living can people make so high up in the mountains?"
"Oh, we do well enough, my lady," he says. "There's good grazing in the summer, for goats and sheep, and we're known for our weaving." Belle thinks of Rumplestiltskin, of his spinning, and hides her smile. A spinner for a lord, and weavers to serve him. It seems fitting, somehow.
There are still people staring at her, people whispering about her, as Oldfellow escorts her to the market. Belle tries to ignore them, tries to remind herself that curiosity cannot harm her – tries to remember her position and her duty. She hopes they aren't looking at her in fear, hopes they're just curious.
She hopes, in vain, that she and her marriage will not be a subject for gossip. In vain, because she knows what people are like, knows that they'll talk of her, and of her appearance in town. People will talk, even if they're afraid of Rumplestiltskin, even if their talk is confined to whispers beside hearths.
"The market is just down here, my lady," Oldfellow tells her, extending his arm to guide her down the road and around a corner. "I'm sure you'll find something to please you." He means more than he says, Belle thinks, and resolves to buy something, anything, to keep the townspeople from feeling they and their goods have displeased her.
She has no wish for them to be more frightened of her than they already are, no desire to give them cause to worry over Rumplestiltskin's temper should she not seem pleased.
"I'm sure I will," she says in answer to the mayor. "And – I'm afraid I don't know her last name, but the girl who brought the gifts to me, Mary? I'd like to thank her again." And try to reassure her that Rumplestiltskin bears her no ill will, but Belle can hardly say such a thing to Oldfellow.
Mayor Oldfellow nodded. "She'll be at the market," he says. "Her father has a stall there." They reach the market then, a large open square filled to bursting with stalls and handcarts and people, people too busy with their lives to bother staring at Belle.
Belle's smile is genuine as she turns to her escort. "What a merry sight," she says. "Will you show me around, Master Oldfellow?"
The mayor bows his head, and he's smiling too, a reluctant thing tugging at his mouth and making him appear quite ten years younger.
"It would be my pleasure, my lady," he says. "And first, perhaps, a hot drink?"
"That sounds perfect," says Belle, and follows him into the square.
Just a quick note to say tomorrow's chapter will be late, because I have to have an MRI scan tomorrow evening at 7pm (weird time, I know). Chapter will probably be posted at around 9pm GMT.